The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

Twelfth floor of the Black Tower.

Bratt looked at Anser uneasily, one hand drawn close to his waist and clenched tight.

"Still failed." Anser reached out and patted him on the shoulder in consolation. "There are plenty of reasons we might not be able to contact him. It doesn't necessarily mean he's dead."

Last night, Bratt had learned the whole story of how Anser had found Gwyneth through Sending, so first thing this morning, he'd asked Anser to help him find out what had happened to Emon.

Emon had been Bratt's leader during his adventuring days. He had gone to Silver Scale Bay with members of the Stonemasons' Guild, and there had been no word from him since the fish-men disaster.

"Yeah. I figured." Bratt turned his head. His gaze passed through the transparent blackstone wall as he stared blankly at the distant sea.

Emon had too strong a sense of responsibility. He had people depending on him, so there was no way he would have fled alone after disaster struck.

"Even if someone's dead, they can still be brought back." Anser's expression remained calm. He genuinely believed that.

True Resurrection could bring back a creature that had been dead for no more than two hundred years, provided it hadn't died of old age. As long as the soul still existed and was willing to return, coming back from the dead wasn't some impossible fantasy.

And Anser was confident that he could enter the legendary tier within two years. Mastering True Resurrection wouldn't be difficult.

"What's it like after you die? If you're lucky enough to enter a divine realm, it must be better than being alive," Bratt murmured.

"Maybe he's enjoying himself right now." Anser didn't tell him the truth.

The gods themselves were in dire straits at the moment, and the state of their divine realms was unknown. The chances that Emon was actually enjoying himself were vanishingly small.

"I'm going to inventory the loot." Bratt composed himself and waved a hand as though nothing was wrong, then got up and headed for the door.

"Bratt, don't dwell on it too much. Some things that seem incredibly difficult right now might be within easy reach after a little time has passed," Anser consoled him.

"Mm." Bratt paused, then gently pulled the door shut behind him.

Anser could understand him. How many people in this world could truly come to terms with life and death?

For the vast majority of ordinary people, death was the end. Resurrection was the stuff of legend—something you heard stories about, nothing more.

He walked over to the wall and looked down at the bustling land-clearing efforts underway across the island.

Near Paradise Village, not far away, stretched a lush expanse of green. Some patches were dark green, others light green, while seedlings of some unknown vegetable were pale purple, all of them bursting with life.

Little Claira rode Nornoth all over the island, laughing happily as she went, her bell-like laughter trailing behind her.

Seeing her suddenly reminded Anser of Dorothea Tsaitkin, the old Wizard he'd met at the Adventurers' Guild in Rivington.

'She didn't die too, did she?'

Otherwise, why hadn't she come looking for him after all this time? By now, the name "Anser" definitely wasn't difficult to track down.

He immediately cast Sending with Dorothea as the target. Unsurprisingly, the spell failed.

'She's a Divination Wizard. She shouldn't die that easily.'

He shook his head and put the matter aside, then walked over to a corner and began identifying yesterday's loot.

The Avaricious Dragonhide Pouch still posed certain risks. Every night, he emptied out all the non-cursed items inside it. It was somewhat troublesome, but at least it gave him peace of mind.

Fortunately, they had Party Storage, and he and the other members often used it as their own personal Bag of Holding.

'I still need to find better storage equipment. Party Storage doesn't offer enough privacy,' he thought.

This time, they had taken out an intelligence outpost belonging to a Waterdeep noble house, and the haul was far greater than he'd expected.

There were eight Bags of Holding alone, nearly all taken from high-ranking members of the Osprey Society and relatively powerful professionals. If several hadn't been destroyed during the fighting, there might have been even more.

Although they were merely standard-issue magic items of fine quality, Bags of Holding certainly didn't grow on trees. The bags themselves were worth one or two thousand gold pieces apiece.

After a moment's thought, Anser took everything down to the vacant eleventh floor and emptied the contents of the Bags of Holding.

Items poured out like a stream, quickly covering more than half the room—gold coins, silver coins, gems, ore, books, formalwear, miscellaneous goods, potions, magic items...

Anser immediately broke into a broad grin.

'I'm rich. Just these coins alone... there have to be at least 150,000 gold pieces!'

A professional's ability to make money couldn't be underestimated. Every one of them was worth a considerable sum, especially those high-level and peak-level professionals.

But Anser's main focus wasn't the coins or miscellaneous goods. It was the magic items.

'One at a time.'

Before he started identifying them, though, he went downstairs and called over Makaria, Adolf, Gwyneth, and the others who had nothing else to do, asking them to help sort through the loot and catalog everything.

Aside from Iris, whose sleep had been disturbed by Bratt and who had gone back to Fort Jacqueline to catch up on it, everyone else was around and could lend a hand.

The moment they entered the room, they were stunned by the sight before them. Once they recovered, they immediately threw themselves into the task with enthusiasm.

Other work might be tiring, but counting money never was!

Anser focused solely on identifying the magic items, while Gwyneth followed beside him with a notebook, recording everything.

There were more than a hundred magic items in total. Even excluding the magic potions, there were still dozens of pieces of equipment.

Most of the equipment was of fairly good quality, primarily fine, with quite a few Rare items as well, along with four Very Rare ones.

'Too bad there aren't any Legendary items.'

Anser wasn't surprised. The Aberrant Sorcerer had been an administrator, while the Arcane Trickster was an intelligence officer. Combat wasn't their primary function, so giving them Legendary items would have been a waste.

The four Very Rare items were the Hellfire Rod, Chronopact Orb, Living Armor, and Belt of Giant Strength.

The Hellfire Rod was a black baton a little over two feet long, with glowing embers encircling its flanged head. Up close, it gave off a faint smell of sulfur.

Attuning to the item granted resistance to fire and necrotic damage, as well as the ability to cast the 4th-level spell Infernal Rebuke once per day.

It also had a property called Sulfurous Surge. Once per day, when the wielder cast a spell that dealt fire or necrotic damage, the spell could deal maximum damage.

The item had no curse or negative effects, so it was indeed quite good for a spellcaster, but Anser had no use for it.

The Chronopact Orb was a brass sphere about the size of a fist. When held, tiny mechanisms inside it hummed and caused it to vibrate slightly.

Once activated, three shadowy hands appeared across its curved surface, displaying the current time.

It also carried Haste and Slow, both of which could be activated normally even while the Weave was disrupted.

'No wonder that Arcane Trickster could run so damn fast!'

Anser weighed it in his hand, then tossed it to Stoll.

The Chronopact Orb didn't require Attunement, making it quite useful for Stoll.

The third item was Living Armor, taken from the high-level Barbarian who had remained standing even after Makaria stabbed him full of holes.

The Living Armor looked hideous and terrifying. Its surface consisted of black chitin, beneath which lay gleaming red sinews and pulsing blood vessels.

Once attuned, its tendrils burrowed into the wearer's body, and it had to drink its host's blood once every day!

It had the weight and flexibility of medium armor but the protection of plate armor, along with an additional +1 Armor Class. In other words, its Armor Class was 4 points higher than the best medium armor.

In addition, the wearer gained resistance to necrotic, poison, and psychic damage.

It was undeniably powerful, but besides drinking blood, there was another drawback: once put on, it couldn't simply be taken off at will.

Someone had to cast Remove Curse on the wearer to end the Attunement and detach it from the host's body.

'This thing... isn't bad either. I just wonder if Stoll will be put off by it.'

Anser glanced at Stoll, who was holding the Chronopact Orb and examining it.

There was no way Anser himself would wear it. His draconic blood was far too precious. The Living Armor wasn't worthy of drinking it.

Besides, the thing didn't seem capable of growing stronger.

The final item was a Belt of Fire Giant Strength. Its property was as simple as it was brutally effective.

Strength 25!

'Could that Barbarian have been a direct member of House Cassalanter? Too bad his Dexterity was so poor.'

Anser was surprised by just how wealthy the man had been, but this time he didn't give the belt to Stoll. Instead, he decisively fastened it around his own waist.

His Strength was 22, still a considerable distance from 25. After entering the extraordinary realm, the difference represented by each individual point was greater than before.

'Next time I level up, I'll raise my Wisdom into the extraordinary realm first.'

Ability points would only become more precious from here on. His first priority was to raise all his abilities into the extraordinary realm, then focus primarily on Charisma. If he had points to spare after that, he could distribute them among Intelligence, Wisdom, and his other abilities.

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