Riding his horse along the road, Lancelot examined the memories Replication by the Steel Feather Cloak.
Antoine was only a Tier Six dark Mage, and his strength was vastly different from Lancelot's. Even without the Steel Feather Cloak, he could still read memories using his powerful Divine Power.
In Antoine's memory, he was going to attend a small to medium-sized magic salon, and based on past experience, there should be between 80 and 100 dark Mage present.
"Killing a Tier Six dark Mage and submitting a world bounty yielded not even a single Primeval Stone, not even a tenth of it..." Lancelot was quite speechless.
But thinking about it carefully, it's quite normal. When I defeated an Epic Tier Two Ashes Executive, Feiyue, on Golden Star, I only got about twenty Primeval Stone.
How big is the gap between Epic and Mid-Rank Transcendent?
The former could easily crush the latter.
Therefore, it's perfectly normal to have such a gain; in fact, thinking about it this way, Lancelot even felt that the Plane Will had given too much.
Perhaps it's because the dark Mage also belongs to the Ashes Organization?
Although members of Antoine's caliber might not be able to understand the deeper secrets of the City of Freedom and might mistakenly believe they are serving the Arcane Ring, this does not change the fact that they are secretly part of the Ashes.
Thinking of this, Lancelot's mood brightened. To him, the higher the value of a dark Mage, the better; otherwise, how could he satisfy his own cultivation needs?
At this moment, Lancelot viewed the City of Freedom like a diligent old farmer gazing at his fields in the golden autumn, the sight of the fields turning golden and filling him with the joy of an impending harvest.
Riding the White Horse through the streets, they finally arrived at a bustling area. The pedestrians here were much more vibrant and lively than the gray crowds that had lined the streets before. This wasn't because the black Mage had a change of heart, but because most of these people were magic apprentices, the reserve force of this group, their own people, barely outside the category of worms.
In front of a magnificent stone building, several huge obsidian pillars stood at the entrance, and a dense crowd surged about, including many people dressed in noble Mage robes.
He casually tossed a silver coin to a doorman, who immediately bowed and led the way. Those queuing behind him cast envious and longing glances, secretly wondering when they would have such a prestigious day.
After walking through a long, exquisitely carpeted corridor, the doorman stopped before a portal, bowed respectfully, and withdrew, while Lancelot gracefully opened the door.
As soon as the door opened, a rich aura of Elemental Magical Energy rushed out, accompanied by the sounds of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and melodious music.
Pure white light streamed down from the dome above, illuminating a well-dressed black Mage. Everyone here appeared polite and measured in their words and actions, displaying the nobility unique to high society and deliberately creating a thick barrier that made the so-called distinction between superior and inferior even more clear.
The harmonious scene before him, the smiling gentlemen, reminded Lancelot of the gray-clad people kneeling on both sides of the street earlier. Those gray, lifeless eyes, the pressure of life and the immense mental oppression had turned those people into almost machines. Compared to the black Mage before him, who were rich in both spirit and material wealth, a sense of absurdity arose spontaneously.
"They're no longer the same species," Lancelot thought to himself, "Whether in terms of life level or spiritual will, they're not even on the same level anymore..."
"Hey, Antoine, over here..."
A crisp snap of fingers came from the side. Lancelot turned around and saw a chubby, fair-skinned young man.
After searching Antoine's memories, Lancelot understood that the man's name was Oma Nonovia, a Tier Five dark Mage, and one of Antoine's cronies and business partners. The two of them jointly ran a small slave farm called "Sweet Cottage," which specialized in training and selling distinctive maids, and used the money earned to conduct dark magic experiments.
Seeing what Antoine and Oma had done in his memory, a chill flashed deep in Lancelot's eyes, but he put on a warm smile and went to meet them.
"Antoine, my brother, guess who our ' Sweet Cottage ' merchandise is this time?" Oma asked cheekily as he leaned closer.
Lancelot instinctively wanted to distance himself, but he forcibly restrained himself and asked calmly, "Did you successfully train those new slaves who arrived a few days ago?"
"Hey, I knew you wouldn't guess." Oma grinned smugly, then dropped the preamble, swirling his wine glass. "It's that bitch Patra, haha, you haven't seen her like this. So obedient, like a little bitch. Too bad, to get a good price, I can't touch her. Otherwise, I'd really like to taste her..."
As he spoke, Oma licked his thick lips, his eyes filled with lust.
Lancelot narrowed his eyes, recalling who Patra was, the white Mage Oma had mentioned. Patra was a very righteous person who had repeatedly interfered with the business of Sweet Cottage, and was later captured by Antoine and Oma through a trap.
Antoine originally wanted to kill her outright, but Oma stopped him, saying that such a white witch would be very valuable if she were transformed into a maid. For the sake of the magic stone, Antoine naturally did not object.
Compared to Oma, Antoine was more obsessed with magic, so his achievements were relatively higher. He was already Tier Six black Mage, and after taking another step forward and becoming High-Rank Transcendent Lifeform, he would be able to enter the middle circle of the City of Freedom.
Therefore, Oma still cared a lot about Antoine's words. Although this fat man was greedy and lustful, he understood the importance of strength. Since he was not good enough, he would stick to his good buddy's coattails.
As they chatted idly, one dark Mage after another arrived, making the hall increasingly lively. Lancelot and Oma were surrounded by several more people who came to buy maids from them. Oma usually handled this matter, so Lancelot was happy to have some free time, sipping his wine while listening to Oma haggling over prices.
As the last dark Mage entered the hall, all the sounds simultaneously subsided.
An elderly man with a long beard, holding a staff, walked onto the stage. He was an Tier Eight dark Mage, with Magical Energy swirling around him, exuding an astonishing aura. He was also the initiator of this magic salon.
"Welcome everyone to the monthly Obsidian Exchange Meeting. This meeting aims to promote the development of magic and the prosperity of commerce, contributing our small share to a brighter future for the City of Freedom. Now, let us sing praises to our great City Lord, who created this paradise for us, allowing us to peacefully explore the Truth of magic..."
The white-bearded old man's almost nauseatingly sentimental opening remarks made Lancelot realize even more deeply the Lord of the Free City's dominance among the black Mage.
If you want to completely Destruction this city, it's not enough to kill most of the dark Mage; you must also kill the Lord of the Free City to completely destroy this cancer within a cancer.
Lancelot didn't hide his true motives, which were driven by self-interest. He was primarily after the Primeval Stone to cause trouble for the City of Freedom. However, if he could help the people there remove the dark clouds hanging over their heads, he wouldn't mind doing so. He wasn't trying to be Champion; he simply disliked these dark Mage.
What kind of attitude is this? They dare call themselves the Lord of the Free City? Did they even get my permission?
As for why you need my consent, can't you find the reason yourself?
After the opening remarks were read, the white-bearded old man stepped down from the stage, and a middle-aged man with Green Eyes and blond hair took his place. The exchange meeting officially began.
To be honest, once these dark Mage entered a state of knowledge exchange, they were like completely different people. Their expressions were serious, their eyes were firm, and they often argued endlessly over the most minute details. Their rigorous attitude towards knowledge was in no way inferior to that of the scientists of the Crimson Alliance, and perhaps even surpassed it.
Their talents were also outstanding; even Oma, that greedy and lecherous fat man, could come up with many arguments that made Lancelot take notice.
The more Lancelot listened, the more complicated his expression became.
These people are truly inhuman, but they are also undeniably capable.
As dark Mage devour natural elements, they gain a clearer perception of the world and comprehend many profound truths etched into the universe—an advantage that white Mage lack.
Therefore, to some extent, it's not unreasonable for dark Mage to believe that the path they take is the true path of magic, since, on average, the white Mage group really can't compare to them.
However, this world does not belong to spellcasters alone; the consequences of polluting the elements are too terrifying for any race to ignore.