Chapter 491 – Improvement Spell Experiment (Five)

In the Thought of Truth Branch located in Grey Mire Swamp, Gray Rain Country.

The perpetually muddy swamp was riddled with puddles and stagnant water, while a faint gray mist hovered just centimeters above the ground. No small animals or insects could be seen throughout the entire mage residential area, with only a towering spire piercing the gray, overcast sky in the distance.

This was a silent and mysterious mage settlement. Under normal circumstances, no creature—including Formal-Level Mages—would dare approach this area, as the entire vicinity around the Mage Tower was considered the private domain of a Master-Level powerhouse. In this small branch of the Thought of Truth, no one had the audacity to offend a Master-Level existence.

However, on this day, the deathly silent swamp welcomed a “procession”—though all these individuals had obtained passage permits to enter.

The group consisted mostly of young orcs draped in tattered rags. These listless green-skinned orcs, both male and female, were bound with heavy chains. The constant clanking of iron relentlessly reminded them of their inescapable identity—slaves!

Leading the procession were two Apprentice-Level mage apprentices clad in gray Mage Robes. According to regulations, slaves as “merchandise” required mage apprentices as “escorts,” so this shipment’s transporters were two Apprentice-Level apprentices.

As the mysterious tower drew nearer, one of the apprentices, growing restless, began quietly grumbling while wiping dew from his Mage Robe.

“I say… this is already the… how many batches of slaves this week? It feels like Lord Cyan is consuming slaves at an increasing rate. This many slaves could make enough stew to last ten days to half a month……”

Glancing at the group of slaves behind him, the mage apprentice couldn’t help but smack his lips.

Though these robust young orc slaves weren’t professional combatants, their price still far exceeded that of ordinary humans—especially during this “peaceful” period without large-scale wars between orc and human city-states. The cost of such high-quality orc slaves had skyrocketed. For most apprentices, the price of one such orc slave equaled the earnings from a life-risking mission.

But observing the Senior Mentor residing in the tower, the newly promoted Apprentice-Level apprentice sincerely marveled at the powerful’s lavish spending—dozens of orc slaves purchased weekly, with merit points spent without even blinking.

The young mage, still unaware of the world’s harshness, dared to jest about a Senior Mentor. However, his companion clearly lacked such courage. Horrified that his “friend” would speak recklessly beneath a Master-Level powerhouse’s Mage Tower, the terrified apprentice immediately smacked the young mage hard on the back of his head!

“Shh! Shut up! How dare we discuss a Senior Mentor? Lord Cyan isn’t a spellcaster with a tolerant temper! If the previous ‘delivery person’ hadn’t suddenly died during a mission, I’d never have allowed a rookie like you to ‘run deliveries’ with me!”The young mage understood all too well the danger of careless words. Having spent so many years in the Thought of Truth, he had witnessed countless “chatterboxes” meeting mysterious ends due to momentary verbal indiscretion. Though he had never heard of Senior Mentor Punk Cyan causing trouble for apprentices during his six centuries of existence, the vivid memories of past incidents made him nearly jump in fright when his companion spoke recklessly.

“Remember this—don’t speak unnecessarily when we meet Lord Cyan later. Just place these slaves in the basement beneath the Mage Tower’s main hall. A Senior Mentor won’t bother with ants like us as long as you don’t stir up trouble!”

Speaking in a hushed, admonishing tone to his companion, the young mage apprentice pulled a clean cloth from his storage pouch.

Before delivering slaves to the Mage Tower, this young mage would always wipe their bodies clean. This wasn’t required by the Thought of Truth’s regulations for “slave delivery tasks”—it was simply the young mage’s personal practice born of experience.

For a mage like him with limited potential and poor business acumen, every self-created opportunity deserved serious attention. Though “delivery” work that brought him into contact with Formal-Level Mages and even Master-Level powerhouses was extremely dangerous, performing it well could yield substantial rewards.

After all… even the garbage that fell from between a Master-Level powerhouse’s fingers could make an Apprentice-Level junior rich!

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After locking the group of slaves in the Mage Tower Dungeon, the two mage apprentices respectfully presented a document to Punk and bowed:

“All fifty healthy young orc slaves have been delivered, Lord Cyan. Please sign for them.”

“Good. You may leave now.”

Standing in the shadows, Punk casually imprinted his soul mark on the parchment the mage apprentices offered before turning to leave the hall straightaway.

The two apprentices’ hopes for some extra reward were doomed to disappointment with Punk—even though he was in quite a good mood today. Punk disliked wasting time and detested noise. If he tossed these apprentices a gem… they’d inevitably thank him repeatedly with loud exclamations, which would be terribly annoying!

Time’s passage never failed to astonish. What felt like no time at all in Punk’s experiments had actually been six full centuries. Even for a Master-Level powerhouse, six hundred years was considerably long, and the Thought of Truth had already cycled through dozens of apprentice batches.

But such a lengthy duration meant little to Punk. After the Mage Guild and Zhentarim’s confrontation quietly faded away over four hundred years ago, the entire Gray Rain Country had returned to utter tranquility. The only news from the Thought of Truth Branch worth Punk’s attention was “Master Kirk Weilen successfully extended his lifespan by four centuries through transplanting magical creature bloodline.”But it was only a slight concern. A mage’s experimental research must be conducted with undivided attention. Once he entered his research state, all trivial matters of the outside world became unworthy of Punk’s attention. Over these six hundred years, he had devoted all his energy to the refinement of spells, and now, his years of effort were finally showing promise of bearing fruit.

Indeed, Punk’s modified spell was nearing completion. Though it had consumed a full six hundred years and the majority of the wealth he had seized from Sorsend, Punk was now just one step away from success. He was about to complete a perfected modified spell—a superior work that far surpassed the shoddy creations of someone like Ovakain!

(End of Chapter)