Chapter Thirty: The Sorceress

After hearing this, Zhao Xu turned his head and glanced at Antinoa beside him. She still maintained her mysterious demeanor beneath her cloak, showing no sign of objection.

Zhao Xu felt something was off about the elderly mage, but he didn't hesitate for long and strode forward. All the mage apprentices below sat quietly, their gazes repeatedly scanning over him—the first to take the plunge. Even the most unruly players, after two weeks of Arthur’s rigorous mage training, had either deleted their accounts and left in dissatisfaction or, if they persisted, were never lacking in patience.

Yet many players couldn’t help but mutter. Arthur’s game was supposed to have no pay-to-win elements; everything depended on personal ability. Why was Zhao Xu, who seemed so unremarkable and lacking any visible talent, granted special treatment, allowed to ascend the stage without a word?

Arthur’s native apprentice mages were quietly analyzing the young man’s background. Two weeks ago, rumors spread that a group of adventurers from an alien world—Earth—would be projected into Arthur; many noble-born apprentices had received the news. They hadn’t left the floating city, but had their own internal channels. Over these ten days, they had further come to recognize these so-called “players,” who could become mages in a fraction of the time, achieving in weeks what took them years or even decades.

Under the scrutiny of so many eyes, Zhao Xu blushed slightly; he finally understood the sorting hat scene from the Harry Potter films. At last, he slowly climbed onto the stage, his gaze settling directly on the so-called “Arcane Throne.”

The stage’s surface was uneven; the stone platform was bare, without a carpet, and the hollowed-out runes etched into it bore the marks of time. In Mystra, countless novice mages had, after enduring much hardship, completed their studies and stepped onto this platform, beginning their personal adventures.

As Zhao Xu approached the throne, he noticed it was covered in dense scratches, its surface battered by unknown magical impacts. Suddenly, disbelief flashed in his eyes. The throne—its backrest alone twice the height of a man—was crafted entirely from mithril.

His mind spun; mithril cost over 1,000 gold per pound, and the throne weighed at least a ton. Was it worth more than two million gold coins? Perhaps even double that. This was a path to fortune. Zhao Xu smiled, finally having touched something worth a million gold coins.

Unlike Antinoa’s +12 legendary intelligence headband, always hidden beneath her cloak’s hood, never glimpsed like her face.

“Stop calculating the value of that thing like a fool. Sit down quickly—later, I’ll take you to witness a mage’s battle.”

Suddenly, Zhao Xu felt a tingle run through his body, Antinoa’s voice echoing directly in his mind. He maintained his composure, refraining from looking back at her. Despite never having experienced this, he focused his attention on the glowing circle on his character sheet, muttering inwardly as if possessed, “Mentor, can you hear my voice?”

“Of course. This is a fifth-level mental link—it’s definitely two-way.”

Relieved, Zhao Xu turned and sat on the Arcane Throne. His gaze met those of the new mages below, giving him the illusion of overlooking his subjects. The chill of the metal beneath him tingled, and he reached out to touch the throne’s armrest.

“This is the throne of the ancient Arcane King, Ernest. We dug it up to use as the focal point for the awakening ritual. With its power, the ritual’s success rate rises above eighty percent.”

“Mentor, you mean the awakening isn’t guaranteed?”

“Have you ever seen anything guaranteed?”

Hearing this, Zhao Xu cursed under his breath. Secondhand rumors were dangerous. In his previous life, when everyone boasted about Arthur, no one mentioned this. Not one hundred percent? That’s a trap. Why had no one on the forum discussed this?

But before he could ponder further, a pillar of light descended onto him, bathing him in warm, prismatic glow. The fluid brilliance cascaded to the floor, flowing along the engraved runes. The audience gaped in awe, even the aged mage’s hand trembling as he recalled whether such a phenomenon had ever occurred in the past century.

Zhao Xu was oblivious. Before his eyes, the scene transformed into a massive circular library, books stacked in endless layers reaching the sky. In front of these heaps stood a female mage, clad in golden brocade and wine-red robes, exuding an indefinable harmony. She seemed to bathe in the river of time—both its beginning and its end.

For the first time in his life, Zhao Xu felt a sense of perfection. The woman slowly approached, as if preparing to kneel and serve him. Zhao Xu suddenly snapped his eyes shut, remembering he was here for a ritual with a risk of failure.

Mage awakenings had extraplanar demons—no, succubi from the Abyss, perhaps? Fearing this was a trial, Zhao Xu squeezed his eyes shut, silently reciting the incantations of the first-level spell “Protection from Evil” he had copied these past days. He murmured, “Don’t kiss me, don’t kiss me,” over and over.

Lacking spell slots, unable to cast the actual spell, he could only resort to desperate measures. Zhao Xu had fought in the sealing wars against the Abyss and Inferno; he knew succubi could transform into distressed maidens, seducing men with their pitiful forms. He had a comrade who was lured by a succubus, his level drained from five to zero, his body decaying.

“How interesting. I await you in the future.”

The voice echoed, ethereal as a sacred chant. Zhao Xu remained unmoved, and eventually felt the chill beneath him return.

“Open your eyes. The ritual is complete.”

About to obey, Zhao Xu suddenly shuddered, cursing his own foolishness. Antinoa had just been speaking to him telepathically—why did he now hear her voice directly? This projection, succubus or otherwise, was powerful enough to mimic Antinoa’s voice perfectly.

Yet Zhao Xu didn’t mock her. He held fast to his resolve, filling himself with unwavering convictions.

“You really are a fool.”

This time, Antinoa’s voice sounded again in his mind. Immediately, Zhao Xu felt his hand grasped, warmth spreading from her palm. The familiar sensation of teleportation flooded his mind, and he accepted it.

Once the sluggish feeling of teleportation faded, Zhao Xu slowly opened his eyes. Before him stretched an endless sky.

“The Spire.”

“This is the highest point in the floating city,” Antinoa said, stepping in front of him.

“Before we head to battle, tell me—what did you just see?”