Aozaki Aoko [571-573] (Patreon)

Chapter 571: The Passing Lord of the Floating City

Of course, this gold cup, inlaid with countless gemstones, is not the wish-granting Holy Grail, but rather a very complex magical artifact.

Aoko circled the cup, muttering incantations as she walked and occasionally casting spells on it, carefully observing the feedback and changes it produced.

After about ten minutes, she finally came to a conclusion: this cup only works within this hall.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Aoko paused, turning to the others, “each of us needs to drink a sip of the liquid in this cup.”

“You have to be kidding,” Edgin was clearly shocked by this answer. “Remember that Netherwine Holga found? I don’t know why this cup hasn’t dried up in two thousand years, but I’d bet its drinkability is about as good as that stuff!”

“Doric, please use Detect Poison on the cup,” Aoko didn’t answer Edgin directly but instead made a request to Doric standing nearby.

Doric glanced at her, then nodded. A flash of detection magic passed, and the druid’s face showed surprise.

“The liquid inside… is completely non-toxic,” Doric reported, looking around at the others. “It doesn’t make much sense, but it’s not poisonous.”

“This stuff is totally clear,” Simon approached the cup, waving his hand through the white mist beside it, then sniffed, “and it doesn’t smell like anything. Honestly, it just… seems like water.”

Actually, in Aoko’s judgment, it was water—just water that had been heavily ritual-enchanted. Through her arcane sight, she saw that the cup radiated divination magic, while the liquid glowed with eight different magical auras.

Ignoring her companions’ debate about whether or not to drink, Aoko simply took out a glass, rolled up her sleeve, and filled it, just like she’d once drunk from the Fountain of Youth.

“To everyone’s health.” She raised her glass in a toast, and before anyone could stop her, she downed it.

The others watched her nervously, unsure whether to call her reckless or just incredibly brave.

“Tastes like lukewarm water,” Aoko smacked her lips, “no flavor at all.”

“Does it actually… do anything?” Edgin asked anxiously.

Aoko didn’t immediately reply. Instead, she held out her hand and cast a spell on herself.

“That’s the effect,” she said. “Drinking this gives you an extra, random cantrip ability for about an hour.”

“So what’s the point?” Simon scratched his head. “Except for Holga, we can all already use cantrips.”

“It’s actually useful,” Aoko explained. “The cantrip is just a side effect. The main purpose of the liquid is to give new students of an arcane house a test to see which school of magic suits them, and to mark them accordingly.”

“And that teleportation passage at the Tower of Iriolarthas requires this kind of mark for identification,” she continued. “With it, you’re recognized as a student here, and allowed into the lord’s study.”

“Regular students can get in too? Guess this archmage lord is actually pretty generous to students,” Simon commented.

“Alright, everyone drink.” Aoko handed out the glass. “We’ll have to enter the study within an hour, so let’s be quick.”

Having acquired qualification in the arcane house, Aoko and her companions used teleportation to return to the stasis chamber in the central tower. After a bit of preparation, they approached the forcefield in the oval hall.

Gathered around the hemispherical field, Aoko looked inside. Through the semi-transparent shield, she could see only the lower tower beneath the skylight.

She formed three hand seals; the magic gemstones powering the forcefield were deactivated, and the shield instantly vanished. Unsupported, the ice blocks dropped to the ballroom below.

Aoko repositioned herself to the north side of the central well, crossed her hands, and intoned:

“Saldrinar.”

As she spoke, the view inside the well blurred. A mass of black mist appeared at the center, growing larger and larger.

Specks of light flickered within the darkness, transforming it into a cosmic nebula.

The nebula spun faster, forming an oval, jet-black portal.

“Success,” Aoko breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll go first. Wait a minute before following, in case there’s anything dangerous inside.”

The others nodded. Aoko decisively stepped forward onto the floating black mist.

It felt just as soft as it looked, yet somehow she was perfectly stable.

She walked into the portal and vanished.

The teleportation lasted less than two seconds before Aoko found herself in a vast room.

The room had clearly been abandoned for centuries—she could smell a faint mustiness—but there were no cobwebs or dust, likely thanks to magical maintenance.

The huge study was split into two levels: the upper level had many tables with magical equipment; the lower was a sunken, ring-shaped library, about twenty feet deep.

On both east and west sides, staircases with ornate black stone railings led down. Aoko couldn’t identify the material at a glance.

Peering into the library pit, she saw a staff floating quietly on a stand before the shelves, radiating powerful magic—matching the descriptions she’d heard. This was Iriolarthas’s staff, the Power Staff.

Just as she was about to jump down and grab it, a voice suddenly sounded from across the pit:

“Who are you? Hm?” The voice was wild and manic. “You don’t look like an apprentice… I know! You must be the backup sent from Vinelanda next door! Good, good, finally, I’m damn well in! Do you know how many years I’ve been trapped outside my own study? This is absurd!”

The one babbling at Aoko was a floating skull, surrounded by mysterious runes, with two hideous nothics behind it, their huge, sickening single eyes fixed on her.

Aoko’s heart sank. She realized at once: this was the demi-lich Iriolarthas, lord of Ythryn City.

Chapter 572: Battle in the Study

“Do you know what I’ve been through all these years?!” the skull ranted angrily, “You have no idea! All you people do is slowly send a little girl to check if I’m dead or not!”

“But old Iriolarthas isn’t dead! He’s alive, made it to today, finally back in this damned study!”

This legendary lich might have lost track of his phylactery, but given the deep soul-bond and his demi-lich status, that seemed unlikely.

“Damn it, the Vinelanda will laugh at me for losing my phylactery. He must never find out…” The skull suddenly stopped spinning and the magical flames in its eye sockets locked onto Aoko.

Aoko could barely keep a straight face. Did he really lose his phylactery? She’d just guessed before—no archmage should make such a rookie mistake.

“You, little girl,” the skull threatened, “you have to stay here. I can’t let anyone know about this… not until I personally recover my phylactery!”

“But don’t worry,” he added, as if comforting her after his threat. “Ythryn City is way better than any city. Your magic’s not bad, and you’re pretty. Just stay here as my lab assistant—you’ll be well taken care of…”

“Absolutely not,” Aoko waved a hand, pretending to be righteous and cutting off Iriolarthas’s rambling. “Lord Vinelanda sent me to check on Ythryn City. If everything’s fine, I need to report back immediately.”

Of course, Aoko replied in fluent Loross. So far, neither the skull nor the nothics had noticed anything amiss.

“Then tell me, did you dawdle on the way? How else could you only just arrive? Are you making up excuses so Vinelanda won’t punish you? Won’t your own lord scold you if you go back like this?”

Aoko really didn’t want to keep talking to this crazy demi-lich. She was considering taking direct action when—

“Aoko! What’s the situation? Did you find—” At the agreed time, Edgin and the others entered the portal, arriving in the lord’s study.

The moment Edgin entered, everyone—skull, nothics, and Aoko—stared straight at him. The bard felt a chill.

“That guy would never send a non-mage here,” Iriolarthas suddenly snapped back to his legendary cunning, his tone cold and sharp. “So you’re lying. You’re all filthy adventurers, here to steal Ythryn’s treasures, aren’t you?”

With the ruse blown, there was no need for pretense. Aoko didn’t even hesitate; she began casting immediately, her hands moving so fast they blurred.

“You little thieves, die! Power Word—” roared the skull, magical flames blazing.

“Time Stop!” But Aoko finished her spell first.

To Aoko, everything except herself froze in place.

She saw her teammates tensed for battle, the nothics lunging for them, and Iriolarthas’s runed, green-flaming skull.

“Delayed Blast Fireball ×3.”

She precisely timed her casting, planting three delayed fireballs at the enemies’ likely positions—lich, nothic A, nothic B—to ensure they had no time to react.

She immediately began her next spell, as Time Stop ended.

Boom!

The lich’s spell was interrupted by the explosions, the nothics disintegrated instantly, magical lab gear shattered, and the study was a wreck.

Aoko’s assault wasn’t over.

“Damn! Don’t think a sneak attack will win you the day!” Iriolarthas’s skull flew from the smoke, now charred and battered. “Let me show you the difference between us—” But as he ranted, Holga had already rushed him. She swung her axe like a baseball bat, aiming for his forehead.

The impact was deafening, but didn’t strike the skull itself; she’d triggered his contingency, activating Bigby’s Hand.

The spell shielded him from Holga’s blow, the huge noise coming from the axe hitting it.

The barbarian missed, ready for another flurry, and the lich prepared to deal with this melee—but Aoko’s next spell landed.

“Mist of Mystra!”

A wave of silver, sparkling mist burst from Aoko’s staff, instantly blanketing most of the study and causing Iriolarthas to lose track of his targets.

“Power Word: Kill!”

But the mist couldn’t stop his casting. The necromancy spell hit Holga as she retreated.

Normally, a 9th-level necromancy spell would be instantly fatal, but this time it only knocked Holga to her knees and made her cough blood—clearly abnormal. Not even her adamantine armor could explain it.

The lich immediately sensed something was off. Then he realized this unfamiliar silver mist spell had lowered his spellcasting ability.

Chapter 573: The Fall of the Lord

“Ow, easy!” Holga, blood at her lips, limped to safety with Edgin’s help. She wasn’t in mortal danger, but was out of the fight for now. “That really hurt…”

“Well, you just took a 9th-level spell head-on,” Simon quickly pulled out a healing potion and made her drink it. “You survived only because Aoko’s spell weakened the enemy’s magic!”

With their frontline down and Iriolarthas still calling monsters despite the silver mist’s debuff, Doric had to shapeshift and take the front.

For some reason, Aoko’s silver mist—which suppressed and down-leveled magic—didn’t affect her teammates, something generally impossible in arcane magic.

Doric, in beast form, fought the summoned monsters in the mist, while Aoko dueled the lich.

Both sides unleashed rays, counterspells, dispels, summons, and banishments in a constant barrage. Realizing low-level spells were useless, Iriolarthas had to upcast to counteract the mist’s effects.

The skull shot red beams; Aoko blocked with force walls; he broke them with disintegrate; she retaliated with Isaac’s Greater Missile Storm.

The upper study was total chaos, though the sunken library was undamaged—credit to the archmage’s foresight.

He must’ve foreseen a brutal battle in his study someday.

Seeing his long-lost study trashed by intruders, the archmage’s already addled mind was furious. If not for the silver mist lowering his magic, he’d have wiped out this non-legendary girl already!

“Finger of Death!” The necromancy spell, infused with all his rage, turned into a thick red beam toward Aoko.

Aoko, after confirming it wasn’t a trick, didn’t dodge—she took the instant-death attack head-on.

As Iriolarthas gaped in disbelief, Aoko completed her next spell: Bigby’s Crushing Hand.

If any damage in this world is truly real, it’s force damage. All mages know: force is the most effective and hardest to counter.

By the way, disintegrate is a form of force damage.

As the skull was still shocked by Aoko taking Finger of Death unscathed, a giant spectral hand slammed him against the wall.

“PUGAA!!”

Iriolarthas let out a bizarre shriek, but Aoko’s final blow had clearly done massive damage—even speech was impossible now.

A volley of magic missiles finished off the remaining summoned demons, ending the sudden battle.

Aoko, controlling Bigby’s Hand, pried Iriolarthas’s skull from the wall and examined it—crisscrossed with cracks, on the verge of shattering.

This confirmed her suspicion: the archmage was in a severely weakened state—less than half his former power.

He’d already been forced into a demi-lich state by lack of soul energy, half-senile, memories scrambled, speech incoherent. For Aoko, slaying him without legendary power was no challenge.

There are many tales of legendary mages losing levels due to madness; the most famous is Duncan, who fell from level 27 to 19 after going insane.

She had no intention of sparing him. With so little soul left in the skull, reading his memories would yield nothing.

Aoko drew her adamantine dagger and stabbed it straight into the center of Iriolarthas’s forehead. The anti-magic metal easily killed him; the soul-fire in his eyes went out, and the skull shattered to fragments on the floor.

A huge surge of arcane insight filled Aoko; she was now more than halfway to 20th level. In this world, it’s true—crime pays, virtue doesn’t.

“How are you feeling? Any lingering issues?” Aoko finished a moderate healing spell on Holga, who had taken a Power Word: Kill. “Even down-leveled, a 9th-level spell can leave lasting side effects if you’re not careful.”

“No problem,” Holga stood up, stretching happily. “I don’t feel any pain anywhere. I already had a healing potion too. Actually, I feel… stronger?”

Aoko looked her up and down and found it true—the elk-tribe barbarian had gained significant arcane insight from the fight and leveled up on the spot.

“Any loot from the lord?” Edgin asked. “That was a tough fight—almost lost someone. Don’t tell me we got nothing?”

“There’s loot, but not gold or jewels,” Aoko produced a black-leather spellbook, its cover embedded with a dead, sharp-toothed worm and a golden eye sigil. “This is Iriolarthas’s spellbook.”

Simon took it and flipped through a few pages. There were only two 9th-level spells.

“This must be his spare spellbook,” Aoko shrugged. “I didn’t see any legendary spells.”

“It’s more than enough!” Simon said excitedly. “And there are plenty of spells I’ve never seen. Can I copy them later?”

“Of course,” Aoko agreed. “Once we finish searching the library below, we can camp here for the night and spend all the time we want studying.”