Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

"It's most likely due to the second or third reason..."

If a wizard in the Emerald Court uses his own life energy as a consumable for casting spells, he is not fighting, but burning the very foundation of his "life".

This kind of suicidal nobility is inconsistent with the profit-driven nature of wizards.

Dago lowered his eyes, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the cold surface of the stone pillar.

"The legacy of the Jade Court is another path to Rome."

If one could use some secret method to expand the passive physical body's carrying capacity limit, or increase the base amount of life force like adding water.

Therefore, the destructive power of the [Blue Demon Body] after being completely driven to despair will no longer be limited by the critical point of physical collapse.

That was a qualitative leap.

The former transforms boundless life force into fuel to drive magic, nourishing destruction with vitality.

Dargo, on the other hand, brutally forged that power called "despair" into every muscle fiber, turning the body into a walking disaster.

However, this does not rule out the possibility that beneath Michael's slender body lies a violence that devours steel.

"Her close-combat ability might be a trump card that has never been revealed."

Dago's gray pupils contracted slightly, and the mental energy in his mind meshed and deduced like intricate gears, constructing countless models for confronting Michael.

Wizards' top scorer.

The lineage of the Archon of Isidore.

That is a golden key to the door of truth, enough to drive any seeker of knowledge mad.

To sit in that position, Michael is a mountain that must be blown up.

My gaze shifted, passing through layers of shimmering light, and landed on another spot.

Psionic Dawn, Gale.

And then there's that unsettling, ghastly Chaos Society, Vickers, who's like a rat in a sewer.

He wasn't the only one spying. In this arena shrouded in the rules left by Isidore, all the geniuses who manifested soul characteristics were prey and specimens in each other's eyes.

Dago had seen Gale's battle.

That kind of magical fluctuation couldn't even be called "magic".

There are no complicated incantations, and no arrangement or combination of elements.

That was purely spiritual.

Originating from will, arising from the soul, it directly interferes with the material world.

Compared to elemental wizards who borrow the power of heaven and earth, mind wizards are closer to the charlatans in ancient legends who "make their words come true."

"The power of the mind originates from the will, and the will originates from the soul."

Gail's aura was so clean it was almost blinding.

That pure light reminded Dago of the true ancient wizards recorded in ancient books—obsessive, pure, and idealistic.

Dago looked toward Gale's side.

The winged unicorn was snorting with its head down, its mane flowing in the wind like a silver river.

Previously, it was thought to be some kind of subspecies of magical beast, but now, judging from those clear eyes, it is very likely to be a legendary pure-blooded unicorn.

An ancient, exotic species of equal or even higher rank than the Great Ice Serpent.

Only a virgin with a pure heart and a will as strong as steel can win the favor of this creature.

The existence of unicorns is not just about mounts, but also about providing a huge boost.

Gale's fighting style is an anomaly among wizards.

He didn't seem like a mage; he was more like a knight charging into battle.

The light of the soul transforms into a lance, requiring no fancy techniques, only the crushing power of will.

"Even those in the late-stage third ring with slightly weaker wills would have their very thoughts of constructing spell models shattered in his presence..."

Even hundreds of meters away, Dago could still feel the oppressive aura emanating from him.

It's like staring directly at the blazing midday sun; your eyes sting, and your soul trembles.

This kind of deterrence is a dimensional reduction attack that directly affects the soul.

Dago instinctively pressed his chest.

There, the remaining fragments of Behelit's consciousness lingered like a malignant tumor.

If it's a legacy of the psychic dawn...

That secret method of forging one's will might be the key to suppressing or even devouring "Beheilite," becoming his most solid "life-saving charm."

"Everyone's legacy seems appealing; greed truly is the original sin of wizards."

A self-deprecating smile appeared on Dago's lips.

His ice and space magic inheritances, along with the untapped "Golden Law," are likely treasures that could ignite war in the eyes of others.

As for Vickery of the Chaos Secret Society.

It was a ghost walking in the shadows.

Dark magic, mixed with disgusting curses.

Low-key and sinister, like a venomous snake coiled in the shadows, it only revealed the tip of the iceberg in both of its attacks, leaving people unable to fathom the length of its fangs.

Thoughts surged within me.

"Buzz—"

The air vibrated.

The light from the stone pillar in front of me suddenly turned into a dazzling azure, like a signal light shining in the deep sea.

Dago paused for a moment, then cut off his chaotic thoughts.

It was his turn.

From all directions, countless gazes shone upon him like searchlights, carrying scrutiny, apprehension, or even malicious speculation.

Dago took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs and instantly clearing his mind.

He took a step forward, and as if an invisible staircase had sprung up beneath his feet, it steadily supported his body and carried him toward the central platform.

I glanced at it out of the corner of my eye.

On a stone pillar, a young man with wine-red eyes leaned lazily against the pillar, a playful smile on his lips.

The man gave him a "good luck" gesture, but his eyes looked like he was looking at a fighting beast about to be put into a cage.

An undisguised evil intent emanated from him.

Dago's eyelids twitched slightly, but his gaze didn't linger for even a second, filtering it out completely.

This kind of pointless provocation isn't worth wasting even a single brain cell on.

His attention was entirely focused on his opponent on the other side of the platform.

The black robe with gold patterns was meticulously tailored, and every seam seemed to shimmer with a faint magical glow.

A brown-haired young man with long, slender fingers.

What's most eye-catching is the rings on all ten of his fingers.

Red, blue, green, purple... gemstones of all colors refracted dazzling light under the sun.

Each ring is a third-tier magical artifact with a considerable cost.

The wizard of "Mystic Workshop".

This organization is notorious in the wizarding world as a "nouveau riche".

Their magical heritage may not be as systematic as that of the three major powers, and may even appear mixed and disorganized.

But they have money.

Very rich.

Ample resources and luxurious magical artifacts that arm them to the teeth often allow them to overcome the gap in combat level.

The guy in front of me is a walking arsenal, a walking treasure trove.

Farin Lyon.

The brown-haired youth looked at Dago, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, appearing somewhat nervous.

He bowed slightly, performing a standard wizard's salute, trying to use politeness to mask his inner unease.

Or rather, it's an attempt to set a tone for this battle as "stopping at the point."

Dago nodded and gave his name.

The power of despair within him began to surge, and chills gathered at his fingertips, preparing to face a bombardment of magical artifacts.

however.

"You are very strong, I am no match for you."

Farin Lyon suddenly spoke, his voice dry but unusually clear.

He took a deep breath, as if he had made some kind of desperate decision.

"However, I have a very powerful magical artifact, which is my trump card."

"If you can withstand my next blow, I'll admit defeat."

"May I?"

"Well?"

The chill emanating from Dago faltered, and his brows furrowed slightly.

What kind of approach is this?

Before he could even respond, Farin Lyon had already made his move.

His movements were extremely fast, even somewhat flustered, as if he would lose the courage to take it out if he hesitated for even a second.

A hand suddenly reached into the wide sleeve of the robe.

When I pulled it away again, there was something in my palm.

A dagger.

Its shape is simple and archaic, and its entire body is dark gold, as if it was just dug out of an ancient tomb thousands of years ago, carrying a sense of decay and heavy age.

The handle is a twisted, coiled golden snake, its tongue flicking and its head raised high.

Those snake eyes, inlaid with two dull rubies, looked like a pair of eyes that never closed in death.

Farin gripped the dagger tightly with both hands, and obscure, ancient, and difficult syllables came out of his mouth rapidly.

It was an ancient language that had long been lost, and every syllable felt like a hammer striking the soul.

As the incantation was chanted, the dark golden dagger began to tremble.

A strange ripple spread out like waves on water.

The air became viscous, and the light became distorted.

The moment the last syllable fell, Farin's voice suddenly rose, becoming sharp and fervent, as if he had become a different person—

Those fortunate enough to witness it are eager to possess it!

"Those fortunate enough to possess it will inevitably march towards death!"

"Shift your gaze to it... you despicable... coveter!"

Each word is like the reading of some kind of contract.

Before he could finish speaking, a ruthless glint flashed in Farin's eyes. He suddenly raised his dagger, and the sharp blade slashed fiercely across his left palm.

No blood gushed out.

There was no flesh or blood rolling up.

A bizarre scene unfolded.

The blood that should have flowed from the wound seemed to be drawn by some terrifying suction force and was instantly swallowed up by the dagger.

Even the skin and flesh there were shriveling up at a visible rate.

"Buzz!"

The dagger, having absorbed the "sacrifice," finally awoke.

Those dull ruby ​​snake eyes suddenly burst forth with an extremely dazzling blood-red light.

The black mist, as if opening Pandora's box, surged wildly from the dagger, instantly wrapping around Farin's arm.

The defensive array of the entire central platform groaned under the strain.

Space is oscillating.

It was like a huge rock being thrown into a calm lake.

Dago's pupils suddenly contracted.

My heart was pounding wildly in my chest, and every nerve was screaming "Danger!"

This aura... transcended the Third Ring Road, and even touched the edge of the rules.

"……Grass……"

A dirty word was squeezed out from between Dago's teeth.

"It's a miracle-level magical artifact!"

next second.

The world changed color.

The dazzling streams of energy, like a spilled palette of the gods' paints, instantly filled the sky above the entire plain.

It was the aurora borealis, a dreamlike spectacle, but also a devastating torrent.

Countless magnificent sunset clouds exploded overhead, carrying a breathtaking beauty and an aura of death, pressing down from all directions.

The scene was breathtakingly beautiful.

It is also dangerous to the point of despair.