The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

Oghma was the god of knowledge, also known as the Binder and the Lord of Knowledge. He was the god of inspiration, invention, and knowledge, representing knowledge in its highest and most primal form—ideas.

The worship of Oghma had once been one of the few organized religions in Faerûn, with an established orthodoxy and a complete network of temples.

With such a vast following, Oghma’s divine rank naturally wasn’t low.

He was unquestionably a greater deity, True Neutral in alignment and tremendously influential.

Although the famous Candlekeep was legally an independent organization, Oghma’s followers had always regarded it as a sacred site of knowledge.

Many scholars of Candlekeep were followers of Oghma.

”This is the House of Oghma, a temple of Oghma, the God of Knowledge,” Sakkors explained.

”I recognize it.”

Anser gripped the Moonlight Holy Symbol and sensed once more. That Chosen was indeed inside the temple.

He stuffed the holy symbol into the Avaricious Dragonhide Pouch, crossed the street, and entered the temple.

A melodious tune drifted into his ears. His gaze passed over rows of neatly arranged plain wooden tables and chairs before settling on the semicircular stage at the front.

A bard was holding an instrument that resembled a guitar. His eyes were half-closed as he played, swaying along with the music in a relaxed, natural manner.

Anser paused for a moment. This was a little different from the solemn temple he had imagined.

He looked around. It was a spacious hall, with numerous tables and chairs arranged in the center and a dozen or so people scattered among them.

Some were quietly reading. Some sat listening to the music. Others were sprawled across the tables, fast asleep. Drool ran down the uneven tabletop and dripped onto the floor, stretching into thin strands that gleamed silver in the sunlight.

Tall bookshelves lined both sides of the hall, covering the walls from end to end. Near the semicircular stage hung more than a dozen different musical instruments.

’Feels more like a tavern than a temple,’ Anser remarked inwardly.

He walked forward through the aisles between the tables and chairs, reached the front row, and casually picked a seat.

The bard onstage was completely absorbed in his performance, utterly unaware that his music was actually a little sleep-inducing.

He was tall and thin, looked to be in his forties, and sported a small mustache. There was a mature, carefree air about him, like a rakish lifelong bachelor.

Anser glanced at the instrument in his hands and immediately recognized it as a yarting. He had seen one before in Baldur’s Gate.

The yarting was a southern plucked-string instrument originating from Amn and Calimshan. It resembled a guitar, came in many different styles, and was perfect for looking cool, making it especially popular among young people.

{This man is a Spirit Net member,} Sakkors said telepathically.

Anser froze for a moment, then focused his senses.

Sure enough.

{Is he the Chosen?}

{Not sure.}

The Spirit Net Mark didn’t possess that much authority or capability. It could only obtain superficial information about members, such as their race, gender, and approximate strength.

Once disconnected from the network, it entered a dormant state. Aside from providing location information, it couldn’t actively probe a member’s privacy or physical condition.

It wasn’t that this couldn’t be done.

It was that it wasn’t allowed.

Anser didn’t pay it much mind. Resting his chin on one hand, he quietly listened to the music.

The die spun for quite some time before displaying information about the target:

[Chosen of Oghma, Human, Level 17 Bard (College of Lore), Level 5 Cleric (Knowledge Domain)]

’Legendary!’

Anser was inwardly startled. He hadn’t expected to run into a level 22 Legendary Professional almost as soon as he stepped outside.

Apparently, it wasn’t that there were too few legendary figures. He simply hadn’t entered their circles yet.

The moment he actively started searching with Sehanine Moonbow’s Moonlight Holy Symbol, he immediately encountered one.

’Even among Chosen, there are differences.’

He had met Chosen of Lolth, Bane, Eilistraee, Selûne, Azuth, and Tyr. Most of them weren’t legendary.

This Chosen of Oghma, the God of Knowledge, was the strongest Chosen Anser had encountered so far.

{When did he join the Spirit Net, and what has he been doing?} Anser couldn’t be bothered to check himself, so he simply asked Sakkors.

{He was among the first group to apply for membership in the Spirit Net, but I only approved him a week ago. His username is Wandering Silver Owl.}

{He has shared quite a few strange tales and anecdotes and submitted a considerable amount of knowledge. Because much of the content either overlapped with existing material or was too advanced, I only approved one book, titled An Introduction to Faerûnian Plucked-String Instruments. It has sold seventeen copies.}

{In addition, he created a bard forum where he shares some of his experiences and insights...}

Anser connected to the Spirit Net, ran a quick search, and browsed through the results. He soon had a general idea of the situation.

This Chosen was extremely active. He had a large number of friends on the Spirit Net and particularly enjoyed sharing his thoughts, experiences, and knowledge.

Just then, the Spirit Net chimed and displayed a notification:

[The photo and album features are now officially live. All members are welcome to try them!]

Detailed instructions were attached below, covering most functions, including Sending, news, knowledge, quests, forums, and profile pictures.

Anser hadn’t expected Sakkors to work so quickly. He had already gotten everything done.

A thought occurred to him. He looked up at the Chosen who was still performing, used the view through his own eyes as a camera to take a picture, uploaded it to the bard forum, and specifically made a post about it.

The post read: ”This is the best music I’ve heard all year. Can anyone tell me what instrument is in the picture?”

The cover image was visible even without opening the post.

The photo had turned out quite well. It perfectly captured the front of the instrument, along with the bard’s dashing posture and sharply chiseled profile.

The combination of motion and stillness was excellent, the colors were vivid, and the resolution was extraordinarily high. Even when zoomed in, the pores on his face were clearly visible.

The Spirit Net currently had only a little over four hundred thousand members, but because accessing it was so convenient, its members were extremely active.

In just over ten seconds, several comments had already appeared beneath the post, and its popularity continued to climb.

The photo feature was simply too far ahead of its time. That sense of lifelike immediacy wasn’t something an ordinary painting could compare with.

At that moment, the bard on the semicircular stage paused ever so slightly before quickly resuming as though nothing had happened.

Several dozen seconds later, the music ended.

He gave the audience a slight bow, then raised his head. When he saw the crowd’s lukewarm reaction—and even someone who had drooled all over the floor—his expression immediately stiffened.

Anser found it secretly amusing. A bard’s skill as a musician wasn’t necessarily proportional to his professional abilities.

The performance just now had been good, but it lacked passion, and it had been purely instrumental. It really wasn’t the sort of thing that left a deep impression.

The bard slung the instrument across his back, hopped lightly off the stage, and landed in front of Anser with a broad grin.

”Friend, you’ve got a good eye. And you’re good-looking too.”

”Huh? What?” Anser feigned confusion.

”My name is Shamar.” The bard sat down at the other end of the bench, leaving one empty seat between them. ”I saw the post you just made on the Spirit Net. That photo was fantastic. I’ve already saved it to my album.”

”Oh, you’re a Spirit Net member too? What a coincidence.” Anser put on a mildly surprised expression.

Whenever a new Spirit Net feature went live, every member received a notification unless they had deliberately disabled them, and very few people did that.

”Let’s add each other as friends.” Shamar looked Anser up and down, his eyes bright.

”Sure.”

They added each other. Anser’s Spirit Net username was ”Lord of the Holrewen Federation”—simple and straightforward.

”You’re Anser?” Shamar froze. At last, he realized who the man in front of him was.

”You know me?”

”I’ve seen portraits of you, but they don’t do you justice. A painting can’t capture your charm.”

”Charm?”

”Uh... presence!”

Anser pursed his lips. He was beginning to realize that this legendary figure in front of him was a little eccentric.

”Isn’t this a temple? Why are you performing here?” he asked.

”If you want it to be, anywhere can be a stage. The Lord of Knowledge doesn’t care about things like that.” Shamar waved a hand dismissively.

”I see. With the orcs besieging the city, I doubt anyone’s really in the mood to listen to music.” Anser began steering the conversation elsewhere.

”Yeah. My performances used to draw a full house every time.” Shamar glanced around the hall and shook his head regretfully.

Anser was speechless.

Was that really the point?

The point was that the city was under siege by orcs!

”What I mean is, haven’t the Cormyrean authorities and the major churches taken any measures?”

Only then did Shamar rein in his expression and turn serious. ”Did you come here specifically because of this?”

”Of course.” Anser’s expression became solemn. ”If you’ve been following the news on the Spirit Net, you should know something about the situation. The orcs may be preparing for a large-scale war of racial conquest. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done something like this.”

”They’re not preparing for one. They’ve already begun.” Shamar straightened his back, looking at Anser with a hint of admiration.

The orcs had been running rampant for so long, yet even neighboring Sembia had merely sent people over to investigate the situation.

Anser, on the other hand, was the ruler of an entire nation. Yet out of concern for the broader situation in Faerûn, he had actually come here alone to investigate.

What kind of noble spirit did that take!

---

I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> /TitoVillar

---