Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

On the outskirts of the Goblin Plains, light and shadow are fragmented, like a chessboard scribbled on by a mischievous child.

The man stood quietly at the sharpest point where light and shadow met.

The long, jet-black robe he wore was meticulously tailored to an almost obsessive degree. The high, stiff collar concealed his chin, and the draped fabric, like flowing black mercury, not only obscured his face but also completely concealed his figure within an atmosphere of "mystery."

As the wind blew, the hem of the robe occasionally fluttered, revealing the intricate, dizzying dark patterns on the lining—ancient patterns carrying a certain curse, like a ghost screaming silently, or like tangled thorns.

He tilted his head slightly upwards.

Above the sky, a breathtaking, grand, and eerie "feeding" is unfolding.

That gray-black "sun" was like a greedy giant mouth, slowly and methodically devouring its blood-red counterpart beside it.

The red halo twisted painfully under the encroachment of gray and black, as if blood were sizzling on a red-hot iron.

In the far reaches of the sky, the Thunder Sun and the Nightmare Sun are locked in a struggle, while the Crystal Sun and the Emerald Sun are locked in a fierce battle.

This scene didn't resemble a natural celestial phenomenon; rather, it looked like an out-of-control, Ragnarok-like magical duel.

A faint rumbling sound descended from a great height, indistinct yet penetrating to the very core of one's being.

The voice sometimes contained obscure and incomprehensible spell chants, like the booming bass of an organ; sometimes it was a conversation as cold as ice colliding; or sometimes it was some kind of inhuman roar, full of anger and resentment.

"Dark Head".

The sound came abruptly, yet naturally.

The shadows in the air seemed to come alive, twisting and coalescing into shape.

A figure also shrouded in black robes appeared silently beside the man—like a ghost passing through a wall.

He was very close, so close that it seemed he was about to press his lips against the man's earlobe, and he reported quickly in that urgent and suppressed tone that only came from secret plots in a dark basement.

The man remained silent, like a stone statue standing in the eye of a storm, listening attentively.

A moment later, he calmly withdrew his gaze, the movement as elegant as if he were smoothing non-existent dust from his cuff.

"Don't worry about it for now..."

The man's voice was deep, carrying a languid indifference and an air of absolute control. "They're about to give in... their 'World Stone' will soon fall into our hands. More important than that, is that coordinate I've been tracking—have we got it?"

The black-robed figure who was reporting visibly stiffened, then gently shook his head, the shadow under the hood seeming to grow even darker.

"Originally... it was the Lava Brotherhood that was supposed to retrieve it. But something unexpected happened."

The figure in black robes paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, or perhaps trying to conceal some unease. "The Sarkiers family... the descendant hailed as the most talented in a century, has fallen."

He died...quite cleanly. The Lava Brotherhood doesn't know about this yet; we've suppressed the news.

"Now, Salanchi...they've already led their men there. With their capabilities, there shouldn't be any more problems..."

"Ideally, nothing should go wrong."

The man interrupted him, his tone flat and even, yet it instantly made the temperature of the surrounding air drop several degrees.

He raised his head again.

Overhead, the gray sun had almost completely swallowed the dark red blood sun, leaving only a desolate red border, like a dying eyeball.

"These two things..."

The man murmured softly, his voice so low that only he and the wind on this wasteland could hear it.

"It's so important for a lot of things we're going to do next."

His gaze seemed to pierce through the layers of chaotic and frenzied sky, looking towards some deeper, more indescribable void.

"Even Lord Shuoyue... was willing to pay such a high price, even going so far as to stir up the stars in the sky..."

A very soft sneer escaped from behind the high collar, carrying a sense of world-weary desolation and a gambler's frenzy.

"What do our insignificant lives matter to us... those of us below?..."

...........

.....

Dago hasn't touched the forbidden area of ​​the Iceflame Blue Demon's body for a long time—"Complete Despair and Darkness".

What kind of state was that? If I had to describe it, it would be like selling one's soul to the sea of ​​despair in exchange for a moment of rage that was enough to tear reality apart.

Normally, he is a shrewd strategist who prefers solutions that "resonate with elements".

It offers high cost-effectiveness and manageable consumption, making it sufficient to handle those annoying daily battles like those against goblins.

That state was like merely borrowing the power of ice elements while still retaining the human form.

But today is different.

"Completely Despairing and Darkened"—this thing is incredibly arrogant; you can't just summon it whenever you want.

It needs pressure, it needs that feeling of despair of being pushed to the edge of a cliff, with your heels dangling in the air.

At this moment, the air is filled with the oppressive, magical smell of ozone.

Including Viser, twelve third-ring wizards, twelve wands—or rather, twelve mobile magical turrets—were locked onto him.

That palpable killing intent felt like a pair of cold hands squeezing his lungs.

But that's exactly what Dago needs.

Under this suffocating external pressure, combined with the bloodline of the Despairing Winter Dragon Beheilite within his body, Dago was able to better utilize the boundless power of despair from the Sea of ​​Despair.

This is not some docile, magical creature; it is a brutal force from ancient times.

And so, the "person" standing in the center of the field changed.

Dago's hair was now dyed a gradient of dark blue at the roots, like the seawater at the bottom of the deep sea, or the cold color of the wings of a Thestral, exuding an unsettling stillness.

Looking at his eyes again, they were pure black, without a trace of impurity, but in the center of that white void, there was a dark, narrow, vertical slit.

Those are not human eyes; they are the eyes of a snake, the eyes of a cold-blooded predator, the eyes of a cursed basilisk.

His skin began to twitch, as if something underneath was about to crawl out.

Raised patterns resembling snake scales, with an ancient totem-like texture, appeared on his body.

His veins bulged, forming a dense network, and his face, already contorted with rage from exertion, now exuded an indescribable eeriness and evil.

After being imbued with the power of despair, the activated ice crystals adhered perfectly to his explosive muscles.

It perfectly outlines that powerful, domineering, and visually striking body.

The air felt like it was about to freeze.

Suppression, a deathly suppression.

"Buzz—"

A short, obscure incantation, like a sharp noise shattering glass, broke the deathly silence.

Moved.

The Resurrection Society wizards, positioned a few corners to the side of Dago, clearly did not want to give the monster time to adjust after its transformation.

Their wands—or fingers, or some kind of spellcasting medium—suddenly glowed with an ominous light.

Meanwhile, the others, like startled black cats, quickly retreated, trying to create the "safe" distance that felt like death.

Their teamwork was seamless and their actions fluid and natural; clearly, these guys were no strangers to this kind of hunting scheme.

Dago narrowed his eyes slightly.

From those pure black eyes, two beams of cold light, even colder than "Avada Kedavra," shot out from the vertical slits of the pupils.

The mental space rippled, then froze instantly.

The stillness of winter!

This is a high-level technique similar to "brain shut-in," but it is purer and more domineering.

One man, fighting against twelve third-ring wizards.

If it were anyone else, they would probably be so frightened that they wouldn't even be able to hold onto their wand.

But Dago didn't. Fear? Nervousness? Those mortal emotions flashed through his mind for only a moment before being replaced by a more primal excitement and anticipation.

That feeling was like a shark smelling blood.

Then, all emotions were frozen and quickly sank to the bottom of that lifeless lake of the heart.

At this moment, he was a sophisticated killing machine.

"Bang!"

A muffled thud, the sound of air being compressed and then exploded in an instant, somewhat like the explosion during Apparition, but even more muffled and powerful.

Dago's figure suddenly vanished from the spot.

It's not invisible, it's fast.

So fast that the retina could not capture it, leaving only a blurry afterimage of distorted light and shadow caused by the violent movement.

When he reappeared, he was like a ghost, teleporting to the side of a third-ring wizard.

The distance was less than one meter.

This distance is hell for a wizard.

Dago could even clearly see the face beneath the hood's shadow—an ordinary, unremarkable face belonging to a middle-aged man. At that moment, that face was filled with shock, emotion, and the fear of impending death.

"[Power of Despair]!"

There were no fancy spells, no complicated gestures.

On Dago's right palm, the mysterious, tadpole-like black runes quietly lit up.

Black lightning pulsed wildly across his entire right arm, like liquefied black light, pouring into his fist wrapped by his five fingers like water.

Dago threw a punch.

Nothing special.

Yes, it looks like nothing fancy, just a simple punch. But the simpler it is, the more deadly it is.

The face beneath the hood, its pupils dilated instantly.

The magical power that had been building up to its peak and was about to burst forth was abruptly dissipated under the pressure of this punch.

The wizard only had time to do one thing—reach out and desperately touch a simple, ancient-looking ring on his hand.

That's too late.

"boom!"

With a loud crash, it sounded like a giant swinging a wooden club and smashing a pumpkin.

The third-ring wizard was struck head-on by Dago's fist, which was wrapped in black light and lightning, and his body instantly lost its human form.

He was like a rag doll, or rather, like a scarecrow stuffed with explosives, instantly falling apart.

But that wasn't the end of it. The scattered limbs and fragments seemed to be squeezed by some invisible force in mid-air, exploding further and turning into even smaller fragments.

"Bang!"

Where the fist landed, a visible dent appeared in the air, dark and deep, as if space itself had collapsed under the blow, like a miniature black hole.

A thick cloud of blood mist spread out, carrying a strong smell of rust.

But before these filthy things could even touch Dago, they were shattered and reduced to nothingness by the terrifying aura surrounding him—the physical force field of a super-powerful being.

"Um?!"

Dago let out a soft exclamation, but his movements did not stop at all.

He lightly wiped away non-existent bloodstains from his face, a gesture as elegant as adjusting his bow tie.

Immediately, he turned his head sharply, his gaze like lightning, and looked at a location dozens of meters away.

There, the air seemed to distort, and a middle-aged man, his face as pale as paper, stumbled and fell out.

It was the same wizard who had just "died".

At this moment, he was clutching a clay doll tightly in his hand. The doll was crudely made and covered with curse-like inscriptions. It was now completely cracked, as if it had taken the fatal blow for its owner.

The man slowly released his grip, letting the fragments of the clay figurine fall. His gaze toward Dago was gloomy and ugly, as if he had swallowed a dead fly.

"A scapegoat?"

Dago frowned slightly.

This reminded him of some kind of dark magic artifact, or some ancient alchemical relic.

They really are third-ring wizards. These guys might not be as good as those knights who only know how to brawn in a head-on fight, but when it comes to survival, escape, and disgusting people, they are definitely masters.

The long period of time gave them the opportunity to accumulate wealth and knowledge. Who doesn't have a few trump cards in their hand? A few dark magic tools for survival?

It's normal that they're hard to kill. If third-ring wizards were as easy to kill as goblins, the world would have been in chaos long ago.

"Boom—"

On the battlefield, no one gives you time for reflection. In just a short while, the other wizards launched their counterattack.

Several spells, carrying an aura of destruction, bombarded Dago.

All are three-tiered.

On the left, a huge, viscous mass of blood suddenly exploded, bursting into a strange, bewitching shape, like a man-eating flower.

Each blood-red petal flows with dark red magic, containing an aura powerful enough to shatter and crush rocks into powder.

On the right, a huge green crystal appeared out of thin air, crackling with tiny sparks of electricity.

On the surface of the crystal, countless sharp, hair-like filaments grow, each one gleaming with an eerie light, as if it could pierce through the void and strike the soul.

Directly in front of him, a transparent, invisible, yet palpable, grotesque hand was closing in with its five fingers, pressing down on Dago.

That was pure force field magic, squeezing out a terrifying, teeth-grinding force of collapse.

A cold smile curled at the corner of Dago's lips.

Instead of retreating, they advanced.

He leaned forward and took a step, the movement as heavy as a giant trampling the earth.

He suddenly spread his arms wide, as if embracing the overwhelming killing intent.

The ten black, sharp fingers slicing through the air made a clanging sound, like an enlarged version of fingernails scratching a blackboard, sending chills down one's spine.

As if brought to life, the dark blue ice crystals instantly adhered to and covered his arms. Then, a dark blue, eerie, and seemingly underworld-like icy flame rose from his arms.

Come on, let's see if your magic is stronger, or my fists are stronger!