Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

The matches on the arena continued, one after another, like a never-ending assembly line, producing victors and corpses.

Blood stained the stone slabs, only to be washed away by a cleansing spell, repeating the cycle endlessly, as if nothing had ever happened.

Taking this opportunity, Dago scanned the powerful figures of the other factions with the sharp eyes of a hawk.

He wasn't just watching the spectacle; he was assessing the situation and searching for potential obstacles that might hinder him.

His gaze first fell on the area of ​​the Lava Brotherhood.

There, the heat was intense, and the air itself seemed distorted by the high temperature.

The Lava Brotherhood, needless to say, is none other than Igorshius, who has the blood of an ancient fire demon flowing through his veins.

That person was like a human powder keg; even just sitting there quietly, the surrounding air seemed to be ignited, making crackling and popping sounds.

His skin had a dark red color, like magma that had cooled, with what looked like flowing firelight beneath it.

He sat there, and no one dared to approach within three meters of him, as if he were a moving forbidden zone.

That violent, scorching, and destructive aura could suffocate people even from a great distance.

That's talent, an unreasonable talent. God not only gave you a gift, but also fed you with a spoon that can flip the table.

Next up is the Black Swamp.

Ang remained in that half-dead, eccentric state, holding a silk handkerchief and carefully wiping his pale fingers.

Among the gloomy and eerie wizards of the Black Swamp, he truly stood out, and there was no one else more flamboyant than him.

His flirtatiousness wasn't the kind that flaunts glamour in public, but rather a kind of sinister charm that emanated from his very bones, like a spider lily blooming on a rotting corpse—beautifully eerie, yet deadly poisonous.

He seemed completely uninterested in the competition, his eyes wandering, occasionally a mocking smile playing on his lips, as if he were watching a group of monkeys doing somersaults on a stage.

Then, Dago's gaze shifted to the Dark Crystal Cult.

There sat a dark blood-type genius wizard named Rufus.

The first impression this person gives is that they are "clean".

Too clean, so clean that it doesn't look like a black-robed blood sorcerer who deals with blood and entrails all day.

His skin was fair, but not in the deathly pale way like Ang's. Instead, it had an unusual rosy and vibrant color, like a freshly peeled boiled egg, exuding a strange vitality.

He was handsome, with exquisitely sculpted features. His hair was deep red, combed back meticulously, with the ends slightly raised, shimmering with a lustrous sheen under the light, as if it were not hair, but thick, ever-flowing blood.

However, what was most unsettling was his eyes.

The pupils of those eyes were extremely small, like tiny black dots poked with a needle tip, surrounded by large expanses of white, which made up almost 90% of the eyes.

When he looks at you, you don't feel any emotional fluctuation, only the dread of being stared at by a cold-blooded animal.

That wasn't the gaze of a human; it was the gaze of a predator living in the deep sea or deep underground—cold, empty, yet filled with a primal thirst for flesh and blood.

This person is extremely low-key, as low-key as a drop of water merging into the ocean.

From the start of the competition, he sat quietly in the corner of the stands, his hands folded on his knees, his back ramrod straight, like a well-bred aristocratic scion attending a dull concert.

He never displayed any unique or imposing aura, nor did he unleash his power as recklessly as Igesius; in fact, his breathing was so faint as to be barely audible.

Even when it was his turn to make a move, he simply stood up slowly, walked onto the arena, and then simply raised a finger to use the most basic and ordinary dark blood magic spell—"Blood Boiling".

There were no fancy incantations, no exaggerated gestures, and even the fluctuations of magic were pitifully weak.

But his opponent, a defensive wizard, in that instant, had his blood vessels bulge out like inflated balloons, his skin turn bright red, and then with a "poof," blood flowed from his seven orifices, and he collapsed straight down.

The whole process was so fast that it was impossible to react, and there was no bloodshed whatsoever, yet it sent a chill down your spine.

That wasn't the power of magic; it was absolute control over life.

He was like a skilled surgeon, precisely severing his opponent's lifeline, cleanly and efficiently, without a single unnecessary movement.

After ending the match, he quietly walked back to his seat, maintaining that statue-like posture, as if the battle had nothing to do with him.

but……

Dago's eyes narrowed slightly, his mental energy acting like invisible tentacles, keenly capturing the barely perceptible flow of information in the air.

He could clearly sense that the "monarch" of the Thunder Tower, Gehrman, the man who sat high on the throne like a thunder god descending to earth, was actually focusing at least 50% of his attention on this Dark Crystal Cult wizard named Rufus, although he appeared to be paying attention to the entire scene.

Dago recognized that look. It was the look a predator would give when it spotted another predator that threatened its position while patrolling its territory.

Vigilance, scrutiny, and even a hint of barely perceptible... apprehension.

"Dark Crystal Cult..."

Dago silently repeated the name in his heart.

This is the only behemoth among the six major forces that can rival the Thunder Tower, and it is a level stronger than the other four major forces.

It is a gathering place for black-robed wizards, a gray area where chaos and order coexist, and a breeding ground known for its most brutal and intense competition.

In such a place where people devour each other without spitting out the bones, to be able to rise from countless corpses and occupy the top position, this Rufus is definitely not as simple as he appears on the surface.

"A barking dog doesn't bite." This old saying suddenly came to Ronan's mind.

Rufus was like a venomous snake lurking in the shadows, concealing all its scales and fangs, disguising itself as a harmless withered branch.

But if you relax even slightly and reveal the slightest weakness, he will suddenly strike, injecting venom into your bloodstream and causing you to die silently.

In comparison, while Igesius's rage was terrifying, at least it was traceable; while Ang's evil was bizarre, at least it was out in the open.

Only this Rufus is like a fog, making it impossible to see his true nature.

"It seems this feast not only includes main dishes, but also fish with bones."

Dago's lips curled up slightly, revealing a barely perceptible smile, and his heart, that of a strong man, began to beat powerfully.

He liked this feeling, this feeling full of unknowns and challenges.

"Violet," Dargo suddenly spoke.

"Huh?" Violet, who was still marveling at the "miracle light," came back to her senses and looked at him somewhat blankly.

"If I were you, I'd start researching Rufus right now, even if it's just about what kind of bread he likes," Dago said calmly, his gaze still fixed on the red-haired youth. "Because if you meet him in the ring, and you don't know him, you might not even have a chance to admit defeat."

Violet felt a chill run down her spine upon hearing this. Following Dago's gaze, she saw that the red-haired youth who had been sitting quietly suddenly looked hideous, as if a gaping maw was opening in the shadows behind him.

This isn't a competition; it's clearly a meeting of monsters dressed in human skin.

And these ordinary people are nothing more than decorations on the edge of the banquet, or... lambs to the slaughter.

The six "Suns of Miracles" still hung high in the sky, radiating eternal light, illuminating the battle on the arena and the scheming expressions on everyone's faces.

In this bizarre and fantastical wizarding world, light is often the most dazzling disguise.

True terror always lurks in the shadows where light cannot reach, just like the three decaying rings on Anglie's fingernails, silently pulsating, foreshadowing some unspeakable future.