Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

"Sizzle—"

The blazing blue current in the void didn't seem like the glow of magic; rather, it was like a blunder that tore apart this bleak canvas—abrupt, jarring, and with a tooth-grinding, burnt smell.

A figure suddenly appeared beside Dago as soon as the sound was heard.

The newcomer was a middle-aged man with thick eyebrows and a high nose. His face was as stern as an iron plate just dragged out of an ice cellar, and the aura emanating from him was so heavy that it was hard to breathe—it was the pressure of a third-ring wizard, the natural and unreasonable oppression of a superior over a subordinate.

He stared intently at the horrific state of Gehrman on the ground, not with the gaze one would give a fellow human, but rather as if looking at a damaged piece of precious porcelain. His eyes twitched violently a few times.

"Anglio!!"

The name was squeezed out between his teeth, tinged with blood, as if he wished he could chew those words to pieces and swallow them whole, along with the man's bone fragments, to vent the anger in his heart.

He didn't even glance at Dago—in his view, Dago, a "survivor" still standing and unharmed, was either an insignificant weed or an accomplice yet to be exposed; neither was worth his precious time.

His withered, claw-like hand quickly grabbed the kneeling, lifeless Gehrman, and glanced coldly at Dago. His eyes were devoid of warmth, filled only with a condescending indifference to the life and death of ants.

Then, he suddenly shot off in one direction with the force of thunder, disappearing without a trace in an instant, leaving behind only a mess and static electricity in the air that stung the skin.

Dago stood on the empty fighting arena, without moving.

He looked around and what he saw was an absurd and bloody scene.

Chaotic battles are erupting everywhere.

Those wizarding geniuses who were perfectly fine and well-dressed just moments before, perhaps discussing the elegance of magic runes and the wonders of potions, suddenly erupted in a rage, like puppets held by some invisible strings, and began to attack their fellow wizards.

The sounds of swords piercing flesh, the roars of magic, and the distorted screams intertwined, evolving into a rhapsody called "Betrayal."

On the Thorn Ring side, Dago saw several familiar faces.

Among them was even the magical genius of the Ring of Law, Derby, who had traveled with him all the way here.

Dago remembered this man; he was usually taciturn, with a humble and reserved smile on his face, like an honest and unassuming apprentice.

But now? He has completely abandoned his previous composure, his face now contorted with rage and fanaticism, his eyes burning with a flame that defies reason, and he wields his staff like a sickle to harvest wheat, except that what he is harvesting is not wheat, but human lives.

Not far away, Barker was seriously injured by someone, his face as pale as a crumpled piece of paper, and he was being firmly protected by Carlos and Ronald.

The two stood back to back, like a reef in a stormy sea, struggling but still holding on.

What's even more alarming is that a large number of figures draped in black robes appeared out of thin air, emerging from the goblin plains surrounding the venue.

Their faces were obscured, their hoods pulled low, revealing only a pale chin. They chanted the slogan "Resurrection and Salvation," their voices deep and resonant, like death knells from the earth, each toll striking the heart and drawing more people into the fray.

Salvation? A mocking smile curled at the corner of Dago's lips. Almost every executioner needs to find a grand reason before raising their blade, as if shouting loud enough will wash the blood off their hands.

"Igesius!"

A furious roar suddenly echoed from afar, filled with disbelief and despair: "Even the Sarkiers family has betrayed us?!"

Dago abruptly turned his head and looked through the layers of magical light, only to see a terrifying figure whose entire body was covered in orange-gold flames.

The figure rampaged through the Water Palace's territory, turning everything in its path, whether people or objects, to ashes, leaving behind patches of charred marks and wisps of smoke.

That was the power of a fourth-level miracle wizard, the overlord of this land, but now, this overlord has become a demon who slaughters his own people.

In a daze, Dago seemed to see a strange pattern of six overlapping rings appear before him.

The pattern hung in mid-air, rotating silently. The upper three rings were intact, radiating a holy light; the lower three rings were broken, dripping with foul blood.

A resurgence of the past!

Dago was shaken, his eyes reflecting the "miracle days" colliding and clashing wildly in the night sky above.

Those high-ranking figures are also fighting now, their lights flickering like vultures vying for food.

Ang is a member of the Old Days Revival Society. People like him have a destructive element in their character. They are crazy and paranoid, and it seems natural for them to do any unconventional things.

He's like an unstable bomb; Dago wouldn't be surprised if he exploded anytime soon.

What truly surprised Dargo, and even sent chills down his spine, was how thoroughly the Old Ones had infiltrated the six major wizarding factions.

Not to mention those wizards in the second or third ring, take Derby for example. He looks honest on the surface, but who knows what kind of thoughts are hidden under his skin?

Yet, they had already reached the fourth level of the Miracle, becoming powerful figures who were leaders of their own factions. For example, Igorseus was also a member of the Revival Society.

"...Under the light of miracles, how could those lurking in the shadows possibly have a chance to cause trouble?"

Dargo had heard people say this with such certainty. But now it seemed like a complete joke.

What if even the "miracle" itself... has been eroded by shadows? If the light itself is black, then where in this world is there any place that is clean?

The thought sent a chill down Dagger's spine. He gritted his teeth, his cheeks puffed out slightly, and his eyes sharpened instantly.

We can't stay here anymore; this place is a meat grinder.

He charged towards the direction of the ring road, his boots slamming into the ground with a loud thud, and he shot out like an arrow.

However, halfway there, it was as if he had stumbled into a clump of sticky glue and touched a "silver-white wall" that was as smooth as a mirror.

There was no loud impact, nor any bloodshed. He passed through easily without any hindrance; the feeling was strange, as if he were passing through a film of water.

Immediately afterwards, I felt a sudden dizziness and "regressed" back to the starting point.

Dago was slightly taken aback. He didn't believe it and adjusted his posture, trying it several times from different directions.

Left, right, top, even diagonal blind spots—every time, no matter how fast he rushed or how tricky the angle he used, he got the same result.

That's a trick of space, a cruel twist of the rules.

"The power of spatial magic array..."

Dago stopped, ceasing his futile attempts. He seemed trapped, like a fly caught in a glass, able to see the light outside but unable to fly away.

But he doesn't seem to be the only one who's "trapped".

Standing before the mirrored wall shimmering with silver light, Dago looked around. Similar mirrored walls were everywhere, crisscrossing and dividing the vast battlefield into separate small areas.

This is not just cutting up; this is penning, this is the fence of a slaughterhouse.

Only the Resurrection Society wizards, dressed in black robes, like privileged ghosts or jailers holding cell keys, could freely roam this mirrored labyrinth, reaping one life after another.

"Is it one of the two miraculous artifacts obtained from the core area of ​​the Mirror Forest?"

The thought flashed through Dago's mind. If even miracle wizards could "betray" someone, it wouldn't be surprising if someone from the Revival Society obtained one or two miracle artifacts.

In this world, if the price is right, what can't you buy? What can't you sell?

So, is their real goal the broken World Stone?

Dago pondered that in times like these, the more panicked you are, the faster you'll die.

He forced himself to calm down and gently brushed his hand across the empty space in front of him.

His fingertips touched the invisible barrier, and in the ripples that spread outwards, he saw the scene not far away.

That's Carlos.

Carlos was watching him through that eerie mirror.

The latter's face was taut, his usually carefree expression now filled with solemnity. He looked at Dago with a complex gaze, as if he were looking at an old friend about to depart, or as if he were looking at a drowning person who could not be saved.

His lips moved, but no sound came out, yet Dago understood the shape of his mouth.

It was a helpless yet resolute tone: "Dago... take care of yourself..."

Dago looked at him, paused for a moment, and then nodded to him. The nod was light, yet heavy. It was a farewell, and also a promise—I will live, even if I live like a wild dog.

He turned away, no longer looking at Carlos, nor at the tragedies unfolding. Compassion is the cheapest and most useless thing in times like these; it can't save others, it will only kill you.

He needs to calm down and think about how to break the deadlock.

Compared to the chaotic and bloody battlefields everywhere, his current location was quite calm, like the eye of a storm.

Until now, no one from the Old Days Revival Society has noticed him, or rather, those executioners in black robes haven't had time to clean up this corner yet.

"First, we need to find a way to break out of this battlefield divided by magical artifacts. If we can't rescue the Magic Ring, at least we need to ensure our own safety..."

This is not just selfishness, it's rationality.

Dago's fingertips gently caressed his cuffs, feeling the texture of the cards he held, his mind racing as he calculated the various possibilities of escape.

Just then, a dark shadow silently appeared at the edge of his field of vision.

It was a figure in black robes, like a drop of ink falling into clear water, quietly entering his field of vision.

Dago's expression shifted slightly, but he didn't seem surprised. He simply took two steps forward, his movements as natural as if he were taking a stroll. But his hand was already seemingly casually reaching for his left earring.

That was his medium for casting spells, and also his fangs.

He was ready to fight at any moment. If the man in black robes made the slightest move, he would use the most swift and decisive means to blast him into dust.

The black-robed figure was clearly also after him, his killing intent palpable, and the stench of blood could be smelled from a great distance.

It looked like it was about to pounce on him, like a hungry wolf that had spotted its prey.

Unexpectedly, a sudden change occurred.

The figure in black robes was suddenly gently pulled back.

The movement was very light, like the tug-of-war between old friends, but the effect was immediate.

The black-robed man, exuding a murderous aura, abruptly stopped in his tracks, turning around with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

"Don't worry about that for now."

A voice rang out, calm and indifferent, devoid of any discernible emotion, as if discussing an insignificant item.

"Why?" the man in black robes asked hoarsely, his voice tinged with dissatisfaction. "That's also a variable."

"He has the crucial Worldstone coordinates on him..." the person who had grabbed him said slowly, his gaze seemingly piercing through the shadow of the hood and landing on Dago with a scrutinizing and mocking look. "Moreover, this guy's life... has already been decided."

Have you made a reservation?

Dago's fingers, which were touching the earring, paused slightly, and his brows furrowed involuntarily. This didn't sound like a compliment.

The only question is, who is this "pre-ordained" being who wants to kill him?