Chapter Fifty: The Sorcerer's Plane

He tried on the wristband; having been crafted to his own measurements, with his own spiritual and magical energy infused during the refining process, it fit perfectly in both comfort and size. There were less than two weeks left until the grand Purple-Gold Gala at the Pat Auction House, and most of Qixiao’s time was devoted to study and self-cultivation.

Aside from replenishing stock for his alchemy shop and preparing items for auction, he rarely practiced alchemy any longer. He sensed a bottleneck in his skills; further progress would require more advanced study. Of the ten applicants who responded to his recruitment notice at the mission hall, Qixiao carefully selected three, and was now searching for an ideal location to which he could eventually relocate his shop.

The alchemy store had earned a tidy profit. Except for items currently out of stock, Qixiao restocked the inventory his teacher had given him, purchased additional materials he predicted would be useful, and repaid the advance rent from Steward Merck. Even after all these expenses, he had about 6,000 magic crystals left—more than sufficient for daily needs.

Outside the Origin World, the magic crystals from the Eastern, Southern, Western, and Northern Sorcerer Realms were less pure, marred by many impurities. Yet as the will of the world tightened its control over these realms year by year, the purity of their crystals gradually improved. The exchange rate, though ever fluctuating, was currently about one Origin magic crystal to a hundred from the other four realms—whereas ten thousand years ago, that ratio was closer to one to one hundred and twenty.

The order in which the four Sorcerer Realms were conquered was: West, North, East, and South, with the Western realm falling to the will of the Sorcerer World about five thousand years before the Southern realm did. The two newly emerged major sorcerer realms—Azure Sorcerer World and Plague Source World—had only recently converted their power systems to magic. Perhaps because these worlds were so far from the Origin World, the world’s will had not yet fully assimilated or conquered them as thoroughly as it had the four main realms. In fact, the local power systems influenced the magic there, resulting in distinctive characteristics that made their sorcerers quite unlike the traditional ones.

Naturally, the magic crystals from those two places were even less valuable.

Browsing through past issues of the Silver Moon Daily, Qixiao noticed a report mentioning a large sorcerer realm currently undergoing conversion. Because the process was not yet complete, it had been temporarily sealed off, with all sorcerers forbidden to approach its coordinates.

From information he’d glimpsed in his teacher’s study, worlds were classified as small, medium, or large. Realms like the Sorcerer World or Abyss World, being inherently powerful and prone to launching invasions, were often called “super-large” realms, but this was an honorific—at heart, they were simply major worlds.

Contrary to popular belief, it was not the sorcerers who initiated wars of conquest, but the trend set by the will of the world itself.

The world’s will would actively seek out nearby worlds, and upon discovery, immediately establish a connection before launching an invasion. The wills of worlds devoured one another, and the victor gained immense benefits from the conquest. Though sorcerers were swept along by this tide, the rewards—both during and after the war—were so great, with additional gifts from the world’s will itself, that they could even help a sorcerer break through to new heights. Such incentives drove most sorcerers to madness.

Most crucially, once a connection was established between two worlds, conflict became a matter of survival. To abstain from the war risked disaster for one’s entire world should it lose, and none could afford that fate.

Thus, sorcerers were repeatedly swept into countless wars of conquest. Except for the Origin Sorcerer World, all the major sorcerer realms had been transformed from other large worlds after being conquered in such wars.

Much of this, in truth, was Qixiao’s own conjecture. Apart from the Silver Moon Daily and miscellaneous works like “Origin of Sorcery,” his teacher had forbidden all other books on world wars, fearing he might become too ambitious for his own good.

Still, he was confident his deductions were close to the truth—even if he had not witnessed the specifics of these wars for himself, it hardly mattered.

In the testing chamber, Qixiao successfully unleashed a Dimensional Slash. Beaming with joy, he watched the wooden post he’d just cleaved slowly begin to regenerate its wound.

Elated, he was about to head to the combat tower to test his new might when, on the sandy shore of the island in the heart of the lake, he glimpsed two figures.

The surface of Lake Roentgen was as serene and beautiful as ever, its waters shimmering with rainbow hues under the sunlight, like countless jewels dancing upon the waves.

Eve sat on a smooth stone by the lakeshore, her petite figure perfectly complementing the vibrant scenery—a harmonious tableau. She held an elegant fishing rod, her gaze fixed with utter concentration on the bobber, sunlight illuminating her calm, intent face. Her long hair draped smoothly over her shoulders, occasionally teased by the breeze, making her look every bit like a spirit of the lake.

Rupert lounged idly on the nearby sand, deftly shelling a handful of nuts. His red hair blazed in the sunlight, an arresting contrast to his handsome but distracted expression.

Each time he cracked a nut, he tossed it into the lake, as if hoping to lure some fish. Occasionally, Eve would use her spiritual power to take a nut from the basket, crack it in the air, and drop it straight into her mouth before absentmindedly chewing and continuing her fishing.

Qixiao watched with curiosity, wondering what sort of drama these two were enacting. Approaching, he asked, “Senior Rupert, what are you doing here? Why don’t you stop Senior Eve from absentmindedly eating fish bait?”

At his words, Eve stopped chewing, speechless, and turned to stare at Qixiao in exasperation.

Raymont, however, burst out laughing and teased, “Isn’t it obvious? Your senior insisted she had a hunch there’d be a great catch, so she dragged me over to help out—just in case she hooked something too big to handle alone. She says this every day, but so far, not only has there been no big catch, we haven’t even seen a single fingerling.”

Eve’s face flushed crimson as she muttered rapidly, “What do you know about fishing? It’s not me—it’s this lake, it’s all rainbow-colored and clearly toxic, no fish would come here. And this fishing rod is awful, top-heavy and bottom-light, the balance is all wrong, and…”

Listening to Eve’s litany of complaints, Qixiao could only smile wryly. He knew well that Eve, in her quest to find her own path as a sorcerer, spent almost every day fishing here; ever since his arrival nearly a month ago, she had been a daily fixture.

Her mood had gradually become more agitated. Outwardly she seemed unchanged, but inside she was clearly growing anxious—quite the opposite of the tranquil mindset fishing was meant to cultivate.

There was little Qixiao could do to help. So, he always tried to lighten the mood, hoping Eve might relax a little. Raymont, too, knew how unlikely it was for her to catch anything, yet continued to keep her company for the same reason.

Eve herself was aware of her predicament and did her utmost to restrain her impatience—yet such feelings were hard to suppress. In the end, only she could find the answer for herself.