Chapter 661 - 550: Drowned Man’s Reef

Chapter 661: Chapter 550: Drowned Man’s Reef

The staff was roughly shoulder-length. Its shaft was not made of ordinary wood, but a deep gray material that felt warm and smooth like jade, yet held the faint, cold gleam of metal—as if some alloy, refined by a Secret Technique, had been fused with ancient ivory.

Fine, flowing silver lines were engraved across its surface.

The lines wound and coiled, forming layers upon layers of miniature Arrays that seemed to be in motion.

Even in the dim light, they emanated an exceedingly faint but steady, unceasing Arcane glow.

The design of the staff’s head was particularly striking.

Three elegantly curved metal ribs interlaced to cradle a levitating, deep purple Crystal, about the size of a pigeon’s egg, at its core.

Within the Crystal, what looked like liquid starlight or a condensed thundercloud slowly swirled and churned, occasionally flashing with a dangerous and beautiful bolt of lightning.

The head of the staff was altogether exquisite and mysterious, imbued with a practical elegance and the unique aesthetic of an Arcane creation.

"This is..."

Ellis took the Magic Staff, examining it for a moment before looking up at Roland, his expression puzzled.

"The leader of the group surrounding Black Wind earlier was holding this."

Roland explained, his tone matter-of-fact.

"Things were chaotic, and I’m not sure where he ran off to, but he dropped his Magic Staff."

"Didn’t you mention before that you needed a decent Magic Staff? I saw it while I was clearing out the Fishmen. I was worried those clumsy brutes would damage it, so I picked it up for you."

Ellis was taken aback.

He had, in fact, mentioned it offhandedly in a past conversation. As a Wandering Mage, his greatest regret was not having a Magic Staff that was truly compatible with him—one that could effectively amplify his Magic.

But he never expected Roland to remember his comment, which had been little more than a sigh. He hadn’t imagined that Roland, in the heat of such a tense battle, would not only notice the abandoned Magic Staff but also make a point of retrieving it for him.

Seeing the pure, natural sincerity in Roland’s eyes—with no hint that he was bestowing a favor or keeping score—Ellis felt a warmth spread through his heart.

The faint, indescribable sense of distance he had felt after witnessing Roland’s overwhelming power quietly dissolved.

"Thank you, Mr. Rudolph..."

Ellis’s voice was filled with genuine gratitude.

He lovingly caressed the warm, solid shaft in his hands.

The Magic Staff was exceptional in every regard—its materials, its craftsmanship, and the level of Energy it contained.

While it couldn’t compare to the "Cyan Oath" the academy had once issued him, it was far superior to any ordinary Magic Staff.

But after a moment, he took a deep breath and handed the Magic Staff back to Roland with both hands.

"This is too valuable. I can’t accept it. Besides..."

However, before Ellis could finish his sentence, Holland, who had been listening impatiently, cut him off gruffly.

"Come on! I swear, Ellis, you academy types are always so wishy-washy and roundabout!"

Holland crossed his arms, his face a mask of exasperation.

"The boss is giving it to you, so just take it! It’s a fantastic item, way better than Casting bare-handed, right? All this hemming and hawing, you’re acting like a..."

"Holland!"

For once, Ellis raised his voice. He shot the blunt Priest a glare and explained with added emphasis.

"And besides, for the last few centuries, any decent Magic Staff—especially a piece that is obviously a master’s work—is almost always custom-made for a specific Mage."

"The Arrays engraved on the shaft and the core’s energy cycle are deeply bound to the original owner’s Magic Power Traits, and even their Soul Mark."

"Even if there were a way to forcibly erase the original Soul Mark, the new user would run into ’Compatibility’ issues. Not only would they fail to receive the intended amplification, but their Casting stability could decrease, the power of their Magic would be severely diminished, and it might even trigger an Energy backlash!"

"So, according to you..."

Holland clicked his tongue, looking skeptical.

"Does that mean a Mage like you, who’s no longer with an academy, has to bang on some metal and knock a stick together yourself?"

"I wish I had that kind of skill!"

Ellis shot back, annoyed. He took a breath to compose himself before continuing his explanation for the Priest, who clearly had limited knowledge of a Caster’s world.

"Just as Extraordinary Professionals who need fine swords and Armor seek out renowned Master Blacksmiths, we Casters have our own ’Blacksmiths.’ They’re usually called ’Mold Makers,’ or by the more ancient title, ’Secret Technique Engravers.’"

"These artisans are masters of a profound craft, passed down through generations, for shaping specific Magic Materials and precisely engraving Arcane Circuits. Their clientele is typically Great Mages, Arcane Academies, or certain prominent Caster families, and their skills are rarely taught to outsiders, so..."

He spread his hands, his tone tinged with helpless self-deprecation.

"Forge a decent Magic Staff myself? That’s far beyond my current abilities."

At this, the young Mage sighed, his voice dropping as his gaze fell back upon the deep gray Magic Staff.

"Therefore, for a Wandering Mage like me, the most common way to acquire a halfway decent Magic Staff is to try my luck in forgotten ancient ruins or on fabled battlefields..."

"The hope is to find an ’ownerless item’—a staff that is ancient, has a relatively universal design, and whose original owner is long dead, allowing the Soul Mark and magical bonds to have naturally faded over the ages. Only that kind of Magic Staff can be reactivated by a new Mage. The Compatibility still wouldn’t be perfect, but at least... it would be usable."

Hearing this, Roland’s brow slowly furrowed.

For some reason, Ellis’s words sparked a strange sense of familiarity in him, as if he had heard something similar somewhere before.

But no matter how he racked his brain, he couldn’t quite grasp the elusive thought.

He gave a slight shake of his head, dismissing the pointless thoughts. Patting Ellis on the shoulder, he offered a firm reassurance.

"Don’t be discouraged, Ellis. We’ll find a chance to get you a proper Magic Staff, one that’s truly yours."

With that, he casually tossed Cyrus’s Magic Staff to Holland for safekeeping and began to scan their surroundings.

Thanks to the effect of his [Plundering] Trait, faintly glowing spoils of war had materialized beside the dead Fishmen.

However, a scan of the area revealed nothing of note. Besides a few old-fashioned coins caked in sea salt and grime, and a handful of equally crude bone and seashell trinkets, there were no Magic Items or equipment worth mentioning.

"Collect these loose coins," Roland instructed simply. "They might come in handy."

As Holland bent down to pick them up, he couldn’t help but mutter.

"These fish-spawn actually carry coins? Don’t tell me they trade with this stuff among themselves, just like we do?"

His tone was filled with incredulous wonder.

The group quickly finished their business and made camp for the night in a nearby dry hollow, which was backed by a rock wall and offered a relatively clear line of sight.

At dawn the next day, they set off once again.

And with Black Wind there, the three of them no longer needed to make the arduous journey on foot.

The powerful Nightmare Beast took to the sky with them on its back, unfurling its shadow-wreathed wings and gliding smoothly into the crisp morning sea wind.

However, carrying three people at once was clearly a significant burden, even for Black Wind. Its flight speed was considerably slower than expected, a far cry from the swiftness it displayed when flying solo.

They flew over the broken coastline. Below them lay a jagged mess of black reefs and turbulent currents that constantly frothed with white spray.

More than half a day later, as evening approached and stained the horizon with weary shades of ochre and violet, a fearsome sight began to reveal its grim outline through the churning sea fog.

Drowned Man’s Reef.

Even from high above, the region radiated an ominous aura.

It was not a continuous landmass or island, but a vast, chaotic cluster of reefs, looking as if some titan had violently shattered a mountain with a Warhammer and cast the fragments into the sea.

Jagged black rock spires stabbed out of the sea like a giant’s uneven teeth, their surfaces riddled with holes and deep channels carved by the corrosive saltwater.

Here, the seawater took on an unnatural, inky green color. The current was visibly turbulent, forming innumerable whirlpools of varying sizes.

White-capped waves smashed violently against the reefs, shattering with a ceaseless, muffled roar.

A thick, damp, cold fog seemed to blanket the area year-round. Even on this clear evening, visibility was severely hampered, making it possible to only faintly discern the menacing silhouettes of the nearby reefs.

The air was thick with the stench of salt, rotting seaweed, and a certain indescribable chill that seemed to emanate from the silt of the Deep Sea.

The occasional shrill cry of an unknown seabird echoed through the labyrinth of reefs, adding another layer of desolation and danger to the scene.

This place felt like the edge of the world, a corner of the ocean both forgotten and cursed, filled with deadly undercurrents and sharp, hidden reefs.

And unknown dangers, likely lurking just beneath the murky waves or deep within the fog.