Chapter 33

"It's just... I seem to have mastered this magic a little too quickly."

Zhao Yu paused, uncertainty in his voice. "I wanted to ask you to take a look and see whether I'm using it correctly."

As soon as he finished speaking, Zhao Yu gently pulled his hands apart.

A dark crimson chain appeared out of thin air, hanging quietly between his palms. A dim sheen, like metal yet also like bloodlight, flowed across its links.

The steady air in the room seemed to be drawn by the chain, trembling faintly.

Mordo's gaze fixed on the chain.

Crimson Chains.

There was no mistaking it.

His throat suddenly felt dry.

Just seconds ago, he had been thinking about how to comfort this student who might have suffered a setback—after all, borrowing the power of a god had never been easy. Every beginner ran into that invisible wall, and even he had been no exception back then.

Some spells were especially compatible with certain people, while keeping others at arm's length. That was only natural.

But now...

Mordo instinctively lifted the cuff of his robe and glanced at the watch on his wrist.

The minute hand had indeed moved only one small tick.

Only a few minutes had passed since he had handed Zhao Yu the tome containing Crimson Chains.

A few minutes.

Advanced magic.

A summoning spell involving the will of a god.

He raised his eyes and looked once more at the crimson chain coiling obediently in the young man's hands.

The end of the chain swayed gently, like the feeler of some living creature.

The room was silent. He could hear the faint rustle of his clothes as he breathed, as well as a vague hum drifting in from outside the window—whether it was the wind or something else in motion, he could not tell.

Mordo opened his mouth, then closed it again.

In the end, he merely stood where he was, watching Crimson Chains gleam quietly between Zhao Yu's fingers, unable to say a single word.

Mordo felt his thoughts freeze.

That dark crimson chain of energy was now quietly coiled around Zhao Yu's wrist like a snake that had just awakened.

The sheen flowing across its surface was not glaring, yet Mordo could not look away from it.

The room was quiet. He could hear the faint wind from the distant courtyard, as well as the overly distinct heartbeat in his own chest.

One year.

It had taken him a full year.

A scene from his memories suddenly surged forth, carrying the Ancient One's uniquely gentle voice.

In that meditation chamber filled with the scent of old books and herbs, sunlight slanted in through high windows, dust drifting slowly through the beams. "Cyttorak's gifts are never given lightly."

His teacher's voice seemed to remain beside his ear. "To touch its threshold within one year, Mordo, already proves that you are extraordinary."

The warmth and pride that had once welled up in his chest now felt like ice water poured down his back.

And this young man before him—how long had it been from the moment Mordo finished demonstrating that complicated gesture to the moment that dark crimson light condensed at his fingertips? Three breaths? Five? Mordo had not counted, because he had never imagined he would need to.

He had prepared an entire set of gradual instructions: how to sense the cold presence beyond the dimensions, how to build a bridge with one's mind, how to endure that corrosive power... Now, every one of those words was stuck in his throat.

Zhao Yu was looking down at the chain around his wrist, his brows slightly furrowed, apparently still dissatisfied with the stability of that energy.

He tried moving his fingers. The dark crimson light flickered with the motion, producing an extremely faint hum, like thin pieces of metal rubbing together.

"It seems... not very obedient."

Zhao Yu raised his head and looked at Mordo, uncertainty in his voice.

Mordo opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

First he felt a sense of absurdity, followed by deep exhaustion seeping from the cracks in his bones.

Certain things he had once firmly believed in—effort, talent, the order of the world—developed fine cracks in that instant.

He thought of the Ancient One's approving smile, then compared it to the undeniable result in Zhao Yu's hands. The scale of time had been brutally distorted.

There was such an abyss between people.

In the end, he merely waved a hand, the movement somewhat sluggish. "...Let me think."

His voice was dry. "Try to maintain it for now. Don't let the connection break."

He turned and walked toward the bookshelf on the other side of the room, where ancient scrolls were displayed. It was not that he truly needed to look anything up; he merely needed some space to settle his shattered understanding.

Outside the window, the sky had darkened at some point. Clouds had blocked part of the sunlight, and the shadows in the room had deepened.

Zhao Yu remained where he was, focused on trying to control that power that did not belong to this world. The red light at his fingertips became increasingly conspicuous in the dimming room.

The lingering warmth of magic still remained at his fingertips when Zhao Yu suddenly stiffened his back.

A sharp ringing, not originating from the depths of his consciousness, pierced his senses without warning.

"Warning—"

The voice repeated itself, cold and urgent.

"The native deity 'Cyttorak' is attempting reverse interference—"

"Warning—"

Before the ringing faded, another completely different notification tone, carrying a sense of rupture, followed close behind.

"Your 'Crimson Chains' have suffered an impact from a higher power. Their structure has been severely damaged."

Then came a third sound.

"Forcibly activating host protection protocol."

"Executing authority-stripping procedure... Target: Cyttorak."

"Warning: the foundational rules of this world have intervened. Your magical form is undergoing an unpredictable shift..."

"Notice: 'Crimson Chains' are transforming... Transformation complete.

New form confirmed: 'Crimson Contract Chain.'"

"Notice: Successfully intercepted part of the divine source.

System

"Notice: Partial foundational world rules have been analyzed.

Your magic fusion and mutation path has now received rule-based correction."

A cascade of messages crashed down like hail.

Zhao Yu stood frozen, his mind briefly blank.

But the blankness lasted only an instant.

He quickly sensed the change—some deeper, more stable connection was quietly forming beneath the point where he came into contact with the surrounding world.

The Marvel deity Cyttorak, who for some unknown reason had extended his feelers here, had not only failed to get what he wanted, but had instead had a fundamental portion of his power gouged away.

The system devoured that divinity. It was like rusted gears being filled with lubricant, running with a smoother rhythm that better matched the cadence of this world.

What did that mean? Zhao Yu almost immediately grasped the key: from now on, the power he used would more easily take root in this world's rules, growing into more flourishing and more powerful forms.

Like the "chain" currently entwined around his thoughts.

It was no longer merely Crimson Chains.

Its inherent traits of binding and piercing remained, but a complex, unfamiliar pattern of rules had appeared within it—the compulsory force of a "contract," originating from a fragment of another distant world.

The chain's form might be similar, but its essence had quietly transformed into something capable of forming compulsory restraints, perhaps even extracting the abilities of those bound by oath.

Magic gathered in his palm once more. It was no longer simply crimson; deep within it flowed a trace of dark golden radiance, like the clauses of an ancient contract.

When the chain appeared in his palm, even Zhao Yu was stunned for a moment.

The translucent chain was wrapped in cold light, like thin ice forming over a winter river, yet a slender, vivid red mark ran through its center—that red seemed to have a pulse, rising and falling faintly with his breath.

"What... is that?"

The voice stabbed at him from behind and to the side, taut with trembling.

Mordo stood three steps away, his eyes fixed on Zhao Yu's palm. His Adam's apple bobbed once, then again.

He had seen countless forms of spells: the explosive violence of flame, the grim chill of frost, the clinging thickness of shadows... Yet he had never felt such a mixed yet harmonious aura. Five kinds, six kinds, perhaps more, intertwined without conflicting, like threads of different colors woven into one complete rope.

"You made it yourself?"

Mordo took half a step forward, then stopped himself abruptly. "No, that's not right... It couldn't have appeared out of nowhere."

Zhao Yu lowered his gaze.

The chain flowed silently between his fingers. It felt slightly cool, yet it faintly carried the warmth of something alive.

He recalled those fragmented images from before: crimson chains, the backlash of the incantation, the dull pain of something inside him being torn apart and reassembled—then everything had fallen silent, leaving only this crystalline foreign thing in his palm.

"It changed on its own."

He raised his eyes, letting just the right trace of confusion enter his voice. "After I finished the incantation, it became like this."

Mordo's breathing grew heavier.

Those eyes, always hiding scrutiny, now shone with a frightening intensity, like a starved beast suddenly catching the scent of blood.

He moved closer, almost pressing himself against the chain. His nostrils flared as though he wished to squeeze more secrets from the air. "Five auras... the restraint of commandments, the warmth of healing, the adhesion of tracking, the sharpness of seizure... And another, another one I can't identify..."

He muttered to himself, suddenly reaching out before curling his fingers back just as they were about to touch it. "This is not a structure conventional magic should have.

Zhao Yu—"

He bit down hard on the name, as though grinding it between his teeth.

"—do you really not know?"

Zhao Yu shook his head.

The chain swayed gently with the movement. The red mark at its center glistened wetly in the light, like a freshly cut blood vessel.

Of course he knew why, but some answers were destined to rot in his chest.

The system's cold notifications, the flashing experience bar that had surged and then emptied, the entries silently added to his status panel—those fragments could not be pieced into a story he could tell aloud.

Mordo finally stepped back half a pace, but his gaze remained welded to the chain.

The dazed fascination in his eyes slowly settled into something more complicated: suspicion, desire, perhaps even a trace of anger at having his understanding overturned. "It's level one now."

He suddenly spoke, lowering his voice. "But the density of this aura... it's like an abyss that has been compressed.

The experience needed to level it up later will probably be astronomical."

"Mm."

Zhao Yu answered briefly.

He curled his fingers, and the chain flowed back into his palm like water, leaving only a faint red mark that was almost invisible, like an unhealed wound beneath the skin.

Silence spread between them for several seconds before being pierced by a birdcall that suddenly swept past outside the window.

Mordo finally looked away and turned toward the wooden shelves piled with ancient books, his back appearing somewhat stiff. "...Its flaws do not outweigh its merits."

He spoke with his back turned, as though trying to convince himself. "Magic in this form has never appeared in any record.

If you can control it—"

His words broke off there.

He pulled out a scroll of parchment and shook it open forcefully. Dust danced wildly in the slanting beam of light.

Zhao Yu did not respond.

He spread open his palm. The red mark was slowly fading, as though it had never existed.

Only he knew that some things had already taken root deep in his bloodline, silent and impossible to pull out again.

The chain wound through his palm, dark crimson and deep blue radiance biting into each other like two incompatible venomous snakes.

Mordo stared at that creation which defied all reason, his Adam's apple bobbing once.

"It... became like that on its own?"

His voice was stretched tight.

The young man merely nodded, with not a trace of falsehood visible on his face. "There's no need for me to lie to you."

He paused, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the chain's cold clasp. "By the time I noticed, it was already different.

As for the reason, I truly don't know."

That was not a lie.

How could he reveal the mutation brought by the system? From a certain perspective, what he had said was the whole truth.

Yet those few casually spoken words made Mordo freeze where he stood.

He repeatedly chewed over those words, his lips opening and closing silently. "Changed on its own... Why have my spells never done that?"

He suddenly raised his face and looked toward the towering dome of the training ground, as though he wanted to drag an answer from between the stone bricks.

Decades of accumulated understanding, his initial grasp of the laws of the world, even the fragments of truth he had glimpsed under the Sorcerer Supreme—all of it was now on the verge of collapse.

Magic evolving on its own? The thought itself sounded like a terrible joke, something even that mentor had probably never imagined.

It was unreasonable.

Completely illogical.

"Wait—"

Mordo suddenly turned back, speaking rapidly. "What exactly can this chain do?"

The last trace of hope hid in his eyes: perhaps this was merely a superficial illusion, perhaps those conflicting energy fluctuations could not be reconciled at all, perhaps it was nothing more than a dazzling mistake.

The young man lowered his eyes, the corner of his lips curving into an almost shy smile.

He did not answer immediately. He merely gave the entwined chain a light shake.