Chapter Eighteen: Unable to Hold Back Any Longer!

An entire day! Ist stared at Ver in the back garden for a whole day, yet the only result was that this mysterious young man also stayed motionless in the garden the entire day! Ist knew Ver was practicing the unique meditation of a mage, but a strange feeling lingered in his heart—a sense of unease he could not quite place.

As dusk gradually deepened, Ist rubbed his slightly sore eyes, wondering whether he should continue his vigil. Just then, Ver, who had been sitting quietly on the lawn not far away, stood up, stretched leisurely, then circled the count’s mansion once before returning to the pharmacy.

“Strange!”

Ist watched Ver’s figure until he disappeared into his room, noticing nothing unusual and frowning in doubt: “Am I overthinking?”

After the door closed, the Ver who had walked inside began to fade and eventually vanished entirely. Elsewhere, a blurred figure appeared out of thin air, gradually becoming clear—it was unmistakably Ver, with his aquamarine hair and handsome face.

The illusion cast by the magical formation was evidently very effective. Even Ist, now a second-tier Grand Soul Master, had failed to notice anything amiss. Now, Ver no longer had to worry about Ist’s constant interference or surveillance.

Seated on his mat, Ver’s thoughts raced as he organized all the information he knew.

According to Bill, throughout the entire Vera Empire, only four people knew about the Lost Yzigel Staff: General Standar, revered as the God of War; Duke House, the Emperor’s right hand among the nobility; Weilyn’s father, Count Charlesberg; and finally, Emperor Penguting himself.

As for Lady List, the countess, she must have acquired the information through some special channels. After all, a family powerful enough to supply weapons and equipment to the Empire must possess unfathomable resources.

Of course, from another perspective, perhaps more people knew about the Lost Yzigel Staff than Bill claimed. In an empire, the various factions might appear harmonious on the surface, but beneath, hidden currents swirl beyond ordinary imagination. So, perhaps more knew of the staff, but simply chose not to reveal it.

To attain the status of a mage, and then use Bill’s connections to penetrate the depths of power—this was Bill’s cautious plan for approaching the Lost Yzigel Staff. It was prudent and safe, but Ver was unwilling to wait so long, nor did he wish to entangle himself in the dark undercurrents of power.

“Perhaps I should try another way…” Ver touched his nose, a habitual gesture. After pondering for a moment, a smile spread across his face. “Since those who know of the staff refuse to show themselves, I’ll draw them out from the shadows…”

The night passed uneventfully. At dawn, Ver once again used his old trick, deceiving Ist’s watchful eyes with an illusion and quietly leaving the count’s mansion without anyone noticing.

When he reached the inn, Bill had already prepared a carriage. A man stood nearby like a dutiful steward and respectfully greeted Ver, “Sir, we’re ready to depart.”

“Mm.”

Nodding, the two boarded the carriage, heading toward the Mage Guild.

The central square of the imperial capital was the commercial district, frequented by merchants from all over the Empire. It was crowded and chaotic, a jumble of all kinds of people—rarely did aristocrats or powerful figures live here. Yet the Mage Guild was built right in the midst of it.

Whether by accident or design, it mattered little. Whatever the reason, and whatever the nature of the square, Ver’s sole source of fury at this moment was that a marketplace stood directly opposite the Mage Guild!

Anyone with a basic understanding of magic knew that mages required a tranquil environment for cultivation. Yet, directly facing the Mage Guild was a bustling market, filled with endless noise and commotion—how could any mage focus and train in such a place?

Before even entering the Mage Guild, a dark line appeared on Ver’s forehead, and even Bill, standing beside him, dared not utter a word, quietly following behind.

Taking a deep breath, Ver forced himself to calm his mind and strode toward the guild’s grand entrance. The Mage Guild’s architecture was indeed imposing, but that only deepened the anger on Ver’s face.

Yes, the Mage Guild appeared magnificent, because it was built entirely in the style of the ancient Holy Church. Aside from the four enormous characters above the door proclaiming “Mage Guild,” the only feature that gave any sense of magical identity was the tall pillar before the entrance, atop which sat a massive “magic crystal.”

To outsiders, a crystal as large as a barrel displayed before the guild would surely be seen as a legendary magic crystal. But to Ver, an expert, it was obvious at a glance—this was no magic crystal. In fact, it was not even a real crystal, but a specially crafted imitation meant to resemble a magic crystal.

Bill clearly noticed his employer’s lips twitching involuntarily, his face ashen, seemingly on the verge of collapse. Yet, after a moment, Ver took another deep breath and suppressed his anger.

“Sir?”

Bill ventured tentatively, but Ver did not respond, striding directly into the guild. Just then, a mage dressed in ornate robes emerged from within, chin held high, oblivious to anyone entering. Ver, his rage still simmering, paid no attention to possible obstacles, and the two collided forcefully.

“Ah!”

The mage, around thirty years old but as thin as a stick—his body clearly ruined by wine and women—was knocked flat despite being twice Ver’s age. Ver merely staggered back a few steps, Bill quickly steadying him.

“Damn it!”

The mage clambered up in a mess, not caring who his assailant was, and immediately unleashed a torrent of abuse: “Idiot! Are you blind? Don’t you know I’m a mage? Let me tell you, I have the entire Mage Guild behind me! The whole Empire! Even nobles and the military step aside for a mage! Kneel down and apologize, or I’ll ruin your whole family!”

“Hmph, a mage?”

Ver snorted coldly, sizing up the mage with disdain. Though the man claimed to be a mage, Ver sensed not the slightest magical energy from him—only the lingering perfume of a brothel.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

This mage could not stand being looked down upon. He shrieked, stretched out his hand, and began quickly reciting a string of incantations. Strangely, Ver did not react with awe as most would upon hearing a spell. Instead, as he listened, his face grew angrier.

After a full ten minutes, the mage finished his chant, wiped nonexistent sweat from his brow, and grinned arrogantly. “See?”

He extended his bony hand, and a wisp of black smoke rose from his palm. From across the room, a burnt odor wafted, and a few sparks flickered. Within two or three seconds, the pitiful sparks vanished.

“What sort of magic is that?”

Ver bit his lip, his voice trembling without him realizing.

“Ha! Scared, aren’t you?”

Seeing Ver’s reaction, the mage assumed his spell had cowed him. Smirking, he declared, “Fire Spell! Ever heard of it, country bumpkin?”

“Fire Spell! You dare call that a Fire Spell? I’ve lived all these years and never seen a fool cast Fire Spell like this! Seventy-eight magical notes, you chanted for over ten minutes, and sixty-seven of them were completely off-key! Get out of my way! Bill, stop holding me back—I can’t take it anymore!”

Ver shook off Bill’s hand, rage erupting within him.