Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

"A sumptuous and delicious feast, and even more interesting things... are yet to come, aren't they?"

Ang raised his hand, which was so pale it resembled the tentacle of some cave-dwelling creature that never saw the sun, with long and strong fingers.

He was facing the six "miracle days" in the sky, a meaningful smile playing on his lips, silently admiring his fingernails.

His expression didn't resemble that of a gladiator about to enter a battlefield of carnage; rather, it resembled that of an old man admiring and examining newly unearthed funerary artifacts that still smelled of earth in an antique shop.

He seemed to be admiring a unique and exquisite work of art, his eyes filled with an almost pathological obsession.

No one saw it, and no one cared about the fingernails of a madman.

On his bloodless, pale fingernails, an extremely tiny pattern was pulsating with a strange frequency, like the gasping of some dying creature.

Those were six overlapping rings.

The three above are beautiful and complete, shimmering with an almost holy, dazzling luster, just like the six blazing suns hanging overhead, shining brightly, making it seem as if there are no dark corners in the world, and even filling in the ravines in people's hearts.

The next three... are rotten and incomplete.

They resembled beams hollowed out by termites, or black scabs forming on festering wounds, exuding an indescribable aura of death.

It was a color that had rotted from the root, gray and cold, yet stubbornly clinging to the bright and shiny surface, as if it were about to burst forth from the soil at any moment and devour the false light above.

Ang's smile deepened; it was the smile of a spectator who had seen through the trick, carrying three parts indifference and seven parts anticipation.

There are probably no miracles in this world. So-called miracles are nothing more than hiding rotten flesh under brocade and then sprinkling it with a thick layer of fragrant powder.

"Dago, you've become even stronger."

Violet walked over, her steps heavy, like a traveler who had been trudging through mud for a long time, each step filled with hesitation and weariness.

He sat down next to Dago and spoke in a low, complex voice.

His voice contained envy, awe, and a hint of loneliness—a feeling he himself was unwilling to admit—of being left far behind.

He had witnessed the entire battle that Dago had just fought.

The opponent was that Black Swamp Wizard in the late second ring. That guy was quite a figure in the Black Nightmare Swamp, a quagmire filled with poison and intrigue.

Although he is not a famous figure who can stop children from crying, the fact that he is qualified to represent the Black Nightmare Swamp proves that he is definitely a top ten combat genius in the Black Nightmare Swamp.

That corrosive voodoo shield and that unpredictable shadow tentacle would have turned anyone else into a puddle of pus long ago.

Violet silently estimated in her mind that if she were in that position, facing that sinister opponent, her chances of winning would probably be less than 30%.

This still includes the few trump cards he has up his sleeve. If he were to fight to the death, he might end up dying together with his enemies, which would be an incredible stroke of luck.

But even such a powerful figure was defeated by Dago without even a single exchange.

That wasn't a battle, that was a crushing defeat.

It was like a strong man casually swatting a buzzing fly, without even a flicker of emotion in his eyes.

With a simple gesture, Dago caused the Black Swamp wizard to collapse like a kite with a broken string, all his defenses crumbling in an instant.

Dago could probably defeat him in just one move, right? No, maybe not even one move. Just a thought, a pressure of aura, would be enough to bring this so-called "genius" to his knees.

How long has it been since his first encounter with Dago? Back then, although he was no match for him, at least he could still see the other's back and secretly vow to catch up.

But now, that figure has disappeared into the clouds, becoming unreachable, as if they were not even the same species.

Violet felt a strange surge of emotion, like a pot of boiling offal soup, a mixture of all sorts of feelings.

Only those who have gotten close enough to him can know just how terrifying the talent hidden beneath the calm exterior of this young man truly is!

That's not a talent that humans should have; it's the ability of a monster, some ancient and powerful being disguised in human skin.

Looking at Dargo's excessively youthful profile, Violet even had the illusion that the person sitting next to him was not a person, but a dormant volcano, or a bottomless ocean.

Dago didn't turn his head; his gaze remained calmly fixed on the ring, as if the breathtaking instant kill just moments before was merely a speck of dust he casually brushed off his clothes.

Hearing Violet's words, he merely tilted his head slightly and casually asked:

"Have you spoken to the Tower Master about the Old Revival Society?"

His voice was soft yet clear, like a cool spring in the noisy stands, instantly bringing Violet back to her senses from her complex emotions.

"They said the third and fourth tower masters would inform the other factions, and an investigation should begin after the competition..."

Violet thought for a moment, organized her thoughts, and tried to make her words sound less discouraging. "I sent a message to Steele to look up some information. According to records about the Old Age Revival Society in the French Ring, their last appearance in the south was more than 500 years ago."

Although that incident caused some unrest and destroyed several small wizarding settlements, it was quickly quelled by the joint enforcement team at the time… I think we might have been a little too cautious.”

When he said that, he was actually unsure of himself.

The tower masters' reactions were far too indifferent, as if they had heard that an apprentice had broken a beaker in the laboratory.

That condescending and nonchalant attitude left him, a witness to the event, feeling powerless.

Violet looked up at the six enormous and dazzling "suns" under the starry sky.

That was the symbol of the six major powers, the embodiment of power, the sword of Damocles hanging over the heads of all wizards, and also their protective umbrella.

"Under the light of miracles, something that can only hide in the shadows should have little chance to cause trouble..."

He sighed, his tone carrying a self-comforting quality.

It was as if as long as the light remained, the rats in the sewers, the rotting corpses, and the ancient curses would never be able to cause any trouble.

This is a common problem among members of powerful groups: they are used to seeking shade under giant trees, but forget that the area under the roots of trees is often where insects and ants are most concentrated.

They believe in order, in rules, and in the sun overhead that can kill all bacteria, but they don't know that some bacteria thrive on the sun.

Upon hearing this, Dago neither refuted nor agreed, but simply nodded and said nothing more.

His eyes were deep and unfathomable, like two tranquil ancient wells.

He knew perfectly well that what he called "caution" was often equated with "meddling" in the eyes of those high-ranking figures.

Before the feast begins, who wants to listen to those discouraging and depressing words? Even if the table is crawling with maggots, as long as the tablecloth is still white and the meat on the plate is still fragrant, they will raise their glasses and drink heartily, pretending they didn't see anything.

This is human nature, and this is also the nature of a wizard.

On the path of pursuing truth, sometimes arrogance is more terrifying than ignorance.

These six blazing suns shone so brightly that it was impossible to see what fangs were hidden in the shadows.