A vast, surging Magic Power storm poured into the Black Tower. The Magic Power pool greedily siphoned it in, and after who knew how many years, it entered an overflowing state once again.
This was the brilliance of the astrological ritual array. Every time Anser advanced, it could use him to fleece another wave of benefits.
Anser, meanwhile, was still immersed in the floodlike surge of inherited memories. Compared with ordinary evocation spells, "Bigby's Hand" and "Teleportation Circle" were indeed more complex and profound.
After an unknown amount of time, he slowly woke. Light and shadow seemed to intertwine in his eyes, lingering for a long time without dispersing.
He took the Teleportation Cube out of his dragonhide pouch. The runic sequences on it, which had originally looked chaotic and abstract, now seemed full of order and beauty. Though he still could not memorize them at a glance, he could easily distinguish the differences between them.
This was a unique encrypted array. Every Teleportation Circle was different, and almost impossible to crack or imitate.
The drawback was that each Teleportation Circle could only lead to one destination. Switching the runic sequence was no different from reconstructing the entire array. At that point, it would be better to build a new one from scratch.
Of course, perhaps some high-end composite Teleportation Circle could achieve that, but the difficulty of creating one would certainly be extremely high.
'As long as I have the accurate runic sequence, I can go wherever I want now!' Anser smiled broadly.
When distance was no longer an obstacle to travel, his entire way of life would change completely. This feeling... was called freedom.
He summoned his spellbook, activated the Wizardly Quill, and copied the three runic sequences recorded on the Teleportation Cube into the spellbook one by one.
As for the Teleportation Cube itself, he planned to give it to Iris.
A professional's energy and lifespan were both limited. Most Wizards did not know Teleportation Circle, let alone Sorcerers whose spells awakened entirely by chance.
Wasn't the very essence of magic items to make up for a professional's shortcomings?
After copying the runic sequences, he finally called up his character sheet and checked the changes after leveling up.
His Hit Points had reached 116, no worse than a Barbarian of the same level.
His Magic Power was 155, forty to fifty percent higher than a Sorcerer of the same attributes and level.
It did not look that high, but this was the area where the gap between an ordinary Sorcerer and him was smallest. In spellcasting ability, Metamagic, number of spells, and other aspects, the gap was wider in each one than the last.
In terms of attributes, his Strength had reached 14. His physical strength had increased greatly, and his athletic ability in running, jumping, and similar movements had improved significantly. The effect was immediate.
But this value was not even considered above average, because Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution were relatively easy attributes to train. As long as they were willing to endure hardship, most elite professionals could train them above 14 points.
After leveling up, only 1,108 experience points remained in his experience pool, while reaching level 11 required 21,000 experience points. The difficulty of leveling up had increased by far more than just a little.
But level 11 meant becoming a high-level professional, able to master sixth-ring spells, with a huge leap in strength.
For example, the legendary Disintegrate could turn a target, along with the nonmagical items it wore and carried, into dust with a single shot. Its base damage was 10d6+40 points, or 50 to 100 points, and it was still force damage.
When martial professionals encountered such a spellcaster, all they could do was gamble with their lives. If they dodged it, they lived. If they failed, it depended on whether their lives were tough enough.
'Good thing something happened to the Weave. Otherwise, when would it ever be my turn to act so arrogantly? Heh...'
After understanding his own attributes, Anser flashed away and teleported to the underground prison.
The four corpses had already been dealt with. The spoils were still laid out in the blackstone cell, forming an entire row.
He crouched in front of that deck of tarot cards, which had never scattered apart from beginning to end, and stared at it for a long time. The dice spun for ages, but he still gained nothing.
"Sigh—"
He sighed, then teleported back to Osborn's bedroom.
The burrow-house had no windows, so he could not see the sky outside. But at this moment, it was already past six in the morning, and Faerûn had long since grown bright.
He dispelled Arcane Lock and Alarm, opened the door, and followed the corridor up to the spacious living room. Then he was immediately stunned by the scene before him.
Dozens of halflings were lying all over the floor, tables, and chairs in a complete mess. Tableware had been thrown everywhere, and even after an entire night, the smell of alcohol was still very strong.
'This… is this what halfling life is like?' He shook his head slightly.
In his impression, the halflings of Baldur's Gate were not this unrestrained. At most, they were a bit more enthusiastic and a bit more talkative.
'At least they didn't waste any food.' He swept his gaze around and found that the food had been eaten very cleanly—there was barely any leftover broth on the tableware.
At that moment, the halfling lying in the corner, Osborn, seemed to sense something. He nimbly flipped over and sat up, his gaze instantly landing on Anser. After a brief moment of confusion, he finally came to his senses.
"Morning, Fabian. Are spellcasters always this diligent?" There wasn't the slightest hint of embarrassment on his face as he calmly got up and tidied his beard.
Anser found it amusing. "Not all of them…"
"Haha, I've heard some people like to use meditation or prayer in place of sleep, but that's just too boring." Osborn kicked the halfling next to him and began calling everyone to get up.
"Maybe everyone just pursues different things." Anser also quite liked sleeping—meditation was merely a way to speed up Magic Power recovery; sleeping was his true love.
"Young man, you already understand the essence of getting along with others." Osborn praised him.
Halflings liked making friends. They respected everyone's preferences and dreams, tolerated human greed, orcish rudeness, elven arrogance, dwarven stubbornness… and never imposed their own understanding and beliefs onto anyone else.
But in his view, the vast majority of humans could not do this.
While the two chatted, the halflings gradually got up one after another and began cleaning the room on their own initiative. Their movements were swift and efficient, and it didn't take long before everything was restored to a clean and orderly state.
Afterward, most of them left in succession, leaving only Osborn and Alton behind.
Osborn personally went into the kitchen and prepared a fairly lavish breakfast for Anser: honey-glazed ham with pineapple sauce, Centralsoil rose apple pie, and a rich tomato cheese soup.
His cooking skill was remarkable—the flavors were rich yet well-balanced. Even a picky elf wouldn't find it cloying.
"Excellent." Anser did not hesitate to praise it.
"Haha…" Osborn seemed quite pleased with himself and began talking at length about his cooking techniques.
Anser listened attentively, chiming in from time to time. Only after Osborn finished did he ask, "How are the prices on the Rock of Bral?"
"High—getting higher by the day…" As soon as he heard this, Alton couldn't help but complain.
The Rock of Bral itself could be self-sufficient, but only in terms of basic grains and vegetables. Other goods relied heavily on Toril. But after the disruption of the Weave, commercial exchanges had been cut off for the most part, and prices had risen uncontrollably at a rapid pace.
Anser's heart stirred. He felt this was his opportunity.
His Wizard level couldn't rise rapidly in the short term, and he couldn't sell spell models many times. Developing commerce was the only way to generate steady long-term income.
A Teleportation Circle paired with extradimensional space would be incredibly convenient for transporting goods.
He wouldn't even need to handle trade personally. As long as he brought in Fort Jacqueline and the Durlag Consortium, everyone could make money together. He only needed to control the trade channels, and money would flow into his pockets like water.
In places like Waterdeep and the Rock of Bral, he would also need to establish a local agent. The halflings of the burrow community were a good choice.
However, he still didn't know the cost of using a Teleportation Circle. And before establishing his own permanent circle, he would have to rely on others' permanent circles, making the costs uncontrollable.
"Have you considered moving somewhere else to live?" he asked Osborn.
"Do you know how much a ticket to Faerûn costs?"
"I don't."
Osborn raised one finger, his tone heavy. "It used to start at a thousand gold coins. Now it's at least double that. Leaving… isn't that easy."
Many halflings had been born on the Rock of Bral and had never left their entire lives.
Anser nodded silently.
An ordinary person only earned a few dozen gold coins a year. Saving up a thousand gold coins was indeed extremely difficult.
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