Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Elderly Mage

If not for the many eyes fixed on them from the audience, Zhao Xu would have almost let out a sound. After a moment of reflection, he realized Antinoya must have been joking. Perhaps the unexpected incident from a week ago corresponded exactly to this matter.

“Stop joking, Mentor,” Zhao Xu said, curling his lip.

“I’m not joking. Actually, all it takes is for a legendary mage on duty to handle it. 'Final Scroll' is never short on legendary mages. As long as someone is willing, headquarters certainly won’t object,” Antinoya replied.

“Never mind once a month—even if you came here every day, it wouldn’t matter,” she added.

Even though Zhao Xu knew he was clinging to an immensely influential figure, he still couldn’t help but draw a sharp breath at those words. A 17th-level mage, capable of casting ninth-level spells, could easily be a king or, if he wished, muster an army to become a lord in his own right. It wasn’t a matter of capability, but of desire.

As for a 21st-level or even higher legendary mage, the problems they faced on a daily basis were nothing short of world-saving in scale.

Thinking of this, Zhao Xu glanced sympathetically toward the corner where Wang Ningwei sat. These players, able to awaken here at this time, clearly meant that in their previous lives, they had been delayed for five days or more—perhaps even longer. Some among them, no doubt, were suppressing their ambition in pursuit of the honor of being the first to complete the Mage Academy’s training.

Yet, here in Mystra, for centuries, countless top-tier, most gifted mage apprentices had been sent. Even the greatest prodigy would have to tuck their tail in this place.

Zhao Xu’s gaze swept over the native Arthurian mage apprentices, and, with some surprise, he asked, “Mentor, is there a way to spend money to increase one’s mage aptitude?”

Antinoya followed his gaze and gave a sidelong glance. “You’ve got the causality reversed. Let me ask you: if you were a lord or even a king, would you rather send your children to be mages, or to be warriors?”

Zhao Xu fell silent. Though these native mage apprentices all wore the standard academy robes and bore the same badge as him on their chest, with his keen eye as a former bodyguard, he could tell at a glance that many were of noble birth. It was their unusually large number that had prompted his question.

“The most direct method to increase mage aptitude,” Antinoya continued, “is to raise one's intelligence attribute.”

“However, among those in the audience, no more than five have ever read a 'Contemplative Tome' or received an intelligence bonus from 'Wish.'”

Zhao Xu turned to look at Antinoya. Even nobles rarely enjoyed the benefits of “Wish,” and yet this woman had casually demonstrated it for his sake the previous day. If not for the players present, Zhao Xu would have muttered bitterly about the extravagance of the privileged and the suffering of the poor.

“Don’t overthink it,” Antinoya said. “That was just a single casting. The maximum intrinsic intelligence bonus is five points—not everyone can easily cast 'Wish' five times in a row.”

“For mages, the usual way to gain five points of intrinsic intelligence is by reading a '+5 Contemplative Tome.'”

“If you ever save up one hundred and thirty-five thousand gold, I can sell you a copy—it’s not available on the market.”

Zhao Xu muttered inwardly. He wouldn’t be so greedy; even a two- or three-point intelligence increase would satisfy him. Five wishes? Who could even imagine such a thing?

But one hundred and thirty thousand gold—smuggling that much silver would be fifty million yuan; if reckoned in gold, it would be four hundred million yuan or more. In his previous life, players basically struggled at the poverty line.

Suddenly, the half-closed doors at the front of the hall were gently pushed open. An elderly mage, looking to be seventy or eighty, leaning on a staff nearly a meter tall, slowly entered.

At the sound, the novice mages in the hall straightened in their seats, displaying meticulous discipline. Looking at the Gandalf-like figure, Zhao Xu couldn’t help but feel a surge of respect. In fantasy, a mage’s power usually grew with age—except, it seemed, for the woman beside him.

“Mentor, that metal staff looks impressive. When I attended the forum, I saw many mages with staffs. Do we get one after qualifying?” Zhao Xu asked.

Antinoya shot him a look. “Sometimes you know a lot, sometimes you really know nothing. That’s a 'Greater Metamagic Quickening Staff.' It lets you cast spells instantly, three times a day.”

Zhao Xu had been shocked enough today; the moment he heard “instant cast,” he understood its strategic value and quickly asked, “How much?”

“Seventeen thousand gold.”

“How much?” Zhao Xu thought he’d misheard.

“You heard right. It’s the most expensive of the metamagic series.”

All Zhao Xu could do was suppress his excitement.

“I knew it—when it comes to mage items, the unit of measure isn’t gold coins, but tens of thousands of gold coins.”

Such an expensive item was out of reach for players in their first year, which explained his ignorance. In his previous life, he’d only handled wands, which were basically multiple-use scrolls, barely thirty centimeters long—he had never even heard of something like this.

Suddenly, Zhao Xu noticed the old mage was slowly making his way toward him, followed by a middle-aged mage with a respectful expression. Zhao Xu was standing at the border between the front desk and the seats behind. Looking back, he saw there was no one else nearby.

They were coming straight for him.

Were they about to throw him out?

Perhaps the old mage would discover that Antinoya was just a novice, and all her previous displays had been trickery, yesterday’s conjured gold merely illusions. As Zhao Xu idly imagined this scenario, he saw the mage, though slow, drawing ever closer, while Antinoya remained perfectly calm, showing no hint of deference.

When the old mage reached within half a meter of them, he stopped. Every novice mage in the hall, no matter how proud, was riveted by this sight, all attention drawn to the old man who would soon officiate their ceremony.

“Teacher, you’re as impressive as ever,” the old mage said, bowing his head so low that his white beard nearly touched the floor.

“Couldn’t you have used a teleport or dimensional jump to get here?” Antinoya replied.

“Teacher, spell slots are a mage’s trump card. Using them just to walk a few steps is a waste,” the old mage answered respectfully.

“Heh. Go on, then—I’m in a hurry.”

The old man’s eyes then fell on Zhao Xu. “Teacher, the talent you’ve chosen is truly outstanding.”

Zhao Xu wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but he seemed to catch a glimmer of emotion in the old man’s eyes.

“Young man, go ahead and take your seat on the ‘Arcane Throne.’”