Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

"You actually believe that Iglipsa guy's nonsense? He's just a bastard who uses faith in truth to fool people."

The gray-robed man sitting cross-legged on the right scoffed, his tone ambiguous, whether it was genuine disdain or deep-seated mockery.

I dislike him just as much as you do.

The first gray-robed man, leaning on a bone staff, spoke calmly, the thick fog billowing around the edges of his robes with each even breath: "But you cannot deny the most fatal point—his prophecies have never been wrong in peering into the river of fate."

"Actually, we should have realized it sooner..."

The man with the bone staff and grey robe paused, his voice now tinged with the weariness of time, "Iglipsa's dying prophecy, written in blood, has led the Black Witch King to send his only cherished offspring at this critical juncture."

"In addition, the water of the 'Pool of Wisdom' has become increasingly turbid and dried up recently... All these signs indicate one thing—chaos has already begun."

The gray-robed man gently tapped his tall, white staff on the muddy ground.

A dull thud echoed through the mist. His tone was calm, yet filled with an undeniable certainty:

"We must prepare early, which is the only reason why I insisted on fully opening the Three Pagodas despite all the opposition."

The other two fell into a long silence.

The mist condensed into water droplets around them, dripping silently down the gray fabric.

Time passed slowly in the deathly silence. After an unknown amount of time, someone let out a soft hum, breaking the monotony: "So, what exactly did Iglipsa's prophecy say?"

His eyes, hidden beneath his cloak, were fixed on the last of the three, the gray-robed man who had remained silent, like those of a hawk. "Here, only you have truly seen those three sealed manuscripts."

The gray-robed man, who had only uttered one sentence from beginning to end and had spent most of the time listening quietly like a stone statue, remained silent for a long time upon hearing this.

Finally, accompanied by the subtle sound of fabric rubbing together, the hem of his gray robe opened like the gaping maw of an abyss, from which billowing fog surged forth like a tidal wave bursting its banks.

"The Upper Ring Continent cannot produce a second Isidore, nor does it need... a second Isidore."

With this calm yet seemingly terrifying statement, the three eerie gray figures, along with the damp island beneath their feet, were completely engulfed by the all-consuming white mist.

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"The bloodline of a seventh-ring wizard has, in a sense, transcended the boundaries of the mortal realm and gained the meaning and substantial value of inheritance. The so-called first generation refers to the first offspring born to a wizard after breaking through the seventh ring barrier."

"The seven-ring bloodline power that the first generation can inherit is the most complete, and also the most violent and powerful. As the lineage continues to propagate, the divinity within the bloodline will be continuously diluted and weakened by mortal genes..."

"Seven rings, waning blood, first generation..."

Dago hovered in mid-air amidst howling winds, listening to Arajan's deep explanation, his gaze fixed intently ahead like a nail.

On the back of that terrifying monster, its body a dark reddish-copper color and radiating an ancient ferocity, stood a figure that looked like a born deity.

Dago's eyes flashed violently, his gaze piercing through the raging air currents to see the other person's long, flowing hair, as deep and shimmering as mithril.

The man had his hands casually behind his back, and judging from his tall, aloof figure, he was male.

Countless complex and mysterious translucent runes appeared and disappeared from the man's body, just like breathing.

These runes intertwined in the air, forming a unique and absolutely exclusive force field. This aura of dominance even momentarily overwhelmed the terrifying ferocity of the enormous chimera beneath it.

This caused thousands of low-ranking wizards below to feel an urge to kneel down and prostrate themselves in worship.

"call--"

Dago took a deep breath of the icy, bone-chilling air, his chest heaving violently. He clenched his teeth tightly, relying on his strong willpower to forcefully restrain and suppress the "Storm Bloodline" in his blood vessels that was restless due to encountering its natural enemy.

Alazan once asserted that he was "born with a weak bloodline," but that was only "like" him.

Compared to the truly virulent, pure-blooded bloodline before them, there was an insurmountable gap between them.

After all, the "Stormweaver" he fused with was at most a sixth-ring elemental spirit.

Dago was not surprised by the physical "oppression" he was experiencing at that moment.

He was simply calmly marveling at the terrifying and unpredictable power of the seventh ring.

The arrogant young man before me is merely a first-generation cultivator with the seventh-ring declining bloodline; if he were a first-generation cultivator who had truly stepped into the seventh-ring "Twilight" realm, the gifts of law brought by his innate bloodline would likely be even more despair-inducing.

"BOOM—!!"

With the powerful arrival of the first generation of the Bloodthirsty One riding a chimera, the surface of the Spirit Mirror Lake, which was originally as smooth as a mirror of the sky, suddenly began to boil and churn, rapidly collapsing inward and creating a huge, dark blue vortex with a diameter of hundreds of meters.

"Juventus!"

A tremendous sound, like the roar of a giant wave, suddenly erupted from the bottom of the lake, shaking the entire secret realm.

Several high-ranking wizards, dressed in elaborate robes of various colors and exuding unfathomable auras, slowly emerged from the center of the whirlpool, stepping on the water.

They bowed slightly, adopting the posture one would use to welcome a powerful figure of equal rank, and ushered the lofty and arrogant First Generation of Decaying Blood inside from afar.

Juventus.

Dago silently repeated the name in his heart, etching it like a brand on the edge of his memory.

The air still carried the lingering, violent aura of the chimera as it passed by, mixed with a faint, fishy stench reminiscent of aged rust.

Chimeras, powerful stitched monsters that thrived in the transition between ancient and prehistoric times, symbolize "wisdom, cunning, and absolute agility."

For the vast majority of wizards today, it exists only in the legendary illustrated guide on parchment scrolls.

But Dago keenly sensed that the chimera at Juventus' feet was probably not an ancient purebred.

It is at most a mutated descendant with a portion of the remaining bloodline of the Chimera. In terms of rank, it is probably not much different from the giant ice serpent that Dago subdued in those ruins.

This is most likely a variant bred through some kind of human intervention, and its body may even contain the genetic sequences of other rare magical beasts.

This is similar to the unicorn ridden by Adam, the arrogant and brilliant wizard, back in the days of Psionic Dawn.

Despite its sacred appearance, it was actually just a hybrid that had been crudely transplanted with a portion of the legendary unicorn's bloodline. In a real fight, its actual destructive power was far less than that of Dago's pure ice serpent.

"Although he is only a first-generation bloodline decliner, the concentration of seventh-ring wizard bloodline in this kid named Juventus's body... tsk tsk, it may have reached a terrifying level of eighty percent, or even approaching ninety percent."

Arajan's voice, tinged with a hint of jealousy and apprehension, echoed in Dago's mind: "Even among all the first-generation offspring, such pure talent is extremely rare."

"The old monster standing behind him definitely has unimaginable high hopes for him."