Comprehensive network wizard, magic emperor.

Chapter 362 Sword Fighting Under the Night
“It’s finished.” The astrologer held up a wooden headband, its texture as clear as obsidian, with inscriptions on the inner circle intertwined like thorny roots.

Tifflin identified this item as purple quality, which is quite good auxiliary equipment. It can boost spirit and increase intelligence, and professions that require mental effort will like it.

The astrologer then noticed that this Tyflin had been waiting nearby. To clear away any disturbance, he gently inquired about the astrologer's purpose. Upon learning that the astrologer wanted the elixir of immortality, he lied and claimed that only the jeweler had the last bottle left.

As Tiflin was about to leave, the astrologer asked instead, "Guests from afar, what is the background of that young man in white among you? Perhaps he already knows the Grand Mage?"

"Him? I don't know. Players on the cross-network come from infinite realms. We're all just birds that fly together briefly. Once we reach the ferry, we'll disembark and continue our journeys. Brother Mage is a good person, highly skilled, and has a wide circle of friends. He could know anyone." Tiflin flicked its tail as a farewell wave.

The astrologer pondered silently, his hands trembling involuntarily from exhaustion, his robes soaked with sweat, his damp hair hanging stickily, yet he still carefully held the headdress in his hands.

He took a deep breath, his heart throbbing slightly—a symptom of over-casting.

The Gifted Ones are unfinished products born from the background of the micro-magic world. They are flawed natural spellcasters who are extremely dependent on external magical sources, like a water pipe rather than a pond, and are ultimately inferior to true warlocks.

Overdosing on mushroom oil potions can damage the body, but it can also slightly enhance magical affinity. This is a self-destructive way of cultivation and is not wise. Archmages never recommend that they rely too much on magic.

The astrologer caught his breath for a moment. The active substances in the elixir of immortality activated his body's self-repairing functions, and he quickly recovered from exhaustion and injury. Even if cultivating shortened his lifespan, he could afford to take the risk. Rather, he didn't need to push his potential to the limit; he was simply wasting the two hundred years of life bestowed upon him by the Grand Mage.

He drank a bottle of potion, focused his mind on the words of power, then recited a cleansing incantation, bathed and refreshed himself, and his sticky, wet clothes dried and smelled clean again.

Therefore, the astrologer decided to search for the Archmage, but he couldn't find him anywhere. It was quite common for the Archmage to leave the cape every night. On the third floor, he only found Ironclad on night duty. After thinking for a moment, he handed the wooden ring to it and asked it to pass it on to the lighthouse keeper.

After leaving the house, the astrologer went to find the young man in white again, not for any other reason than to inform him that he had completed the problem the young man had set for him.

Tonight, the campfire blazed brightly in the players' campsite, which had been formed on the desolate outskirts of the headland. The halfling girl was tending the stove and stew pot, studying diligently by the light of the lamp. When she heard the astrologer's purpose, she shook her head, "I don't know that tall man. I haven't seen him or the teacher since this afternoon. They're probably getting extra help."

The astrologer asked curiously, "Why do the guests address the Grand Master differently from the other auditors?"

"Ah, yes, Master, you've accepted me as your disciple. Speaking of which, you're my senior brother." [Frosty Soup Stew Pot] jumped up from the stool, patted his chest, and bowed to show his respect.

The astrologer was speechless for a moment, then bowed in return and said, "I am not accomplished, nor do I possess any talent or ability, far inferior to you. I am fortunate to have followed the Grand Master in his lectures, but I dare not presume to be his senior disciple. I am merely an ordinary student."

He didn't talk much, but the halfling couldn't stay still. She kept asking about the daily work and life of the lighthouse, no matter how small the matter was. She never got tired of listening to anything related to the monk.

As the conversation deepened into the night, the camp quieted down; some players had rested, while others were engrossed in their studies. The campfire still burned brightly, and the halflings occasionally stirred the stew, releasing a fragrant aroma. The parched astrologer, starving, shared snacks and eggnog with the halflings who were secretly swallowing their saliva.

The last members of the Bad Boys Alliance returned. They lurked in the library, pretending to study, and only came out when it was late at night. They lifted the black cloth covering the time bubble on the round table on the second floor and saw what the hidden classroom looked like.

Judging from their expressions, they were disappointed.

A coded message drifted on the wind: "...Sigh, I can't find a way to crack it. It's really a headache." "We still have to ask that flying sword guy for help." "Shh, keep your voice down, the mage's eldest apprentice is over there."

The astrologer watched silently as they entered a travel tent decorated with spotted deerskin, and soon emerged dejectedly, seemingly unsuccessful. He recounted an event to the halfling, “I once saw the archmage standing by the tower, manipulating the clouds and drinking rain like a mythical serpent. This is mastery of magic, a profound skill and knowledge, which none of my fellow disciples are capable of inheriting, and of course, I am even less capable.”

The halfling nodded. She had witnessed the mage's methods of slaughtering hordes of enemies in dungeons. While his power and ferocity were terrifying, they were also truly amazing art of spell control.

"The man who fought the Grand Master during the day was more like the Master's disciple than any of us."

As they were chatting, [Flying Sword Apprentice] came out of the tent, glanced at the two by the campfire, and headed straight for the beach.

After meditating and resting, he had restored all his spell slots and was no longer worried about tomorrow's assessment, so he was very relaxed. With his free time, he pondered and reviewed the sword fight, seeing his shortcomings in his defeat and seeking improvement from those shortcomings. This is the path of cultivation for a wise mage.

The beach was cold and damp with the night wind, and the water was pitch black.

The [Flying Sword Apprentice] stuck an inextinguishable flame into the pile of stones, shaping a powerful sword pellet, and began practicing his skills.

The sword pellet has a rounded shape and does not rely on a sharp blade, but rather on its ingenuity and versatility. It is a design that can only be used by advanced flight weapon experts.

He enjoys dueling, is competitive, and uses his desire to win to fuel his enthusiasm for learning. [Flying Sword Apprentice] is very good at self-discipline.

He had many remarkable ideas in his mind.

Some of these have already been implemented, such as using a sword pellet as a wand for remote spellcasting.

Some are still in the conceptual stage, such as giving sword pellets virtual intelligence and life, shaping them into magical pets, and then cutting off a part of one's own soul to integrate into them in order to gain stronger control.

Online gamers who dare to dream and act are the ones who can rise to the top. However, there are also countless fools and reckless individuals who ruin themselves.

After practicing for a while, he sheathed his sword and pondered, mentally training against an imaginary opponent. He reasoned that having an opponent of similar skill would lead to rapid improvement.

As I was pondering this, a faint metallic clanging sound drifted in on the night breeze.

Following the sound, he arrived near the entrance to the cape and saw the sea surface as smooth as a polished copper plate. In the distance, two tall and bright figures stepped into the still water, stirring up dense ripples. Their figures flickered like two fireflies, and the surrounding air was filled with light tearing sounds and sudden flashes of sparks.

This is a sword fight.

One of them is the Lighthouse Archmage, and the other, it seems, is also an Archmage?!

The Flying Sword Apprentice's lips trembled, unable to utter a single word. He hurriedly took a night vision potion, tore open an Eagle Eye scroll, and enhanced his mechanical mind. He was determined to see clearly the duel between these powerful individuals, otherwise he would not die in peace.

(End of this chapter)