Chapter 247
The Archmage’s palm lifted and then retracted. In the conference room, waves of magic fluctuations ca and went like a firm and powerful heartbeat, or like a butterfly struggling to break free from its cocoon. The Archmage stood at the door for a mont, his eyebrows twitching slightly, a mixture of surprise and delight on his face:
"This kid... is about to advance?"
A group of people were impatiently blocked by him at the door. The Archmage of the Necromancer School extended his hand and flicked a cherry-sized secret magic eye from his fingers, which rolled under the door crack. Then, the light ball exerted effort to enlarge and flatten itself into a thin disk, slipping through the door crack.
The screen of the secret magic eye imdiately unfolded. Through the screen, the Archmages saw Garrett sitting at the edge of the long table, on the rightmost high-backed chair. He leaned back, closed his eyes, his head resting against the back of the chair, forearms resting flat on the armrests, in a stable ditative posture.
"This kid really doesn’t treat himself as an outsider." The necromancer in the black robe laughed first. Everyone glanced sideways: "Hey, Garrett is sitting on your chair!... Are you feeling proud?"
"He’s not from the Black Crow Swamp!" "No, after causing a plague and killing half of the people in the City of Radiance, the Pope had to use a large-scale divine spell to suppress it. Isn’t he a natural necromancer?"
Regardless, it’s best not to disturb the ditative state, especially considering it seems to be a ditation for advancing in mage level judging by the magic fluctuations. Old Sam stepped back two steps, raised his hand to his chest, representing the badge of the evaluation committee mbers, and lowered his voice:
"Mr. Hermunculus! Mr. Hermunculus!"
"Calling ?" The wall brightened slightly. At the entrance of the conference room, on the smooth black crystal surface, a simple outline of a face appeared, the Tower Spirit of the Tower of Heaven. Old Sam nodded slightly and greeted the face:
"Mr. Hermunculus. There is a junior mage ditating to advance in the conference room. Could you please help adjust the elental environnt of the conference room to a state suitable for novice ditation?"
"A novice ditation room costs 100 contribution points per day to rent." The crystal buzzed, and from the small orifice next to it, a semi-chanical voice flowed out:
"Temporary adjustnts double the cost. Will you pay, or will the person inside pay?"
"...I’ll pay!"
Old Sam reluctantly took off his badge.
Deep in ditation, Garrett was completely unaware of the commotion outside. As the committee mbers left, he remained alone in the conference room, writing sothing. As he wrote, his mind beca clearer and clearer:
It seems like the council doesn’t want to imprison
after all!
And maybe they don’t want
to go bankrupt either!
What’s the benefit of bankrupting ? My wealth is like a drop in the ocean for the council; even if they squeeze
dry, they won’t be satisfied... If they really want
to compensate, I can just negotiate with them and sell them these managent regulations!
Right, and there are still those high school chemistry textbooks, electrolytic slting thods, there are so many things I haven’t sold yet!
With the return of a sense of security, Garrett’s shoulders relaxed instantly. The tension from last night until now disappeared without a trace, replaced by an inexplicable feeling that appeared after the plague disappeared:
Like the rising tide of spring, like the sprouting of green grass. That vigorous and lively feeling surrounded him uncontrollably.
Is it ti to advance?
To advance three levels in mage rank?
Garrett was both surprised and delighted. He threw down the outline he had been writing halfway through, glanced around, hesitated for a second between "sitting on the hard ground to start ditating" and "casually occupying a high-backed chair
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