Chapter 50

The name reminded him of fantasy tales passed among children, stories of armored warriors and distant stars.

Using magic to power a move like that? The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.

Might as well give it a try.

Using only half should not alert anyone.

He glanced at his companion in the distance, completely immersed in the rhythm of the music, and confirmed that those enormous headphones were enough to block out any sounds they should not hear.

The incantation rose again, shorter and more direct than before.

The dim vortex of light at his fingertips suddenly brightened, spinning faster and emitting a faint hiss, like countless grains of sand scraping together.

It did not leave his control, yet it seemed to possess its own weight and desire, drawing the surrounding light into a slight distortion.

This was no longer the Winds of Watoomb recorded in the books. It had become something else—quiet, yet concealing a rhythm of tearing.

At first, the wind was only a few inches high, spinning close to the ground like a clumsy young beast.

"Seems... not that impressive."

The thought had barely crossed Zhao Yu's mind when the wisp of air coiled around his fingertips suddenly expanded.

A deafening boom of tearing air erupted, muffled like a roar from deep underground.

The mages of Kamar-Taj all looked up and saw a gigantic gray-black pillar rise from the courtyard, shooting into the sky.

It writhed wildly, sweeping rubble and fallen leaves into the air. The pressure it radiated made the surrounding buildings tremble.

Just as it was about to break free and lunge in every direction, a figure silently appeared high above.

A sleeve fluttered lightly.

The violent vortex connecting heaven and earth vanished in an instant, like a stain being wiped away.

The silence lasted only a moment before whispers and cries of alarm rose from every corner.

"What happened?"

"That energy fluctuation just now..."

"Was it an attack?"

"Thank goodness for the Sorcerer Supreme."

"To calm magic like that so easily..."

The library was now barely recognizable.

Pages lay scattered among broken walls and rubble like dead autumn leaves.

A heavy wooden table had been embedded deep in a stone wall, bearing witness to the brief rampage of that force.

Dust drifted slowly through beams of light filtering in from the shattered windows.

Ancient One stood amid the ruins.

Even in her eyes, there was a faint ripple, almost too slight to catch.

Not even Mordo's betrayal had ever caused this temple of knowledge to suffer such desecration.

Many of the scrolls accumulated over centuries were now irreparable originals.

"Who did this?"

Her voice was calm, yet it made the air freeze.

"It was me... Sorcerer Supreme."

In the corner, Zhao Yu supported the staggering Wong and slowly straightened up.

There was no color in his face, and his voice was so soft it was nearly inaudible.

Ancient One's brows drew together slightly.

What she saw before her left her somewhat puzzled.

Zhao Yu stood there, the hem of his robe still dusted with unsettled debris. The air carried a scorched smell, as if something had been burned away in an instant.

Several fine cracks had split the stone floor in the courtyard, stretching all the way to the corner of the wall.

A few dead leaves spun in midair, reluctant to fall.

"What... happened just now?"

Her voice was level, devoid of emotion.

Zhao Yu raised a hand and rubbed the tip of his nose.

The gesture made him look younger than he actually was. "I tried a spell."

He spoke vaguely, his gaze drifting toward the old tree beside him, half its leaves already gone.

"What kind of spell could cause such a commotion?"

Ancient One did not look away.

She remembered every wind spell collected in Kamar-Taj. Not one of them made the ground heat up when cast.

The lingering fluctuations in the air felt unfamiliar, yet they vaguely carried a familiar outline—like something ancient had been forcibly awakened, then lost control.

After a brief silence, Zhao Yu uttered several syllables. "Winds of Watoomb."

Ancient One's fingers paused almost imperceptibly.

Winds of Watoomb? That little trick used to disperse mist and clear away dust? Her gaze swept across the courtyard again. A small patch had peeled from the surface of a pillar in the eastern corridor, exposing the dark wood beneath; the hardy weeds by the western wall had all been flattened, their leaf tips an unnatural yellow.

These were definitely not traces a gust of wind could leave behind.

No matter how fierce the wind was, it would not leave scorch marks on stone.

There was nothing wrong with the incantation itself.

She could recite every syllable and gesture with her eyes closed.

Then the problem could only lie with the one casting it.

She drew in a soft breath, then slowly let it out.

Something long settled within her chest seemed to have been stirred.

This little fellow... was always like this.

Every time you thought you had figured him out, he would shake something unexpected out of his sleeve.

Winds of Watoomb? Heh.

Its power was more like borrowing a breath from the God-Eater himself.

"From now on,"

her voice lowered, every word pronounced clearly, "do not use those... modified spells of yours within Kamar-Taj."

"Understood."

Zhao Yu lowered his head.

The tips of his ears reddened slightly.

Ancient One stopped looking at him and turned toward Wong, who lay unconscious on the stone steps nearby.

The plump mage was still out cold, his chest rising and falling steadily. "Take him out first."

She said, "This place needs cleaning up."

Zhao Yu hurried over and bent down to hoist Wong's arm over his shoulder.

Ancient One remained where she was. Only after the sound of their footsteps disappeared at the end of the corridor did she raise both hands.

A golden-orange glow bloomed at her fingertips, like the first ray of sunlight piercing morning mist.

The shattered stone slabs began to shift, slowly fitting themselves back together. The flattened grass blades gradually straightened. The scorched smell in the air was quietly replaced by a crisp scent like pine needles after snow.

Everything returned to normal.

At least on the surface.

But she knew that some things had changed.

Like the fine patterns on those stone slabs, invisible to the naked eye. They were still there, merely hidden.

Zhao Yu raised his arm, and the glow around the edge of the Portal abruptly contracted.

Wong's body lost its support and dropped straight down—landing neatly inside his own bedroom, which was piled high with ancient books.

Ancient One's gaze passed over Zhao Yu's face.

She neither spoke nor made any move to stop him.

She merely raised her right hand, palm facing upward.

A faint hum came from deep within the ruins.

A verdigris pendant broke through the rubble and dust, landing steadily in her hand.

The pendant floated roughly three inches before her chest, its casing slowly opening.

Green light seeped from within. At first it was only a thin layer, but then it spread outward like ripples on water.

Zhao Yu felt the ground beneath his feet tremble.

No, not the ground—something more fundamental was reversing.

Shattered stones sprang up from the ground, reassembling into whole shapes in midair. Collapsed wooden beams rose section by section, while dust flowed backward into the gaps between the pillars and beams.

Everything retreated along the path it had taken, like a videotape playing in reverse.

He looked at Ancient One's calm profile.

The Sorcerer Supreme did not even frown, as though all this were no more than brushing dust from her sleeve.

This was the power that protected the sanctum.

Manipulating time as naturally as breathing.

He was still far too far behind.

The disturbance at Kamar-Taj ultimately brought no punishment.

Before he left, Ancient One merely said one thing: "Do not test your spells here."

Her voice was quiet, yet it drove into the air like a nail.

Zhao Yu understood the weight of those words.

He knew it himself as well. The power flowing out of the system was too dangerous—even an ordinarily gentle support incantation like the "Winds of Watoomb"

could stir up a storm. What if he used more destructive magic instead?

He did not dare think further.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor.

Zhao Yu pushed open the door and saw Mordo already standing in the courtyard, holding a worn tome with frayed edges.

Today, it was their turn to instruct the newly arrived doctor.

Strange Stephen—this man truly was somewhat special.

His talent might not have been the very best, but his tenacity was simply not something a being of flesh and blood should possess.

Zhao Yu had seen him turn deathly pale after being tormented by the Spatial Folding Art one day, only to appear punctually at the training ground the next, his eyes burning with an almost obsessive fire.

Perhaps it was precisely this trait that later allowed him to confront existences beyond human comprehension.

It even gave the ruler of the Dark Dimension a headache.

Now, Strange was still being crushed over and over by various spells every day.

Yet every time he fell, he would always get back up, brush the dust from his robe, and say, "Again."

He did not learn spells slowly. In only a few days, he could already summon that ring of energy steadily.

Zhao Yu guessed that perhaps a new incantation would be taught today.

When he entered the courtyard, Mordo was indeed already standing by the stone steps, speaking with Strange.

"Your comprehension is surprising."

Mordo's voice was deeper than usual. "You have already become quite proficient with that basic defensive ring."

Strange bowed slightly. "It is all thanks to the guidance of the two masters."

After arriving at this secluded place beneath the snowy mountains, the once-proud doctor had indeed changed—especially after that experience of being left alone atop the freezing peak.

The humility in his words now almost made people forget the sharp edge he once possessed.

Zhao Yu thought to himself that this man had never failed to understand how to get along with others. He had simply thought it was not worth the effort before.

"No need for pleasantries."

Mordo waved a hand. "Today, I will teach you another spell—the Crimson Chains."

He deliberately slowed his speech, each word like a stone falling onto ice.

"This incantation has many uses.

It can bind, block, or pierce, which is why most practitioners study it."

Strange listened intently, even softening his breathing.

"But you must remember,"

Mordo suddenly took half a step forward, his shadow falling across the bluestone slabs, "Cyttorak is not a benevolent ancient being.

Borrowing his power leaves no room for carelessness."

He stared into Strange's eyes. "When learning these chains, the greatest taboo is changing their form at will.

Stability is the key.

If you allow the chains' form to change recklessly, the backlash will come sooner or later."

"I understand."

Strange nodded.

"Good."

Mordo stepped back half a pace, the fingers hidden in his sleeve lifting slightly. "Now, listen carefully to every syllable."

Mordo's voice spread through the air.

He began his explanation.

One by one, he laid out before Strange the elements needed to form the Crimson Chains.

Mental power, divine power, and the way the two intertwined—he finished explaining them quickly.

"That is all you need."

Mordo summarized, "At its core, it is simply the use of mind and divine power."

His gaze turned toward Strange. "You try."

Strange nodded in response.

He raised both arms, his fingers tracing patterns through the air.

Several dark red points of light burst forth at his fingertips, flickering erratically.

Hiss—

A soft sound, like damp firewood smothering dying embers.

The points of light vanished in an instant, as though they had never existed.

He refused to give up and tried again.

His fingers moved once more, red light flashing into existence before going out.

After several attempts, the result remained the same.

At last, he lowered his hands.

A clear sense of frustration settled over his face. His brow was tightly furrowed, and the corners of his mouth pulled downward.

"I can't concentrate."

His voice was a little dry. "That scarlet power... I can't grasp it."

"There's no need to rush."

Mordo's tone was steady. "Take it slow."

"Let Zhao Yu demonstrate it for you."

He turned toward the other side of the room. "Zhao Yu, show him the chain."

Zhao Yu neither nodded nor spoke.

He merely stood where he was, his arms hanging naturally at his sides, as though none of this concerned him.

Yet the change occurred silently before him.

Dark red motes of light appeared out of thin air, sparse at first, then rapidly multiplying and converging.

They were not merely sparks, but more like living specks, drawing toward and entwining with one another.

The light began to stretch and weave.

The outline of a chain gradually emerged.

But it was completely different from what Strange had imagined.

It was not a single dark red; its color flowed and shifted between deep crimson, dark ocher, and nearly black purple.

Even more breathtaking was its form—it was not a rigid chain, but like the soft tentacle of some deep-sea creature, slowly winding and coiling through the air with boneless grace, sometimes curling into intricate loops, sometimes stretching into smooth arcs.