Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

"Whoosh—"

A sharp, tearing sound, like tearing silk, was not the sound of an ordinary blade slicing through cloth, but rather the sound of space itself being forcibly cut open by sharp rules.

The cold glint of the mirror dagger flashed and disappeared in an instant. Dago's figure vanished like a pencil drawing erased by an eraser, only to be re-examined in another forcibly separated small space in the blink of an eye.

This place is both a prison constructed from miraculous artifacts and a hunting ground.

Before he could even steady himself, and before his seemingly world-weary eyes could even scan the surrounding murky world, a terrifying magical power rushed towards him.

It was a foul-smelling, putrid energy tide, like a swamp that had buried countless corpses suddenly unleashing a giant wave, threatening to completely engulf this uninvited guest.

Dago remained unmoved. There was no panic on his face, not even a twitch of his eyebrows, as if the overwhelming killing intent was nothing more than a morning breeze or a dog barking by the roadside.

He simply raised his hand calmly and made a slashing motion.

The movements were simple and powerful, without any unnecessary frills, like a woodcutter wielding an axe or a butcher dissecting an ox.

"Sizzle!"

A dazzling silvery-white light, like the Milky Way suddenly splashed across the night sky, outlined a crescent-shaped blade.

Immediately afterwards, a fierce, eerie blue flame rose wildly from the blade; it was a cold fire from the depths of the soul, a temperature that did not belong to this human world.

The crescent-shaped blade collided with the immense energy tide.

There was no earth-shattering explosion, only a teeth-grinding scraping sound.

That seemingly invincible energy tide was actually forcibly cut open, creating a narrow gap that could only allow one person to pass through.

This is the essence of power: it lies not in grand gestures, but in delivering a fatal blow.

Dago's figure blurred again, like a drop of ink falling into clear water, suddenly turning into light and shadow and disappearing.

When he reappeared, he was already standing in a blind spot outside the magical frenzy, his clothes fluttering, yet spotless.

Only then did he have a chance to take a good look at the "hunter" in front of him.

The two Resurrection Society wizards, shrouded in black robes, had their faces hidden in the deep shadows of their hoods, making them difficult to see clearly. Only their fingers, visible on their staffs, were as pale as the bones of a dead man.

They were coldly approaching him, chanting incantations and casting spells without stopping, clearly intending to crush this "rat" that had broken into the cage into powder.

On the other side, a young wizard dressed in the style of the Scarlet Tower was also approaching him.

The man wore a sinister smile, a smile that reeked of nauseating bloodlust.

His hands hung down naturally, and fresh blood dripped from his fingertips onto the ground. It was the blood of his comrades, warm and viscous.

Dago's gaze swept over the group indifferently, as if he were looking at a few dry stones.

"Two were from the early stages of the Third Ring Road development, and one was from the later stages of the Second Ring Road development."

He silently assessed the situation. In this cannibalistic world, his strength wasn't top-tier, but it was certainly not weak either.

If a fight really breaks out, these people working together could cause him some trouble.

Can we fight? Of course we can.

With his current abilities, it wouldn't be difficult for him to kill these people within three to five rounds.

However, this deal is not worthwhile.

In this chaotic battlefield, time and magic are life.

Killing these people would only waste time and bring shame upon us, without any benefit whatsoever.

But it's unnecessary.

This is probably the self-awareness of a mature hunter: not stopping for pointless killing, but moving forward only for the ultimate goal.

A slightly cool sensation came from the mirror dagger in my hand, which was the signal that the cooldown time was over.

Without the slightest hesitation, Dago gripped the dagger in his backhand and gently stabbed himself in the shoulder.

"Whoosh—"

The movements were so practiced it was heartbreaking, as if the knife wasn't piercing one's own flesh, but rather a tattered rag.

His figure vanished into thin air once again, leaving only the three Resurrection Society wizards standing there, looking at each other with uncertain expressions, as if they had swallowed a dead fly.

"Clatter—"

With a soft thud, Dago's feet landed once again on the hard stone slab of the fighting arena.

He looked around; the old frost that had been released earlier had not completely melted, and a bone-chilling cold permeated the air.

The surrounding area was still filled with the chaotic sounds of fighting, but this small arena seemed to have become a place of tranquility in the eye of the storm.

"They're back."

Dago's eyes flickered slightly, and a faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "It's good that you're back."

This brief journey, though seemingly fruitless, gave him a chance to catch his breath and reflect.

It's like when you're drowning, you suddenly stick your head out and take a breath of fresh air. Even though you still have to sink, at least your mind is clear.

He realized he had been a bit too arrogant, underestimating the Miracle-tier artifact in the hands of the Revival Society.

That thing wasn't just a cage that divided space; it was more like a living, constantly wriggling stomach.

The Mirror Dagger's teleportation ability is indeed domineering; it can break through the temporary spatial barrier constructed by that miraculous artifact and move freely within it, just like a universal key.

However, under the control of that magical artifact, the spatial positions of these separated independent spaces are constantly changing drastically.

One second you're in the east, the next you might be in the west, or even upside down.

Judging the landing point solely by memory of location is simply inaccurate.

Although the structural diagram of the entire competition venue was clearly outlined in Dago's mind, he remembered every brick and every pillar clearly.

But after several attempts, the final spatial landing points he achieved were completely different from what he remembered.

It's like playing with a constantly spinning Rubik's Cube. You think you've landed on the red side, but when you land, it's pitch black.

"Spatial turbulence...or some kind of random algorithm."

Dago thought to himself, his brows furrowing slightly.

Of course, that's not the most troublesome part.

The most troublesome thing in this world is never that the road is difficult to travel, but that someone is chasing you.

"The Apocalypse Society has discovered that I am 'escaping'. I have the World Stone coordinates they want, which are the fat meat in their eyes. They will not let me go."

Dago pondered, his fingers lightly stroking the hilt of the mirror dagger. "They should catch up soon."

This is what is known as "possessing a treasure is a crime".

In this dog-eat-dog world, the more valuable your possessions are, the less valuable your life becomes.

Just then, the first rays of dawn broke through the sky.

But this light is not warm.

Dago looked up and saw the deep blue night sky on the distant horizon rapidly receding, the once-shining stars disappearing one by one, as if fearing what was about to come.

A bright white light pierced the darkness from the distant horizon.

But at the boundary between black and white, there was not a clear sky, but rather a gray fog.

That was deathly stillness, a gloomy atmosphere.

The morning light was inexplicably blocked, falling rapidly and creating a mirror-like reflection on the ground.

The empty goblin plains now seemed to have transformed into a vast and calm body of water.

The morning light shone on it, creating ripples that spread like mercury across the ground, exuding an eerie and desolate atmosphere.

Then, the ripples broke.

one two Three……

Twelve figures in black robes, like ghosts crawling out of hell, appeared abruptly on the distant horizon.

They moved with incredible speed and unstoppable momentum, rapidly approaching.

They came toward Dago from all directions.

In the rising morning light, their figures cast twelve long, twisted shadows on the ground, like twelve black venomous snakes, slithering toward their prey.

"call--"

Dago exhaled softly, and the breath turned into a cloud of white mist in the cold air.

His expression was quite calm, without fear or panic, only an almost numb calmness.

He had anticipated this situation after he first used the Mirror Dagger—or rather, after his swift and decisive killing of Igsius and Yadar.

When the young are beaten, the old ones come; when the weak are killed, the strong ones come.

This is the rule of the martial arts world, and also the operating principle of this world.

I just didn't expect them to arrive so quickly and in such an orderly fashion.

Twelve third-ring wizards.

If this force were deployed elsewhere, it would be enough to wipe out a small duchy.

but……

It doesn't matter anymore.

If you don't even have this much awareness, what are you doing learning witchcraft or seeking the Tao? You might as well go home and sell sweet potatoes.

Soon, twelve black-robed wizards from the Revival Society arrived before Dargo.

Instead of making a move, they formed a circle, trapping Dago firmly in the middle.

Each of them emanated a powerful spiritual energy fluctuation belonging to a third-ring wizard.

Those fluctuations intertwined, naturally forming a massive and invisible pressure, like a mountain slowly crushing towards Dago.

The air seemed to freeze, making it difficult to even breathe.

"I told you so."

Among the twelve figures in black robes, a voice came from beneath the leader's black robe.

The voice was somewhat hoarse and shrill, like fingernails scraping across a blackboard, sending chills down one's spine.

She walked out from among the twelve people step by step, her movements elegant and composed, as if she were not on a battlefield, but attending a grand ball.

He stretched out a hand, a pale, slender hand devoid of color, but with nails painted black, as if stained with ink.

He gently pulled down the hood covering his head, revealing a bewitching face covered with twisted black lines.

That face, which might have been handsome, is now completely ruined by those black markings, exuding an evil beauty.

"You are mine."

He smiled at Dago. That smile was anything but warm; instead, it sent chills down one's spine.

His dark green lips, as if soaked in poison, were slowly torn open, bit by bit, all the way to his ears.

This exaggerated arc is something no normal human being could possess.

His expression was bizarre, exuding an indescribable eeriness and madness.

Those eyes held a mixture of intense resentment and extreme joy.

It's like a hunter finally catching the prey he's longed for, like a hungry ghost finally seeing blood-soaked meat, like a perverse satisfaction of finally getting what he wants.

"Viser".

Dago narrowed his eyes slightly and calmly uttered the man's name. His tone was as indifferent as if he had just bumped into an old neighbor he hadn't seen in years and was casually greeting him on the street.

That man who was like a mad dog back then.

He was the first person to bring Dago deep despair, the first person to drag him into the abyss of death like a dead dog.

In a sense, it was he who, through that extreme pain and torment, gave him a "new life" for the first time, making him understand the importance of power and letting him discard his useless naivety.

He had killed the other man once. He killed him completely, leaving not even ashes.

Now, she's back.

They have crawled back from hell with greater power and deeper resentment.

"The Third Ring Road".

Dago sensed the aura emanating from Viser; the fluctuations were far stronger and more solid than before.

His eyes flickered slightly, but that was all.

When Viser appeared before him as a member of the Old Revival Society, Dargo showed absolutely no surprise.

Some people are destined to rot in the darkness and perish in madness.

People like Viser have twisted personalities and act in extreme ways; they are born "terrorists."

Joining the wizarding world's "terrorist organization," the Apocalypse Old Ones, was perfectly logical for him, like a fish returning to water or a maggot burrowing into flesh.

However, the speed at which the opponent's strength had improved surprised Dago.

It seems that, in pursuit of revenge and power, this person has probably sold his soul to the devil.

But so what?

If I can kill you once, I can kill you a second time.

This world is a place where people prey on each other; it's either you die or I perish.

Dago's hand slowly tightened around the mirror dagger, his knuckles turning slightly white.

"Long time no see," Dago said calmly, his voice piercing through the layers of oppressive power. "How do you want to die this time?"