53: Chapter 53 Unexpected Events and the Scroll

The studio at the end of the corridor was larger and messier than the entrance; the floor was piled with open old books, their pages stuffed with colorful sticky notes and dried flower bookmarks.

On the workbench sat at least seven or eight cauldrons and distillers of various sizes, one of which was bubbling and emitting thick, grey-green smoke.

The bookshelf next to the workbench was crammed with scrolls and scattered notes.

The bookshelf itself was tilted at nearly fifteen degrees, and the only reason it hadn't toppled over was because it was propped up by a stack of super-thick magical tomes that were heavier than the shelf itself.

"That one... yes, the glass jar on the left, the one with the salamander eyeballs soaking inside, bring it here."

"And the third one on the right, that's the dried Mandrake root; help me cut it into small pieces and toss them into that smoking cauldron. Be careful when you cut it, don't touch its sap... I touched it once last time, and my left hand was numb for an entire day."

Bartok directed Richard to help while standing at the workbench, flipping through an old notebook so thick it could be used as a stool, muttering to himself.

"No, that's not right. Last time I used two parts sulfur and one part bat guano; this time, I'll swap it for three parts sulfur and half a part silver powder... Hmm... it shouldn't explode. Probably won't. It explodes maybe twice out of ten times, so it depends on luck."

Hearing this, Richard was quite speechless, wondering just how reliable this Old Mage really was!

Richard then handed over the jar of salamander eyeballs, cut the Mandrake root as instructed and tossed it into the cauldron, then instinctively took a few steps back.

After Bartok sprinkled the last ingredient, a pinch of sparkling silver powder, into the cauldron, the entire studio suddenly fell into a moment of absolute silence.

The next second, the cauldron exploded!

Richard saw a mass of thick, black smoke erupt from the mouth of the cauldron, rapidly coalescing into a twisted vortex in the air.

A dark red fissure split open in the center of the vortex, and shrill, noisy squeaking sounds emerged from it.

A dozen pitch-black Purgatory Bats swarmed out of the fissure, their wing edges burning with dark red flames, their eye sockets devoid of eyeballs, containing only two glowing embers.

After circling the air for half a turn, they simultaneously dove toward the two living beings in the room.

Richard's reaction speed was extremely fast.

He drew the hand axe from his waist and split the first bat that was biting at his face with a single strike; the bat's body exploded into a burst of sparks and black smoke in mid-air.

The second one lunged from the left; he slammed his elbow into it, sending the bat flying into the bookshelf, where it bounced onto the floor, its wings twitching twice before turning into ash.

The third and fourth ones attacked simultaneously from above and behind; he dodged the one overhead by side-stepping and used a backhand strike with the hand axe to cleave the one behind him.

Taking advantage of the momentum, he turned and stepped on a small bat that was trying to bite his ankle, the iron plate on his sole crushing its skull.

In less than half a minute, he had cleaved several Purgatory Bats to death.

Immediately after, the "accident" happened: Bartok's Chain Lightning arrived.

A blinding blue-white arc of electricity exploded from the Old Mage's fingertips, and after striking the nearest bat, it didn't pause for even a second, jumping directly to the second, third, and fourth ones.

In less than the blink of an eye, it strung all the bats still flying in the air together into a burning chain of lightning.

The smell of charred flesh permeated the entire studio.

The Chain Lightning did not stop after hitting the last bat; it took a turn in the air and found the only remaining conductor standing in the room—Richard, who was holding his hand axe and covered in sweat.

The arc of electricity entered through his left shoulder and exited through the outer side of his right leg.

His entire body stiffened from the shock, he nearly dropped his hand axe, and his hair stood straight up on end, forming a puff of smoking, frizzy hair above his head.

After the arc disappeared, the studio fell into a mysterious silence.

Bartok stood where he was, a trace of blue electric sparks still lingering on his fingertips.

His reading glasses had slid to the tip of his nose from the glare of the lightning, revealing a pair of eyes widened in shock.

He looked at Richard, whose Petrified Lizard leather armor was emitting a wisp of smoke, his hair standing up like a bristled hedgehog, and a light red mark burned onto his face by the electric light, but at least he was still standing.

"You, are you alright?!"

Bartok's voice was a mix of shock and guilt as he tremblingly pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

"That... the Chain Lightning is supposed to automatically distinguish between friend and foe... I must have drawn one stroke wrong when I rewrote the runes last time... No, that's not it, it must be that the Purgatory aura on those bats interfered with the identification..."

"I almost died, you 'esteemed' Mage!" Richard felt a surge of anger, his voice squeezed out from between his teeth.

He looked down at his right hand, which was still trembling slightly; the skin between his thumb and index finger had been scorched red by the electric shock, but it wasn't serious.

After his Constitution rose to eight points, his resistance to magical damage was also much stronger than before.

Plus, his second heart was currently pumping blood in his chest like a war drum, and his stiffened muscles were already rapidly regaining their flexibility.

"Ahem, ahem." Bartok gave a dry cough, his face full of guilt.

He pulled a dry cloth of unknown age from his sleeve, wiped the soot off the workbench, and then tried to change the subject with a tone suggesting "nothing had happened."

"You reacted quite quickly just now, young man; you handle that axe very well."

"All the bats died in such a short time, so the result is good, isn't it? As for that electric shock... consider it a free bonus experience; most people don't get the chance to experience the wonders of Chain Lightning up close."

Richard didn't speak, just stared at him.

He stared until the Old Mage felt unnerved, and the Old Mage coughed again in embarrassment.

Bartok put down the dry cloth, rummaged through his robe pockets for a long time, and pulled out two magic scrolls.

The edges of the scrolls were slightly yellowed, but the texture of the parchment was clearly top-quality.

"How about this... to compensate for the harm I caused you, take these two spell scrolls."

"These are improved versions I hand-wrote myself; you can use them by reciting the incantations on them. One is [Mage Armor], which can cover you in a magical force field to block a few attacks; the other is [True Strike], which can predict an enemy's attack trajectory for a short time, allowing you to dodge faster."

"Although they are low-level spells, they can save your life at critical moments."

Richard sheathed his axe back at his waist and took the two scrolls, but his expression didn't change much.

"I don't think this is enough. If my Constitution weren't strong enough, I might have been electrocuted to death!" he said, changing the subject without giving Bartok a chance to react.

"Mr. Bartok... I need a little more compensation. Could you test me to see if I have the talent to learn magic?"

Bartok's eyebrows raised above his glasses frames, seemingly surprised by this question.

He looked Richard over again; this young warrior with well-developed muscles and hair still smoking was looking at him with an extremely serious gaze.

"You want to be a Mage?" Bartok's voice carried unconcealed astonishment.

"With your physique and combat skills... isn't being a warrior good enough?"

"Do you have any idea how many years the path of a Mage takes? I didn't become an official apprentice until I was seventeen, and I didn't cast my first decent Fireball until I was twenty-eight. That's eleven years in between—eleven years! Are you sure you can afford to waste that time?"

Richard replied firmly, "I'm not afraid of spending time; I just want to know if I have the talent."