Equipment Printing School Mage
Page 335
Zul'Kir, physically skinny and bony, was also a lich. Tall and gaunt, like a time-worn skeleton, he was clad in a rich crimson robe. His skin clung to his bones, an unnatural grayish-white hue, as if it had never seen the sun. His eye sockets were sunken, and within them burned two pale blue soulfires, cold and sharp, as if they could see through all disguises and lies. His fingers were long and bony, and a faint black mist lingered at their tips, the lingering traces of necromancy.
His voice was hoarse and hollow, as if drawn from the abyss, each syllable carrying a chilling echo. The moment he opened his mouth, the liches before him shuddered. "Not long ago, I received a reassuring report: Cormyr is weakened, still licking the wounds of the Arcane Bane. Should our undead attack, the ruined harbor will open to us."
"Just a few days later, the report became: 'Talos and the priests of Umberlee unleashed a devastating tsunami. You tried your best to maintain the weather, but half the navy was still destroyed, and the landing was forced to be aborted.'" As far as I know, the Baldur and Elturgard people who shook the continent a while ago did not participate in the battle."
"This is an accident." A lich's voice trembled slightly. "The sudden participation of the Fury God System was beyond our expectations..."
"That means your preparations are far from sufficient," Sazastan said. "We are attacking all of Faerun, and more and more enemies will quietly march across from us. Every day you delay, there will be a few more mouths in the enemy camp that need to be fed, and perhaps even cast spells. I have emphasized this point."
"……Yes."
Sazastan didn't continue to be angry, but waved his hand at him: "Veselax, contact Kalesos and ask him to come to Halrua. And you, go and take his place."
Kaleisos is the lich who is responsible for guarding El Tabar, the current capital of Cyre—a move that is tantamount to exile in the current era of Cyre's expedition.
It is true that he will gain the power to control nearly half of the material and human resources of Cyre in a short period of time, but the day the expedition ends will be the day he is kicked out.
Viselax hung his head in bitterness. "...Yes. I'll contact him now."
However, at this moment, a voice was transmitted into Sazastan's mind.
The owner of this voice was none other than the lich Kalesos who was supposed to stay in El Tabar.
However, the lich's voice, which had been diligent and hardworking, now carried a certain sense of satisfaction, a sense of revenge: [Sazastan.]
He actually called him by his name.
This unusual phenomenon suddenly made Sazastan feel a sense of alarm.
-----------------
Kalesos, indeed, rebelled.
It would be better to say that he had never had any loyalty at all, and his previous hypocrisy had only one reason: he had not found a way to betray Sazastan.
However, at this moment, everything is different.
El Tabar's appearance bears some resemblance to Halrua: the city's cityscape is dominated by scarlet magic towers. However, the Halruans' competitive spirit is primarily focused on the height of their wizard towers, while the Cyrans generously transform their legitimate and illicit gains from across Faerûn into magnificent palaces.
However, the newest guest arrived here.
The golems and skeleton guards that were once everywhere have now turned to ashes, and the flames filled with the stench of sulfur have added a touch of bright color to this sinful city.
The one who captured this place was the devil.
To be more precise, he is one of the most powerful demons, and it can even be said that he is second only to the Demon King, the Demon Duke Mephistopheles.
However, even this great devil was now prostrating himself respectfully before a beautiful woman wearing a wizard's robe, a net-like belt around her waist, and eyes like stars.
This woman's public name is Omniscient One.
Behind Mephistopheles is an endless army of demons.
The empty capital of Sel has completely fallen.
The soul in Kalesos's eyes trembled uncontrollably. Under the lady's gaze, he vented the anger he had accumulated for many years towards Sazastan: [Sazastan, your sins will soon be settled - await your death at the old site of Halrua!]
Then, the lich's soul fire showed confusion and stammered, "...Sazastan he..."
"He is not angry? Indeed," the All-Knowing One said calmly. "He lives even longer than Netheril. The majesty he displays before you is but a facade. If possible, he would not hesitate to abandon everything to save his own skin."
"But he's still not smart enough." The soul fire in Kalesos's eyes trembled a few times, and he suddenly crawled down and said, "Otherwise, he should surrender to you immediately."
The All-Knowing One nodded, but did not continue the topic. Instead, he said, "Wisdom is not important... Relying too much on wisdom proves that he has nothing else."
And she came to Sale to solve this problem once and for all.
She lowered her head, glanced at the land, and said, "Mephistopheles, you are as reliable as ever—you have found this spot."
"Your will." Mephistopheles had no intention of taking credit, but just kept his head down and remained silent as usual.
"You will be rewarded—you will witness the birth of the most powerful god in history."
The All-Knowing stood alone atop the bone fields of El Tabar, her figure looming astonishingly majestic beneath the gray sky. She extended a hand slightly, her fingertips tracing the air as if touching some invisible vein. Her movements were gentle and slow, yet they carried an irresistible power, as if the entire world was under her control.
The ground began to tremble.
At first, the tremors were gentle, like a sleeping beast turning over in its sleep. But soon, the shaking intensified, and the bone-covered earth began to crack, cracks spreading like spiderwebs. Deep beneath the earth, the nodes of the magical web were awakened, like a disturbed ancient beast, suddenly awakened from its long slumber.
Boom——!
A deafening roar echoed from the depths of the earth, as if the entire world were being torn apart. The earth heaved high, forming a massive volcano. Blazing lava erupted from the fissures, sending plumes of smoke and flames soaring into the sky. The crater resembled the maw of a monstrous beast, devouring everything around it. Lava flowed across the wasteland of bones, reducing the remains of the long-dead to ash. The air was filled with the acrid smell of sulfur and burning.
The All-Knowing One stood alone on the rim of the crater, her figure aglow in the glowing lava, yet unharmed. Her robes billowed in the heat like a blazing flame. Her gaze, cold and profound, gazed upon the seething molten lava beneath her feet, as if all this were part of her plan.
The demons around her knelt quietly, with no reaction to the disaster before them, as if everything was natural.
The volcanic eruption became more and more violent, lava poured down like a waterfall, thick smoke covered the sky, and the whole of Sel seemed to be about to be swallowed by fire and smoke, turning into a hell on earth.
At that moment, a crisp, shattering sound echoed from the depths of the earth, as if some seal had been completely broken. Immediately afterwards, a silver fire that obscured the sky erupted from the depths of the earth, like a giant silver dragon soaring into the sky. The light of the silver fire pierced through the thick smoke, dyeing the entire sky a silvery white. The light was pure and sacred, yet it also carried a suffocating sense of oppression.
The All-Knowing One finally moved. Her body slowly rose into the air, and the silver flames, as if bound, were pulled towards her. Her body was completely enveloped by the silver flames, as if she had become a silver sun. Her voice, cold and majestic, emanated from within the silver flames:
"Finally, after more than eighty years, the Goddess of Magic has returned. She will perform miracles no one else can accomplish, reducing all hypocrites and ambitious individuals to ashes and causing all their ventures to fail."
Her voice echoed between heaven and earth, as if heralding the arrival of a new era. The silver flames gradually dissipated, and the all-knowing figure reappeared. Her eyes shone with a silver light, as if imbued with boundless magic. Her very existence had become a symbol of power, an irresistible destiny.
The earth of Cyre was still trembling, the volcanoes were still erupting, but all of this seemed to have become her background. Her figure stood high above, overlooking the land that was about to be completely changed. Her voice rang out again, with an unquestionable majesty:
"From this day forward, magic will return to its pure form. The era of false gods and ambitious individuals is over."
Fistophilus, the Grand Duke of Hell, slowly stood up, his voice resounding through heaven and earth like thunder from the abyss:
"Praise the One who knows all things! Falsehoods and hypocrisy abound in the world, but the One who knows all things exists in the highest heaven!"
His voice seemed to ignite a kind of frenzy, and the other demons followed suit, shouting loudly, and the sound surged over like a tide:
"Falsehoods and deceit are rampant in the world, but the One who knows all things exists only in the Supreme Being!"
"Falsehoods and deceit are rampant in the world, but the One who knows all things exists only in the Supreme Being!"
Amidst the deafening cheers, even the All-Knowing One's lips curled up slightly. Her smile was cold and indifferent, as if she had foreseen all this. Her gaze swept over the fanatical demons, a subtle glint of contempt in her eyes. However, her smile didn't last long.
Just as everyone was celebrating, the silver fire surrounding the All-Knowing One suddenly began to vibrate uncontrollably.
It seemed like they were singing a song of joy, but they were definitely not celebrating her promotion.
The joy that Quanzhi Duyi just felt disappeared without a trace in an instant.
What happened?
-----------------
The north of the old Halrua site was already crowded with people, and those slaves who had not yet turned into undead creatures were now struggling to advance in the desolate wasteland.
The slaves in Sel were undoubtedly the most miserable slaves in the world, no doubt about it - to other slave owners, their slaves were half of their property. They could squander them and might not be willing to spend a lot of energy to maintain them, but at least they were still property.
With the rise of the power of the Necromancer, the Cyrans have a new definition of slaves: spell materials that have some value and need to be processed.
Therefore, the Red Mages no longer care about the death of their slaves. The slaves are forced to face the most difficult dilemma: if they can't maintain their efficiency, they might as well die. Sel will happily turn them into zombies and skeletons, and no longer have to worry about their rations - and they don't have to waste their time killing people.
This situation had lasted a long time, and the only reason the slaves were still alive was because they had been captured not long ago. Their only hope of survival was the almost nonexistent hope that the mages would eventually have to start training with living people, and that the Harpers' guerrillas had already begun operating nearby, attempting to disrupt Cyre's logistics and rescue the slaves.
However, this is just a legend after all. The slaves can only fantasize about it and dare not hope that such an opportunity will really appear before them.
A slave dragged his blistered feet with difficulty, pushing a cart loaded with weapons.
He had thought this was just an ordinary day. The mage overseer not far in front of him stared at him intently for a long time, unable to find a reason to torture the slaves for fun. This wasn't because the overseer had any conscience, but because he was used to torturing slaves out of thin air, and today he suddenly wanted to find a reasonable excuse.
After some effort, the overseer finally lost his patience and kicked the slave: "Why did you walk on your feet just now?"
The slave stood up silently and just pushed his cart silently.
If you want to kill or behead, please do as you please.
This attitude only further angered the wizard. He flew into a rage and was about to let the slave in front of him experience excruciating pain when he suddenly stopped and looked at the slave's back in astonishment.
The slave, who had been prepared to face death, raised his head in a daze and turned around following the overseer's gaze.
At this moment, he saw a silver flame formed into a thin hand, which pushed the slave unceremoniously, causing him to stumble forward a few steps.
Before the slave could stand firm, countless silver flames emerged from the ground in the next moment. They were slowly pulled out into strands of silk threads, which formed layers of networks in the air, like scaffolding for a building, and just passed by the slave who had lost his balance.
However, these silver networks are constructing the world itself.
The slave, pushed so hard, was effectively cut off from the network. He stood there, bewildered, taking in the scene before him, as if in an incomprehensible dream. Amidst the silvery glow, rocks suddenly emerged from the once barren, empty landscape. These rocks weren't isolated, but part of a mountain range. From nothing, a boundless mountain range emerged from the silvery light, as if a master artist were outlining the world with a silver brush.
As the grid's light gradually illuminated the sky, a wondrous, drop-shaped crystal structure, studded with sails, emerged from the radiance. Its surface was translucent, reflecting silver light. Its sails were engraved with ancient runes, creating a scene resembling a spaceship from another world, suspended in the sky.
At that moment, a dazzling flash of light appeared, and an ornately dressed old wizard teleported outside of creation. His robes were embroidered with intricate magical patterns, and in his hand, he held a jeweled staff. His face was wrinkled, but his eyes sparkled with excitement. He looked at the sky, which was blue rather than green, and at the familiar bandit wasteland below him, and let out an unconcealed cheer:
His voice was trembling and resonant, as if he was releasing all the emotions that had been suppressed for nearly a century. He raised his hands high, as if to embrace the newly emerged world, and continued to shout:
"It's been almost a hundred years! It's been almost a hundred years!"
His voice echoed in the air, as if awakening dormant memories. As he shouted, more and more identical ships began to appear in the air behind him. One by one, aging mages emerged from the ships, tears streaming down their faces, shouting a name that shook the overseer to the core. The sound seemed to echo throughout every corner of Toril.
"Toril!!! We Halrua are back!!!"
Sixty-four Dharma Master Kings
A few days ago, the crowds of people in front of Imoen Mage Tower were about to crush the threshold—
The three largest churches in Baldur's Gate were once the Church of Gund, the God of Craftsmen; the Church of Umberlee, the God of the Sea; and the Church of Tymora, the God of Fortune. During the Late Summer Rebellion, the Church of the God of Fortune disbanded, its members splitting up. Not long ago, the Church of the God of the Sea also heeded the call of the furious gods and joined the All-Seeing One's expeditionary force.
The Gond Church was devastated by this.
Normally, they would have been overjoyed by the surge in the number of believers, with many priests expected to be promoted due to their outstanding work—but the people of Gond really didn't care about that now. They were all busy studying the newly granted divine arts, "God's Craftsmanship," and following the example of Emia of Lunya, the newly promoted master craftsman who shone during the Late Summer Rebellion, they buried themselves in piles of materials every day.
As a result, the work of receiving new believers was thrown to priests below the third ring, and all priests who successfully advanced to the fourth ring immediately followed in the footsteps of their predecessors and ran to Gunde's secret base, leaving the heavy affairs of the Temple of Supreme Miracles to the "ox-horse priests" of the lower ring.
"Grand Duke, although this is not something a priest should say!" At this time, a prestigious Gond citizen sat in front of Imoen and sighed, "But we hope Baldur's Gate can provide support."
"That's as it should be." Imoen sighed.
The temples in this world were responsible for a vast array of tasks, and it was common for the most popular temples to be overcrowded. Now that Baldur's Gate's clergy had been inexplicably reduced by nearly half, it was not surprising that the people of Gond were requesting support.
"What? Support? We don't want support, it's too late!" The visiting Gond people waved their hands frantically, "Please give support to the kind and neutral churches of the Twin Songs, Selûne, Míriel, Oghma - or ask for help from Candlekeep! We need official priest support! What we need now is manpower, not money! People who are exhausted don't need wealth!"
"Patrick, the list of candidates you gave us is too heavily populated by the Gods of Knowledge," Imoen replied unhappily.
"Ahem..." The Gond people coughed awkwardly, but immediately stood up and waved excitedly, "But I'm serious! If we can take this opportunity to drive the people of the Church of Umberlee out of Baldur's Gate, who in the Upper and Lower Outer City, or even Rivington, would disagree? Maybe even the people of the Church of Talos would be ecstatic!"
"They didn't leave... they just went on an expedition." Although Imoen also hated the Umberley Church, he still had to maintain superficial unity.
"It's an expedition to Cyre!" The Gondite waved his hand. "The Red Mage is at the peak of his powers right now. Even if the All-Knowing One is truly that powerful, as long as she doesn't personally lead the charge, this war will last at least a year!
"If it was Master Emya leading the expedition, he could probably lead the expeditionary force through Faerûn in three months, but that All-Knowing One?" The people of Gond snorted, "I don't believe she is really Mystra."
Imoen naturally didn't believe it either.
At that moment, her shapeshifting maid, Lorien, gently knocked on the outer door of the reception room. "Grand Duke, visiting hours have come. Reverend Patrick, I'm so sorry."
"What?" Patrick wasn't angry at the interruption. He simply took out a pocket watch from his pocket, glanced at it, and took a breath. "Time flies by so fast. But Grand Duke, the Supreme Miracle Hall's need for support is real. We barely even have time to sleep now."
"Hmm..." As Imoen stood up to see the guest off, his peripheral vision accidentally caught a glimpse of Lorian.
Wait, aren't there a bunch of freeloaders in her Mage Tower? Sending those shapeshifters to urgently support the temple's purely verbal work would be perfect!
"I have an idea that needs to be incubated for a while. I will contact the church again tonight."
"Thank you very much!"
At this moment, a gentle and charming voice suddenly sounded from outside: "Grand Duke Violet, it's been several months since we last met."
The sound of this voice made Luo Li'an's face suddenly change. She turned around and tried to stop him: "You can't enter the Mage Tower without permission."
The visitor was a dark-skinned, elegant young man with medium hair. He said calmly, "Without permission? My appointment is for this very moment. It's just that my time is up, and I haven't waited for the waiter to greet me yet."
The visitor's appearance seemed ordinary at first, but after entering the Mage Tower, his face made Imoen's heart suddenly tighten. She pulled out her staff without mercy: "... Raphael, son of Mephistopheles? Unfortunately, demons are no longer allowed in Baldur's Gate."
"Wait, wait! Unlike a few months ago, I'm not here on behalf of the Nine Hells." Raphael quickly stepped back, shouting before he was banished by the spell. "Now, I'm just an ordinary familiar at the mercy of others."
"You have Cambion as your familiar. It seems your master is extraordinary." Imoen replied coldly, "You still have time to say a word."
Raphael rolled his eyes and said, "In short, Searle is finished."
"what?!"
This shocking news not only shocked Aimon, but even the people of Gond, who had just walked a short distance away, could not help but stop and prick up their ears.
Imoen's breath was a little unstable: "...Another trick of the devil's bluff?"
"You can continue to deny reality." Raphael breathed a sigh of relief, revealing a confident smile. "But unfortunately—our Lord has already conquered the Weave. All of Cyre's homelands have declared their submission to the All-Knowing One and the reborn Lord of the Weave. Only the forces at the Halruaa ruins remain in resistance.
"I am not here to discuss matters with you, but to extend an invitation to you on behalf of the Gods and Non-Gods: Three months from now, at the site of the former ruins of Netheril, the place where Mystra ascended to the gods, and now the deserts of Eonok, our Lord, the All-Knowing One, will return to her lost position for a century under the gaze of all Toril and the Wheel, set the Weave right, and lead the world into a new era.
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