Chapter 67: The Call of Destiny

Throughout the journey, Bowen remained silent, while the Count wore a stern expression, still seemingly angry. Yet, Bowen could sense the excitement in his grandfather's magical aura. For high-ranking spellcasters, once their magic is purified, their emotions can affect the surrounding elements. If the disparity in rank is significant, they can even seize spells from their opponents. Some spellcasters even train specifically in this ability—do you know what kind of profession this is?—enabling them to snatch sorcery, divine magic, and wizardry from peers of the same rank!

The carriage had also been modified by the Count, combining both speed and comfort. Lost in thought, Bowen was surprised to find they had already arrived. He couldn't help but marvel at how magic truly was the arcane world's answer to black technology; this speed was no less than the small cars of his previous life.

The driver slowed the carriage. Neatly trimmed witch-hazel trees lined both sides of the road—a rare species of ironwood. Whether due to the season or some subsequent modification, their leaves were as red as flames, transforming the avenue into a corridor of fire.

Through the gap in the window, a magnificent palace-like manor came into view. Unlike the elven-style estate of Count Eoelum, this manor possessed a different kind of beauty, marked by symmetry and grandiosity.

The carriage rolled to a gentle stop at the entrance, where four massive stone pillars flanked the steps and a retinue of attendants waited patiently.

“My lord Count, Master Bowen, please come inside.”

The lead attendant bowed deeply. The Count, expressionless, strode inside, Bowen following closely at his side. The attendant hurried along behind them with his head lowered.

Upon entering through the main doors, they found themselves in the forehall. The building’s architecture felt airy and spacious. The interior walls were adorned with decorative murals, and the columns were carved with exquisite depictions of legendary creatures. The bell-shaped column bases were etched with floral patterns, surmounted by semicircular moldings, and the ceiling was a unique celestial dome.

The palace’s exterior was faced with black and white marble or glazed tiles, topped with colorful reliefs; beams and eaves were inlaid with gold leaf. Fountains splashed, casting mist in the air, instantly lifting one’s spirits, and the trees and flowers on either side seemed to smile in welcome. Along the way, pools and fountains, seemingly everywhere, were arranged in strict bilateral symmetry along the central axis.

After passing through the garden, they entered a grand hall, where Bowen at last met the legendary head of the Shamsdin family, Hussein!

He bore a striking resemblance to Blacklilith, with pronounced features, and a physique so robust he scarcely seemed a spellcaster—one might have mistaken him for a barbarian. His skin was a deep crimson, his hair flickered like fire, and he could rival a demon from the infernal realms.

Hussein greeted the Count with great enthusiasm; it was clear they were more than mere acquaintances, their familiarity obvious. Bowen stood quietly by, gradually gleaning from their conversation that they had once been comrades-in-arms. Their paths had diverged since then: the Count pursued the path of the arcanist, while Hussein climbed the ranks of the army, now a major figure in the military.

Suddenly, Hussein cast a sideward glance at Bowen, who instantly felt as if a wild beast had fixed its gaze upon him. Those orange eyes swept Bowen from head to toe, and wherever his gaze landed, it was as though brushed by flames.

“What an overwhelming presence—something like draconic might? Or a domain?” Bowen was shocked. So this was what the true pinnacle of power felt like? The difference was staggering—those so-called high-rankers were nothing in comparison. If this man were an enemy, Bowen doubted he could withstand even a single blow.

Warning…warning… The chip in Bowen’s mind repeatedly urged him to get away. At that moment, the “Qi” within him activated automatically. A faint glow spread across his skin, greatly easing the oppressive force bearing down on him.

“Oh? Monk’s Qi? To have reached the point of external manifestation without a teacher!” Hussein sounded surprised. He had merely intended to test Bowen’s mettle, yet discovered something remarkable. “This is extraordinary. If those old fossils ever found out, they’d try to snatch your genius grandson away.”

The Count’s face remained impassive, but he was inwardly astonished. He had long known Bowen had grasped the concept of Qi, but assumed it was only a superficial understanding. He had not expected Bowen’s Qi to be this strong—this was anything but conventional magic!

“Hmph, let them try,” the Count said lightly, but his expression betrayed a hint of unease; clearly, he was somewhat wary of these “old fossils.” Bowen, on the other hand, was quite excited. As he had suspected, only those at the top knew about monks. Despite his extensive research, he had found nothing—the consensus was that monks had vanished.

“But your boy truly has promise—he’s managed to cultivate two mutually exclusive powers at once. Such enviable talent!” Hussein grinned, walking amiably over to the Count. “Why not let our two youngsters get to know each other? Who knows, perhaps their children would…”

“Grandfather!” A furious voice interrupted before Hussein could finish.

Bowen instantly recognized the voice as belonging to the Guildmaster.

Sure enough, Lispearl stormed in, flustered. Their eyes met briefly as she approached, and she glanced away in embarrassment before quickly coming to Hussein’s side.

“Ah, cough! Isn’t this our lovely Elly? What brings you home today? I thought you were staying at the Academy?” The patriarch’s imposing air returned.

“Heh.” The Guildmaster sneered. “If I didn’t come back, someone would have sold me off!”

“Hmm?” Hussein’s eyes widened. “Who? Who dares try to sell my darling granddaughter?”

He then consoled his granddaughter, loudly threatening to make “someone” pay. The performance was so theatrical that Bowen felt a twinge of secondhand embarrassment. Yet he also realized that, for all their lofty status, such people shared the same joys and sorrows as ordinary folk.

Bowen glanced at his grandfather, who was calmly sipping tea. Clearly, he was long accustomed to Hussein’s antics.

For all his bluster, Hussein was a genuine power in the military, among the upper echelons of Netheril. Witnessing such a figure display this side of himself was rare indeed.

The Guildmaster, unable to deal with her incorrigible grandfather, finally stormed off in a huff, dragging Bowen along with her. As the two gradually walked away, the Count found himself thinking they seemed quite well matched.

“Well? Don’t you think they make a good pair?” Hussein leaned in eagerly.

“We’ll see. You can tell, can’t you? My grandson may seem obedient, but he’s quite strong-willed,” the Count replied coolly.

“Bah! Boring. Looks like you’re becoming as passionless as those stones,” Hussein said with mock disgust.

“An arcanist is rational…”

“Yes, yes—rationality, calm, and the spirit of exploration. I know all that… Forget it, let’s not talk about this.”

With a wave of his hand, Hussein made clear his loss of interest.

The Count gazed at him deeply before asking, “How did things turn out?”

“Bah! After over a month of fishing, Sevendon has been devastated, not to mention the neighboring towns. And in the end, she still got away!” Hussein’s anger flared as he spoke, his orange eyes turning a fiery red. Even the Count sitting nearby could smell the acrid scent of gunpowder.

“She? The heretic is a woman?” the Count asked in surprise.

Heretics usually referred to worshippers of evil gods—ancient abominations, eldritch spawn, lesser fiends and devils, or chaotic deities like Lolth.

“Yes, a woman. And she’s connected to someone in the court. If he hadn’t tipped her off, how could she have escaped the encirclement of over thirty high-ranking professionals?”

“High-ranking professionals?” the Count frowned.

“Yes! I fought her once—she’s already at near-legendary strength.”

“Near-legendary? Holding back from ascension, embracing darkness and evil, yet with such willpower? She must have grand ambitions!” The Count’s eyes narrowed.

“You mean she’s aiming to ascend to a legendary class?” Hussein was astonished.

“Exactly. To orchestrate such chaos, attract so many monsters, and besiege Sevendon, while causing trouble within the city… If she succeeds, she’ll ascend to legendary rank without question. At that point, the evil taint within her will be wholly transformed into power and will no longer affect her mind,” the Count explained.

Hussein stood up, visibly shaken. “You… You mean…”

“Yes! I have already felt the call of destiny. There cannot be two chosen in one place!” Count Eoelum gazed at him steadily. “If I claim destiny this time, my New Arcana will be complete.”

“Then you will become the first in Netheril…” Hussein began with awe, then finished, word by word:

“Legendary Arcanist!”

…