Chapter Eighty-Three: Mutation

Daken clearly recognized the minotaur. He turned to Sanna and muttered something in a beast tongue that Weir could not understand, then he shouted loudly to the minotaur in the distance. Hearing Daken’s call, the minotaur turned his head to look, and to his surprise, discovered an old friend. A smile quickly crept across his face, and with his nearly three-meter-tall frame, he bounded over to the group in just a few strides.

Since he had no idea what these beastmen were saying, Weir couldn’t be bothered to ask Buck, whose translations were always clumsy at best. Instead, he turned his attention elsewhere.

What Weir had not expected was that this place was a boundless prairie. Upon this vast green expanse, as far as the eye could see, there were countless shelters scattered about. These shelters were grouped haphazardly, three or four together without any discernible pattern, and at the outermost edge, wooden stakes had been used to form a crude circle—serving as the tribe’s most basic defense.

“So this is a beastman tribe?”

Buck, gazing at the beastman settlement that was barely a hundred square meters in size, wore a peculiar expression. “Isn’t this a little too small?”

Hearing Buck’s remark, Weir chuckled softly and pointed to tiny black dots far off in the distance. “This is probably a beastman tribe, but I think it’s just one of many. Look over there—those black dots must be other beastman settlements. The plain stretches so far, I bet if we keep going, we’ll find even more tribes.”

“Who cares!” Buck muttered under his breath. Right now, he couldn’t care less how many beastman tribes there were; the only thing on his mind was the gold mine!

Perhaps it was their conversation that drew attention, for the minotaur suddenly glanced over at Weir, a hint of wariness in his eyes. Daken immediately began explaining, chattering away at length in beast tongue.

“Hm?”

When the minotaur finished listening to Daken, the wariness on his face was replaced by a trace of puzzlement. Yet he didn’t press further. Turning to Sanna, he uttered a few words, then hurried off to the carcass of the armored rhinobeast he had slain earlier. Tossing aside his massive warhammer, he seized the beast’s hind leg with both powerful arms, roared loudly, and to everyone’s astonishment, began dragging the enormous creature back toward the tribe!

Sanna and the rest seemed perfectly accustomed to this sight, but Weir and Buck were left dumbfounded by the display.

And the surprises didn’t end there! The minotaur not only managed to drag the giant beast, but hauled it directly into the heart of the tribe.

“Truly worthy of being called beastmen!”

At that moment, Weir found himself echoing Buck’s sentiment with a bewildered sigh.

Before long, the minotaur returned, no longer carrying his absurdly large warhammer, but now wielding an equally enormous battle axe.

“Feige!” Daken, the werewolf, pointed at the minotaur and cheerfully patted Buck’s shoulder in introduction.

Thus, another member was added to their party.

………………………….

According to Daken’s explanation, although beastman tribes appeared scattered and loose, in reality, they possessed their own strict hierarchy. Each tribe had its own chieftain who ruled the group, but none of these chieftains were the highest authority. Among the beastmen, whether commoners or chieftains, all ultimately answered to the Great Chieftain, the supreme leader of all tribes.

Their destination was none other than the tribal settlement where the Great Chieftain resided.

As night fell, the group lounged casually around the campfire. Buck, ever the cunning one, took advantage of Daken’s slacking to ingratiate himself with the other beastmen. In his awkward beast tongue, he chatted away merrily, laughing boisterously, eating and drinking with them as if among old friends. This suited the unrestrained temperament of the beastmen perfectly, and except for Sanna, the others all warmed to Buck. Meanwhile, Weir quietly finished a bit of roasted meat and retreated to the side, closing his eyes to continue refining the fire element within his sea of consciousness.

After several days, most of the fire element in his consciousness had nearly been refined. Unless something unexpected happened, tonight would mark the final step of Weir’s advancement!

Entering his sea of consciousness, Weir immediately guided his perception to refine the fire element. Threads of fire energy were continuously converted into pure magic, bit by bit accumulating. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but as the magical energy amassed, Weir suddenly sensed a subtle, inexplicable change within the cluster of magic he now controlled.

Within Weir’s sea of consciousness, magic of every element could be refined into the purest energy in a remarkable way, each never repelling the others. This was Weir’s greatest secret as a sevenfold mage. In his body, magical energy was not limited to just fire, but included all seven elements, coexisting in a mist-like form. Yet now, he noticed the fire magic refused to blend with the other elements. Instead, the fire energy gathered around a central point, layering upon itself over and over. What should have remained in a gaseous state began to liquefy, and as the fire magic increased, that liquid state even hinted at becoming solid!

Mutation!?

A shocking thought flashed through Weir’s mind. He had never heard of magic changing its form within a mage’s sea of consciousness. He had no idea what this metamorphosis might mean for him!

More troubling still, he had no way to halt this transformation—he was out of time. The fire element had already been completely refined, and only a step remained before his advancement was complete!

A crimson radiance gradually filled Weir’s sea of consciousness, but he did nothing to stop it. He knew—the moment of ascension had finally arrived.

Heat blazed through his being, as if a raging inferno had ignited deep within his soul. Weir’s skin flushed red, beads of sweat streaming down his face. Though he felt no pain, the indescribable heat was nearly enough to drive him mad!

It was unbearable!

At last, the heat dissipated, and his sea of consciousness returned to normal—no, not quite normal. Elsewhere, the other elements still drifted in their misty forms, but at one end, a crimson crystal now hung suspended in his mind. Even without consciously directing it, Weir could feel the pure, powerful pulse of fire magic emanating from it.

And yet…

Weir opened his eyes, a trace of bitterness flickering across his face.

Yes, he had advanced—but not as a whole. By a mage’s standards, his fire magic had leapt to the level of an eighth-tier magician, advancing four ranks at once! This should have been cause for celebration, but to Weir’s chagrin, only his fire attribute had advanced; all other elements remained at fourth-tier.

The formation of that fire crystal in his mind meant the balance among the different elemental magics had been utterly shattered. It was as if a plant bearing seven fruits now had each fruit and stem divided into seven separate parts. If he wanted all seven fruits to grow, each would now need to draw nourishment on its own.

What kind of absurd situation is this!

Weir could not help but curse bitterly in his heart.