Chapter 78: The Final Stroke

As expected, events unfolded just as the Soul Thief Sprite had anticipated—a slender figure tumbled out of the tree hollow, landing on the ground with a painful groan, slowly and laboriously pulling himself upright.

The Soul Thief Sprite instantly recognized the youth as the mage who had ruined his plans. At that moment, the boy stood beneath the tree with his back to him, lifting his hand to remove the hood of his cloak, scanning his surroundings in confusion, clearly unaware of the situation.

Peering through the foliage, the Soul Thief Sprite fixed his gaze on the youth’s back, his mouth curling into a silent, sinister grin as he reached for the fairy skull. But as his fingers brushed the skull, a thought struck him: not long ago, he had struck the youth with the skull, yet it had no effect. The Sprite doubted the boy possessed the willpower strong enough to resist the Soul Stealing Skull’s influence. If luck hadn’t played a role, there could be only one reasonable explanation—the youth bore non-human blood, and the “Soul Stealing Skull,” which worked only on humans or humanoids, could not sway his mind.

The possibility was slim, but it existed. The opportunity for a surprise attack came but once; the Soul Thief Sprite dared not gamble. He abandoned the skull, and, shielded by the undergrowth, crept stealthily toward the young mage, intending to pounce as soon as he was within ten feet and snap his neck with a single bite.

Twenty feet.

Fifteen feet.

Closer, ever closer!

The young mage remained oblivious to the threat stalking him from behind, muttering to himself, fingers twitching slightly within his sleeves, seemingly unguarded.

The Soul Thief Sprite carefully parted the bushes, exposing his silent, savage grin and gleaming teeth, then suddenly sprang forward, lunging at the youth’s back.

Yet, to his astonishment, just as he initiated the attack, the young mage abruptly spun around, reaching out to seize his head.

“Tinwé!”

The youth intoned the incantation for “Lightning.” Magic gathered at his fingertips, transforming into flickering sparks—five twisting blue-white serpents of electricity crackling as they struck the Sprite’s head.

The Soul Thief Sprite was knocked to the ground by the sudden shock, his face charred, body numb, his gaping mouth emitting a painful moan.

Joan gave him no chance to struggle. Drawing his dagger, he rushed forward and plunged it cleanly into the Sprite’s heart. The creature convulsed violently, then its eyes rolled back and it collapsed in a limp heap.

Joan withdrew the dagger and let out a long breath. That he was able to slay the Soul Thief Sprite so smoothly was thanks, first of all, to the eyeball embedded at the back of his neck, which allowed him to spot the Sprite lurking behind the bushes. Secondly, he owed his success to the “Tear of the God”—after exhausting all his first-level spell slots for the day, he could still draw energy from the Tear to cast “Lightning Claw,” catching the Sprite off guard and paralyzing it, giving him the chance to deliver the decisive blow.

The moment the Soul Thief Sprite expired, Joan felt a gentle heat in his palm. Raising his left hand, he summoned the “Tear of the God.” A crystal-clear gem appeared, floating above his palm. The artifact’s radiance seemed to possess a strange magnetism, drawing the mythic power contained within the Sprite’s soul from the corpse and infusing it into the gem, which shone even brighter.

Joan’s mind was linked to the Tear, and he sensed its power increase. As its master, Joan benefited as well—his intelligence attribute was boosted by two points, rising from fifteen to seventeen. Additionally, the Tear’s ability to produce magical potions was enhanced: beyond the original “Lesser Restoration” potion, it could now create one vial of “Healing” potion each day, which, when ingested, restored strength and eased internal injuries, and when applied externally, stopped bleeding and accelerated healing.

Joan’s shoulder, bitten by the Sprite, was still bleeding and so painful he could barely lift his arm. Learning through telepathic connection that the upgraded Tear could create healing potions, he opened his canteen, immersed the Tear for a few seconds, and spent one energy unit to transform the water within into healing potion. After removing the gem, he raised the canteen and took two hearty swigs, using the remaining water to cleanse his wounded shoulder.

Joan’s personal experience confirmed the potion’s efficacy; after rinsing, the wound quickly stopped bleeding and formed a scab, the pain eased considerably, and the potion taken internally dispelled the weakness and dizziness caused by exhaustion and blood loss. Both his mind and body returned to peak condition.

He tried lifting his left arm and clenched his fist. Though the wound stung slightly when exerting force, it no longer hindered normal movement. Satisfied, Joan nodded and returned to a meditative state, continuing to review the information transmitted to his mind by the Tear.

Having personally slain a creature with first-tier mythic power, the Soul Thief Sprite, Joan completed his own first-tier “Mythic Trial,” forging a closer bond with the Tear—like acquiring a higher-level key and opening a previously sealed door, granting access to the library of knowledge hidden beyond.

What delighted Joan most was that this knowledge required no time or effort to study; the moment the trial was completed, the door opened and the knowledge flooded into his mind, elevating him directly to a first-tier “Mythic Archmage,” and granting him four class abilities: Mythic Power, Mythic Spellcasting, Wild Arcana, and Energy Substitution.

“Mythic Power” is an ability possessed by all mythic beings, and serves as a key distinction between mortals and mythic creatures. This power, in a sense, resembles the force wielded by true gods, yet it does not belong to any particular deity. Rather, it embodies the origin of life and wisdom across the multiverse—much as priests and druids both wield divine magic: priests tend to worship specific gods, receiving power as a blessing from personal deities, while druids do not worship idols, but venerate the mighty force of nature itself, the harmonious source of all life. Their divine power does not come from any god’s gift, but from a philosophical practice akin to panentheism.

Mythic Power is similar to the druid’s “natural divine power,” but on a higher level, for it does not merely venerate nature—it drives one to transform it. Viewed from any angle, the emergence of life is a cosmic anomaly, a coincidence of exceedingly low probability. That life could evolve from its most primitive state into beings capable of language, tools, and pondering their own origins is even more extraordinary—rarer than winning a hundred lotteries in succession.

Mythic Power is the “prime mover” that brings forth intelligent life across the multiverse.