Trinity of Magic

Zeke looked down, taking in the state of his body.

Despite his horrendous appearance, he had long since realized the truth. The hastily conjured weaponry of the dwarven Metal Mage was nothing more than a mere inconvenience to him.

The blood that streamed from every wound made it appear as though he was on the verge of death, but that was by design. The relentless outpour concealed the true shallowness of his injuries. Throughout the entire barrage, Zeke had only sustained minor scratches.

Even Akasha’s weakening defense, which seemed like a sign of vulnerability, had been in response to the fact that none of these attacks could truly harm him.

Zeke pinched his skin as hard as he could. It felt soft and supple, but beneath it, he could feel an unyielding layer. It was as if he were wearing a suit of armor beneath his skin. It was at that very layer that most of the attacks had been stopped.

Fascinating.

Zeke’s gaze shifted to the two unmoving bodies sprawled on the ground, their forms stained with his blood.

Though he had hoped to learn more, Balin had granted him a brief but revealing glimpse of the truth in the final moments of the fights. First, the artifact in his hands was of immeasurable value—so much so that its very possession could shatter centuries of tradition, dishonoring even the royal family in the eyes of the continent.

Second, it became clear that Balin viewed the artifact not as a tool for personal gain, but as a weapon to serve a greater purpose—one that benefited a race, rather than an individual. Whatever power the artifact wielded, it seemed it could only reach its full potential when used for the greater good, for the collective rather than the singular.

Though he had hoped to glean more by feigning weakness, he was still satisfied with the outcome.

His gaze returned to the two motionless bodies sprawled on the ground. This was… troublesome. He hadn’t killed them, but striking down two esteemed scholars was no small matter. Worse yet, they weren’t just any scholars; they were elders of the renowned Ironhide and Stoneheart families—pillars of dwarven society.

Of course, Zeke’s actions had been entirely justified, but if word of this incident spread, keeping the existence of the World Anchor a secret would be impossible. No one would believe that two esteemed scholars had turned against him without cause.

It was a difficult problem, one that demanded a solution—quickly.

While considering his next move, Zeke extended both arms. Immediately, the crimson pool coating the hall began to shift. As if drawn into an invisible vortex, it spiraled inward, condensing toward him. But rather than seeping into the floor, the blood defied gravity, streaming upward and reentering his body.

In mere moments, not a single drop remained. Even the stray droplets spilled by Balin had been meticulously reclaimed. Now, the only signs of battle were a cracked section of the wall and the dozens of crude iron projectiles scattered across the floor.

There wasn’t much Zeke could do about those. He was neither an Earth Mage capable of mending stone nor a metalworker who could restore the weapons to their original form without a forge.

Erasing all traces of the fight was impossible—but in the end, it hardly mattered. Even if someone stumbled upon the aftermath, it was likely the scholars themselves who would work to keep the incident buried.

Zeke crossed his arms, his index finger tapping idly against his upper arm. Just like him, they had no interest in making today’s events public. As of this moment, only three people knew of the World Anchor’s existence, and revealing it to anyone else would only complicate their own efforts to claim it.

After all, a secret shared too widely was no secret at all.

His gaze hardened as he studied the unmoving forms of the two greedy scoundrels who had tried to rob and kill him. Even three people knowing about the World Anchor was two too many. If they couldn’t deal with him alone, they would undoubtedly turn to their families for help.

That would be an immense problem. He had just struck a deal with the Ironhide family—one they could easily leverage to strangle him financially. The Stoneheart family, on the other hand, would likely be even more dangerous.

This time, he wouldn’t underestimate how far they were willing to go to claim his treasure. If a so-called scholar had been ready to murder him in cold blood, there was no telling what the more militant-minded dwarves would do once they learned of the World Anchor’s existence.

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Should he kill the witnesses?

No. That wasn’t a viable solution either. If both of them turned up dead right after his visit, even a fool could pinpoint the culprit. At that point, the Stoneheart and Ironhide families would turn against him without hesitation. Provoking a dwarven blood feud was the last thing he needed.

It was a troublesome predicament. He couldn’t kill them, but he also couldn’t allow them to spread what they had learned.

Was there a way to ensure their silence?

The Memory Sealing Ritual came to mind, but it wasn’t a viable option. For one, there were ways to bypass its restrictions. Second, he had no means of setting one up here. And third—most importantly—he doubted he could even convince them to swear the oath in the first place.

The same applied to nearly every other ritual he could think of. He simply wasn’t in a position to make any of them happen.

Zeke’s expression darkened as a particular option surfaced in his mind. He could… attempt to erase their memories directly from their Souls.

Theoretically, it should be possible. Unlike the Archmage he had worked on in Undercity, these two weren’t overwhelmingly stronger than him. The danger was significantly lower.

Still, he hesitated.

Tampering with the Soul had always felt like a taboo—one of the few lines he believed should only be crossed as a last resort. Especially by an amateur like himself. Even with the utmost caution, there was no telling how much damage he might cause in his attempt to find and erase every trace of this event from their minds.

Even so, two compelling reasons kept him from dismissing the idea entirely.

First, he had little concern for these two. Even if their Souls were damaged in the process, it wouldn’t make much difference. Their journey as Mages had long since reached its end.

The second reason—far more tempting—was the opportunity to learn more about the World Anchor from their memories. Even if he only erased their recollection of recent events, he would inevitably brush against deeper knowledge of the artifact. After all, memories did not exist in isolation; they were a tangled web of past and present, interwoven with countless sensations and insights…

Zeke’s brows furrowed, questioning his own thoughts. Where was this certainty coming from?

He had always struggled to grasp the complexities of the Soul—its structure, its workings. But now, the picture had never been clearer. What had once seemed like an intricate web of near-impossible calculations had become as straightforward as simple arithmetic.

With a jolt, he realized the source of his newfound clarity. These insights had not come naturally; they had been gained from two key experiences—his observations of Augustus Geistreich and the assimilation with the Mind Eater. The former had provided structure to his understanding, while the latter had altered his mind in ways that made deciphering the nature of the Soul feel... effortless.

Zeke’s gaze flicked to the two unconscious figures on the ground. In that moment, a firm resolve settled within him. He was going to do it. Not only did he stand to gain immensely, but he also craved the opportunity to test himself and his newfound understanding of the Soul. Chances like this were rare, and he couldn’t say how long it would be before another such opportunity came around.

With a deep breath, Zeke extended his senses and connected to his private beacon in Tradespire. Among the supplies he always kept there was a healthy stock of Supra root. He had learned the hard way how valuable it could be, especially when dealing with a powerful Mage. It was always wise to keep a reserve on hand. After all, one never knew when the need to subdue an opponent might arise.

However, that was not the purpose for which Zeke intended to use the extract now. He had once discovered that when a Mage’s Core was suppressed, their mental defenses became significantly weakened. This, in turn, made it much easier to manipulate the Soul itself.

Without hesitation, Zeke administered a portion of the extract to each of the dwarfs. The potent substance slid down their throats effortlessly, while his telekinesis ensured their windpipes were sealed shut. A wry smile tugged at his lips as he considered the irony—after all the trouble he had gone through to keep them alive, it would be almost absurd for them to suffocate from a mere sip of water.

With all his preparations complete, Zeke settled in to wait. The extract would take a few minutes to take effect, but the passing time felt agonizingly slow. Every second seemed to stretch longer as the possibility of being discovered loomed closer. His gaze darted toward the door far more often than he would have liked to admit.

He couldn’t help himself.

This was the worst possible time to be caught. There was no way to explain why he had drugged the two scholars, and it wouldn’t take much for anyone to realize that his intentions were far from honorable. Drugging an already defeated opponent was hardly a decision that would paint him in a good light.

Fortunately, the guards showed no sign of interrupting his actions. Zeke couldn’t decide if it was out of respect for the scholars or simply a lack of concern for his strength. After all, it was hard to believe that these two respected elders—Mages who had likely lived for centuries—could be in any real danger from a junior like him, someone who had not even reached his twentieth year.

If they had truly believed otherwise, they likely wouldn’t have been so negligent with their security.

Zeke couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he could get away with being underestimated. Despite his many achievements, the public perception still saw him as a promising young talent—nothing more than that. He was not yet considered a true threat to the established powerhouses of the world.

Ideally, Zeke wanted to keep that image intact for as long as possible. After all, if word spread that several Archmages—and even a Progenitor—had fallen prey to his schemes, he would never again be able to walk through a room without everyone around him tightening their grip on their weapons. That kind of attention would make things far more difficult.

As he passed the time, contemplating such matters, Zeke felt the Mana within the two dwarfs begin to wane. The once-potent energy that flowed through them grew steadily weaker. Finally, after about a dozen minutes, the fluctuations stopped entirely.

It was time.