Dragon Gold City, Twilight Forest, the Wasteland—when the same person appeared in every region they passed through, even transcending the limits of time, it became hard to explain it away with a word as vague as "coincidence."
"He should still be alive somewhere in this world, right?"
Tang Qi traced the outline of the portrait, drawing a circle above its head. "Only now he has an afro."
The halflings' meeting room was hardly solemn. A few sofas stood on an enormous rug, while sparks leaped from a wood-burning fireplace, bringing everyone warmth in the late autumn chill.
A dozen or so elders who had a say in the family's decisions each occupied a corner of a sofa.
At Tang Qi's words, they stopped paying attention to the sheep adventurers beside them, who kept bleating, commenting on the mansion and its portraits,
and swearing as they frowned.
Instead, they looked at Tang Qi and exclaimed in unison, "No, of course not. Grandfather Merlin left us two hundred years ago."
"After the Tide of Chaos?"
Toto Hal shook his head. "You mentioned that the northern coalition bought the Wizard Tower's archmage enough time to quell the chaos. That spellcaster was Grandfather Merlin."
"In fact, there's still a coffin reserved for him beneath the graveyard at Night Raven Castle, and one of his descendants lives in Dragon Gold City. Though, of course, I'm beginning to doubt whether he really is his descendant."
The halflings exchanged glances, seemingly still digesting this bizarre news.
"But why would he have an afro?"
"I heard from my father that Grandfather Merlin often said, 'Art is an explosion,' so he liked casting upcast [Fireball].
"Compared with the meticulous craftsmanship of the Seventh Ring [Delayed Blast Fireball], with its painful restraint and patience, a Seventh Ring [Fireball] clearly possessed