Chapter 255 – Netheril

The 24,726-year memory of Vedrasha Zakas, the Far-Sky Scholar, had reached its conclusion. By the time of the final battle, his spellcasting level had reached a full 42nd level – the Legendary Morningstar Tier.

In the final moments of these memories, Vedrasha gazed wistfully at the Faerûn Plane where he had resided for ten thousand years. Nearly three millennia had passed since the destruction of the City of Distant Skies by this point, and few among the new generation of mages still remembered this seemingly insignificant Floating City in history.

Yet until the “Final Battle” arrived, Vedrasha could never forget that war-city inherited from his teacher, nor could he forget the Floating City where he had grown up and experienced countless events.

Vedrasha’s memories ended here. As the Grand Arcanist’s figure gradually faded into the Astral Plane, Punk’s consciousness slowly detached from this illusory vessel.

Finally, in a space of utter darkness, Vedrasha’s figure turned around to face Punk directly, meeting his gaze.

The weathered Old Man wore the Stardust Robe he had crafted himself. Moving his fingers in a manner strikingly familiar to Punk, he asked profoundly:

“Successor, do you know what Netheril is?”

“I believe it’s not a civilization, but rather a spirit.”

Punk calmly regarded Vedrasha’s face.

Throughout these twenty-four thousand years of memories, Punk had witnessed the magnificent Netherese Civilization – long existing only in legends – like watching an extensive first-person film.

It was a splendor beyond mortal imagination, with thousands of Floating Cities dominating the entire Multiverse. Billions of planes were conquered and ruled by Netherese spellcasters. Celestial magic towers reaching millions of stories high stood proudly within magnificent cities, their streets more bustling than modern New York on Earth.

Netheril in wartime became an incomprehensibly terrifying behemoth. Dazzling magical radiance effortlessly wove nine-colored spiderwebs across Battlefields, reducing all defiant beings to dust under the boundless magical artillery of Floating Cities. Their terrifying destructive power effortlessly shattered planes larger than the sun, turning the supposedly impregnable divine heavens of gods into powder one after another!

In knowledge, Netheril’s Grand Arcanists never ceased learning and innovating for even a single second. They not only deciphered the universe’s laws but circumvented them to construct their own worlds. Even the most basic spell models had been refined into millions of improved versions by countless brilliant minds. Every spell model passed down to this day represented the most perfected structural design.

This was the glorious Netheril – making the Multiverse tremble, trampling lofty deities underfoot, slaying gods who stood in their way, destroying buddhas who opposed them. Even countless years after its demise, merely hearing this name could still make deities bristle like mice seeing a cat.Punk had followed the “Far-Sky Scholar,” Grand Arcanist Vedrasha, through a complete Netherese lifespan. Unlike many contemporary spellcasters who lamented “the whims of fate and destiny,” Punk saw more than just the magnificent and lofty magical civilization in these twenty-four thousand years of memories. He glimpsed what lay hidden behind this civilization—the driving force that propelled every spellcaster forward: the Spirit of Netheril.

At its core, the Spirit of Netheril was simple, encapsulated in eight words: Stop at nothing! Chase your dreams!

How does that sound? As dull, vulgar, and clichéd as some second-rate Earth scripts?

Wrong! Dead wrong!

Among Vedrasha’s twenty-four millennia of memories, the one that left the deepest impression on Punk was a moment when Vedrasha’s mentor, “Distant Skyfire” Hassan, solemnly accepted his three disciples and spoke these words:

In his loudest voice, dripping with killing intent, he addressed the three students who had earnestly vowed to spare no effort in pursuing their dream of becoming Grand Arcanists:

“Little brats? Have you… misunderstood something? Do you think the Spirit of Netheril is as simple as… children throwing tantrums while chasing dreams?

No, not at all, it couldn’t be, absolutely not!

A true Netherese, in pursuit of their dreams, will press forward unwaveringly and resolutely—whether drenched in blood or enduring solitude, whether bearing humiliation or erasing emotion! No matter the adversity, no matter the effort required, no matter the sacrifices to be made… even if it means slaughtering comrades, killing beloved ones, betraying trust, destroying all things, or enduring boundless loneliness! If there is even the slightest possibility of benefiting their dream, a true Netherese will act without hesitation, cold and ruthless!

Naive little brats! Can you… do that?!”

Both Vedrasha at the time and Punk, who was intently observing this memory, were profoundly shaken.

On that day, Hassan laid bare the essence of Netherese spellcasters under the sun—the true, naked supremacy of interest behind “stop at nothing to chase dreams.””

This was not something that withered in the light; it was a force so potent that even sunlight had to retreat. It was the driving source of the Netherese Civilization’s relentless, sacrifice-indifferent advance.

This was the Spirit of Netheril: naked interest, the supreme interest named “dreams.””

Yes, dreams were never as beautiful as people claimed. From start to finish, they were cruel—so cruel that bloodshed and madness could not begin to describe them. Only by becoming a dream-chaser who stops at nothing can one comprehend the immense power of the Netherese spirit and its… insane, fanatical strength!

Faced with Vedrasha’s question, Punk did not respond. What stood before him was merely a pre-set memory; no answer was needed.

Vedrasha, too, clearly cared little for his successor’s reply. He merely twitched his stiff, aged face into a faint smile and murmured to himself, as if savoring an epiphany:”My Netheril is about to end. Everything here has ceased to exist. Next… it will be your era. Go and forge your own… glory of Netheril!”

After speaking, Vedrasha’s figure gradually dissolved into countless blue specks of light, scattering into the void. Standing amidst this shower of blue sparks, Punk responded with utmost serenity, as if it were the most natural and inevitable conclusion:

“That boundless voyage through the void is my dream. From the moment I step forward, I shall become a true Netheril!”

What do you think? Isn’t my concept of dreams rather unique?

(End of Chapter)