Surviving in a deserted, otherworldly place, the most terrifying thing was not actually the dangers people imagined. It was having no goal and no plan. For a survivor, wandering around like a headless fly or standing frozen in place could both be fatal, and most of the time, you would not even realize it.
Skyl had learned exactly how terrifying it was to be "aimless."
One day, he woke up from the bed in his pocket, counted the potion bottles beside him, and realized he could open a pharmacy with what he had. Then he looked at the candleflame inside The Guide and found that its light had already grown as bright as a campfire.
So he lay back down.
For that entire day, he did not practice magic, did not study, did not tend the shipworm farm, and did not go out hunting. He did nothing. Other than taking care of personal hygiene, he simply lay there all day, drank a little magically converted clean water, and ate nothing at all.
He wasted an entire day, gained nothing, and ruined his own mood in the process.
After realizing that his mental state was gradually worsening, Skyl decided to make some handicrafts to entertain himself once that day had passed.
He tried carving. Since he had no carving knife, he used [Eldritch Blast] to cut.
The principle behind [Eldritch Blast] was guiding magical energy and turning it into the purest, most primitive shockwave, releasing it in the form of a ray. It was like scooping a handful of water out of a rushing river and throwing it out with a casual flick. In other words, there was not much technique to it.
Skyl tried carving words into a plank from the ship. One [Eldritch Blast] swept across the wood, and the wooden fibers burst apart like soil churned up by an iron plow, leaving behind rippling grooves.
That crude mark silently proved one thing, [Eldritch Blast] could not serve as a carving knife.
Still, Skyl had no intention of giving up. He needed to find something that would rekindle his passion for life.
At first, limited by the spell's crude structure, no matter how hard Skyl tried, he could not effectively control the force waves of [Eldritch Blast]. They were like an untamed beast that only knew how to bite and gnaw wildly, while the only thing the tamer could do was tug at the leash.
Skyl felt the energy flowing through the Weave and used his mind to soothe the restless force waves. Every time he cast [Eldritch Blast], it did not merely leave a carved mark on the wood, it also drew a path across his heart. He tasted the disharmony and distortion in that path, then adjusted it over and over.
When one plank was ruined, he changed to another. The wood chips soaked in magical energy could be fed to the shipworms anyway.
After repeating this practice thousands of times, he could already leave smooth, delicate marks on the wooden boards. His mastery of [Eldritch Blast] had also reached the point where he no longer needed gestures or words. A single thought was enough to release it.
Skyl now fully understood the true purpose behind the daily practice tasks. Spellcasters were not only seekers of the arcane mysteries, they were also controllers of magical power. By opening their minds and bodies to magical energy, they allowed the root force that existed everywhere in the universe to reshape their souls and bloodlines, thereby stepping toward the realm of the extraordinary.
The descendants of archmages had a certain chance of becoming sorcerers because spellcasters spent long periods immersed in magical power, causing mutations in their bloodlines. That affinity for magic could then be passed down to future generations through blood.
The moment Skyl became completely familiar with [Eldritch Blast], a wind of magic suddenly pierced through his body and soul, making every blood vessel in him ring out like vibrating strings.
By the time he came back from that transcendent experience, he had unknowingly gained twenty candleflames. Counting the flashes of inspiration he had obtained while immersed in practice, his total gain came to one hundred and forty-three lights inside his skull. It had taken seven days. The efficiency was quite good.
At that time, the [Eldritch Blast] he cast could be as thin as a thread or as thick as a bucket. But if he wanted to complete a sculpture, uniform force alone was not enough. He needed it to obey him like his own hand and perform actions such as cutting, scoring, turning, flicking, and chiseling.
If he wanted to improve the controllability of [Eldritch Blast], he could no longer release the force field in the form of a ray.
To shape the force waves into a sword, he modified the spell structure of [Eldritch Blast].
If the original method had been scooping water from a river and throwing it out, then this new method was condensing water into ice.
Skyl did not work blindly behind closed doors. He openly spent two hundred candleflames to purchase a copy of Mordenkainen's Sword, preparing to borrow some advanced experience from it.
[Mordenkainen's Sword] was a 7th-level evocation spell that created a freely flying, luminous sword of force. Its practical combat value was not high, but its sound and light effects were very cool.
What Skyl wanted to learn was how to bind force into a fixed shape. With his current knowledge reserves, fully understanding a 7th-level spell was still very difficult, and even if he learned it, he would not be able to cast it. Even so, he stubbornly figured out the technique for constraining force into shape and applied it to [Eldritch Blast].
He turned the force waves into a blade that could briefly attach itself to his palm or to an object held in his hand. It could be swung like a weapon, and its sharpness was comparable to iron. Its killing power was quite impressive.
The upgraded [Eldritch Blast] inevitably became a 1st-level spell.
Casting a proper leveled spell would make a spellcaster feel fatigue that came from the depths of the soul, and even gradually lose their connection to the Weave. Therefore, before getting rest, it could only be cast a limited number of times.
Skyl named this self-created 1st-level spell [Eldritch Blade]. After that day, he specialized in studying that single spell, [Eldritch Blade], constantly absorbing the essence of other magic to improve its performance. He was determined to develop it into an entire series, and by now, more than half a year had passed.
The crew of the Charizard tailed Skyl to the outer ring. When they saw the warlock land on an asteroid, everyone looked at one another and hesitated again.
"Who's going to negotiate with him?"
"I'll do it," the alien crewman said in a deep, muffled voice. Then he glanced at the mage apprentice. "Dean, you're coming with me."
"Why?! Uh, is that necessary? What can I even do if I go?"
"You magic people all have dirty hearts. Taking you along means we're prepared, just in case we get tricked by that warlock."
Dean was annoyed by that sentence. Wasn't that basically insulting him too, just in a roundabout way?
Naturally, he did not want to go.
The crewmen exchanged a look, then suddenly began praising the apprentice. They said he was outstanding in learning, highly skilled, and would surely surpass his mentor in time. They said he would become wildly popular with the boss and make money hand over fist. How could someone so capable be afraid of talking to another person? Of course he would take the lead.
The mage apprentice's young face instantly flushed red, and courage swelled in his heart. He waved his hand with great confidence and started giving orders. "Two people won't be enough. At least one more has to come with us."
A human crewman agreed.
The three of them added some fuel and water to their steam-pump packs, then set off.
They landed on the asteroid where the warlock lived in seclusion and cautiously tracked his traces.
The alien crewman turned his hippo-like head, observing the surrounding terrain, while keeping one hand pressed against the short-barreled gun at his waist.
Dean suddenly cried out.
"There are footprints on the ground."
"Careful. We're getting close to that man's home."
The footprints led to a wide crack in the ground. Everyone leaned over to look. The crack stretched diagonally downward, dark and deep like the mouth of a beast waiting for prey to throw itself inside.
"Hey! Is anyone there?" the alien crewman shouted in greeting.
The echo drifted faintly back, making the mage apprentice's hair stand on end.
The two veteran crewmen exchanged a look, and the thinner human took the initiative to enter. He kept calling out in greeting as he went, his voice gradually fading away.
After quite a while, the human crewman returned to the cave mouth with a shocked expression.
"There's no one inside! But I found some strange things!"
"What exactly? Say it already."
"Statues. There are a lot of statues inside... and a small boat. I think I saw a spelljamming helm!"
"What?! You mean there's a spelljamming helm here?" His companion was shocked, then overjoyed.
"I'm not sure. It looks like a half-finished product." The human crewman's face was pale. "Something feels wrong. There's no one inside, but it feels like something is watching me."
"Go in and take a look. If it really is a spelljamming helm, we'll take it first. The boss will compensate him."
Mage Dean gritted his teeth. He had a bad feeling. His mentor had once warned him that a prepared spellcaster was invincible, and that one should especially avoid fighting on the other party's home ground, because you could never know whether any unremarkable object nearby had a lethal spell buried inside it.
"If that man isn't inside, then where did he go? Shouldn't we wait here for a while?"
"Forget that. The spelljamming helm matters more. Search for any gossamer space jellyfish hide too. Time is tight. That man could come back at any moment."
The veteran crewman slipped into the crack without hesitation.
The mage apprentice looked around. The asteroids of the Farstar Belt glimmered faintly in the sky. The distant sun looked like a single red bean, and the wind around them carried tiny grains of sand that lashed against his cheeks.
He shuddered blankly, then hurried after his companions, going deep into a stranger spellcaster's home.
At the same time, on an asteroid two miles away, the three crewmen left behind were kneeling on the ground. Their protective suits were torn, their injuries were serious, their hands were twisted behind their backs, and their bodies were bound by ropes of force.
They begged miserably for mercy.
"We only came out to catch space jellyfish! We don't know anything, Lord Mage!"
"Please spare us! We're just crewmen from a merchant fleet. My companion needs treatment. He's not going to make it!"
"Help... have mercy..."
A disheveled man with long hair hanging over his shoulders stood in front of them, holding a bright blue blade of light in his hand. His gaze was colder than the stars.
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters on all my fanfics //[email protected]/Razeil0810.