Chapter Thirty-One: Swimming Against the Current

Hearing Antinoya's tone, Zhao Xu slowly realized that everything just now might not be as simple as he had thought. He hurriedly recounted all that he had witnessed, beginning with the succubus disguised as a female mage who tried to seduce him, and ending with how he firmly recited incantations to steel his resolve.

A soft laugh escaped Antinoya, interrupting Zhao Xu’s narrative.

“Let me give you a piece of advice,” she said, unable to suppress her amusement. “You’d best never breathe a word of what happened today for the rest of your life. Even should you one day become a legendary mage, this little episode will haunt you as your embarrassing past. Hahaha…”

“Hey, hey, I have my pride as a player too, you know!” Zhao Xu retorted.

“First of all,” Antinoya began, “without spell slots, reciting prayers is utterly useless. If you actually encounter a succubus in the future, your best option—if nothing else—is to run for your life, not to sit there mumbling ineffectual incantations.”

Zhao Xu suddenly felt extremely awkward; so those chants had been nothing but self-consolation.

“Still, though you haven’t gained any related knowledge about demons these past few days, you instinctively avoided being kissed by a succubus. That’s a rather sharp intuition.”

He could only take this as a compliment, salvaging a shred of dignity.

“But tell me, the place you saw—was there a giant disc on the ceiling, something like the face of a mechanical pocket watch?” Antinoya’s question made Zhao Xu thoughtful. At the time, all his attention had been seized by that female mage. In the overwhelming shock of their first encounter, a scene flashed through his mind. His eyes narrowed as he recalled it.

“Yes, that’s right. It wasn’t an open, star-studded sky, but a disc. The outer edge looked like the markings on a clock. The rest is a bit hazy.”

Antinoya nearly rubbed her forehead in exasperation upon hearing this.

She lifted her arm, striking a pose while chanting an incantation.

Zhao Xu watched her intently. This was the first time Antinoya had so obviously cast a spell before him. The last time, when she had invoked the ninth-level spell “Wish,” it had been so subtle he hadn’t noticed.

Now, with such deliberate solemnity, could this perhaps be a legendary spell?

He counted silently, six seconds passing, before a mysterious orb of light blossomed from Antinoya’s fingertips. The sphere drifted lightly to the ground, dissolving into dust.

The entire floor of the obelisk seemed to break apart like scattered building blocks, sending Zhao Xu’s heart racing. He had foolishly never learned the basic Feather Fall spell, thinking he’d never be unlucky enough to fall from a great height. And the Fly spell was a third-level arcane spell, far beyond his current reach.

To make matters worse, Antinoya was still maintaining her spell, paying him no mind at all.

Yet, in that crucial moment, Zhao Xu realized he was still standing in place, as though supported by invisible glass. The ground below continued to shift, splitting apart only to knit itself back together, while the surrounding space fractured and reformed, torn and rebuilt over and over.

Thanks to half a month’s tutelage, Zhao Xu now understood: this was Antinoya’s illusion magic at work. She hadn’t truly shattered the ground beneath them.

The illusion quickly took shape.

Zhao Xu’s mouth dropped open. Before him appeared the very scene he had witnessed earlier: countless books stretching to the sky, layers upon layers of towering bookshelves, spiraling staircases winding upward.

And above it all, the giant disc—now, looking closer, Zhao Xu realized it was the map of the twenty-seven principal planes of the Arthurian world: from the Heroic Realm of Yose Garden, to the Grey Wastes of Hades, to the Windhowl Abyss and the Maddening Void—all were represented upon it.

It symbolized the workings of this world.

Suddenly, as if a dream had shattered, the illusory veil dissolved, torn away piece by piece, like a cloud of dust swept clean by a midsummer downpour.

The illusion faded. Antinoya now stood where the female mage had been, gazing at him.

Zhao Xu now understood clearly: what had happened was no test for him, nor had the female mage been a succubus in disguise.

His expression grew grave.

“A fifth-level arcane spell, Mirage Arcana. It seems the recreation was accurate, matching the scene you described.” Antinoya said.

Zhao Xu nodded in confirmation.

“And that lady—who was she?” Zhao Xu’s tone was noticeably more respectful.

He couldn’t help but worry a bolt of divine lightning might strike him at any moment.

“Legendary Archmage Sisylvina,” Antinoya replied.

Zhao Xu froze. So it really was her.

Sisylvina, the Goddess of Magic and Knowledge.

But at that time, was she not yet a goddess—only a legendary archmage? Wasn’t she supposed to be the one and the same, three-in-one?

“That throne—the Arcane Throne—was forged with endless resources by the ancient Arcane Empire. The seat you saw is but a fragment; over eighty percent of its mass is buried beneath the dais, and that is the core of the Maze Lock spell.

“So, the mithril you saw on the platform is only the least valuable of its exterior. Those suited to be mages, upon sitting, can activate their own arcane circuits through it and thus form spell slots.

“However, those with special talents will reveal extraordinary powers upon sitting. We use this to determine future study and advancement paths.”

Here, Antinoya paused, looking deeply at Zhao Xu, as if searching his face for some hidden truth.

“You have potential points, so you’re different from ordinary mortals.

“When I, with potential points, sat upon it, every mage present instantly recovered a spell slot—including the apprentices.

“Today, I had you sit there hoping you would recreate that feat, so that this generation of apprentices would submit to you, becoming your loyal followers in time.”

Zhao Xu hadn’t expected this to be the reason. He was so taken aback that he barely registered Antinoya’s mention of her own potential points.

“But do you know what happened when you sat down?”

“Hmm?”

“You disappeared.”

Zhao Xu blinked, pinching his thigh to steady himself.

“You mean I vanished? But I didn’t feel any sense of teleportation.”

“It wasn’t teleportation. You crossed the river of time itself. You returned to the era before Sisylvina the Third became a goddess, and within the Hall of Truth of the Final Scroll, you saw her.

“She approached you out of curiosity, for you had journeyed upstream against the current of time—not because she was a succubus wanting to kiss you. You’d best forget that notion, or you’ll never become even a first-level cleric in your life.

“So I’m very curious—if potential points aren’t your greatest gift, then what exactly is your most remarkable trait?”

Antinoya looked at him, her words laced with laughter.

Zhao Xu met her gaze with calm composure.

The answer was simple: he was someone who had been reborn.