Wizard: Starting With Synthesized Gems - Chapter 787

Chapter 784 Winter is a season of cleansing

Locke manipulated the tree-man, tracing the flow of planar power, searching for those whose remaining luck in this world was converging. Locke wasn’t a wizard specializing in divination and wasn’t particularly adept at it.

However, he possessed the enhanced insight of a second-circle wizard, granted by his Three-Eyed Tiger Cat, and also possessed the [Spiritual Vision], amplified by immense magic.

Therefore, he quickly locked onto hundreds of targets for the convergence of planar power in this world.

These people were scattered among the tribes on the ice plains of the Louis world.

Locke had just arrived at one tribe on the ice plains when he discovered that the tribe had been struck by an undead calamity, with endless skeleton warriors appearing from afar.

A vulture-like undead creature that fed on annihilated undead appeared above the tribe.

It was a Death-Eating Vulture.

Possessing a certain degree of prophetic ability, it was clear that the Louis world possessed many such undead birds, used to capture those who might rebel against the wizard Berber Morgan.

Soon, an entire tribe in this world was slaughtered.

The Lich King’s mount appeared among the undead army. Soulfire flickered in the Lich King’s pupils; he was clearly the avatar of the wizard Berber Morgan in this world.

Berber Morgan had placed his avatar into this world to suppress it, strengthen his control, become the plane’s ruler, and command the undead scourge within it.

The Lich King’s mount was a frost bone dragon. He stood atop the dragon’s head, his flickering soulfire gazing at the treant possessed by Locke’s consciousness.

“Locke Augustine, what are you plotting?”

“You want to use the chosen ones of this world? That’s ridiculous. I have complete control of this plane.”

“Even so, every time you approach any tribe of a chosen one, my army will immediately approach and slaughter that tribe.”

“I won’t give you any chance.”

Berber Morgan was clearly desperate.

“You may not necessarily win this world war. You have no world’s support behind you!”

The frost bone dragon beneath his feet, infused with dimensional power, opened its maw, unleashing a torrent of dragon breath.

The entire plane seemed shrouded in the dragon’s roar.

The next moment, the frost bone dragon unleashed a chilling dragon breath, the coldness like the desolate stillness of the apocalypse, the end of all things, everything freezing into ice.

The treant inhabited by Locke’s consciousness was instantly frozen into a block of ice by the dragon’s breath.

The next moment, the frost bone dragon swept across the ice, then soared into the air, leading its army to attack the still-spreading forest and return to the battlefield between the dragon and the treant.

At this moment, the three-headed bone dragon and the treant of the Tree of Life were still fighting.

Unfortunately, Locke was not skilled in treant science; otherwise, if the wizard Edgar were here, he could have directly controlled the treant of the Tree of Life and probably crushed the four-headed bone dragon with his own hands,

instead of the current stalemate.

After the treant, now an ice sculpture, shattered after the Cataclysm retreated, three seeds flew out and drifted away into the distance.

‘Berber was far too careless.’

‘Although he inadvertently disrupted my plan, he failed to discover my true target.’

‘I even used the Moon Cultivation Method to evolve a second-circle magical plant native to this world, and used the Flower Blooming and Falling technique to transform it into a seed.’

Locke, currently at 19,000 magic pressure due to

his Beast Panel, had four standard maximum magic runes, thus gaining an extra one that could be added to a spell model. The spell model he chose to add was Flower Blooming and Falling.

Locke asked the old blue-headed wizard Ackerman at Golden Crown Mountain for five more articles related to the Chosen Ones, and quickly learned about them by reading them.

‘Creating Chosen Ones is what prophetic magic excels at.’ “

Back in the Mage Plane, the witch Medea artificially created the Chosen Ones through divination magic.” “

I’m not a divination wizard, but I’m currently in a state of ‘doing as I please without overstepping the bounds,’ and with the special abilities of a second-circle wizard, while I can’t create a true Chosen One myself,

choosing one isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“Divination magic is merely a study of destiny, and destiny existed before divination magic. I don’t need to get stuck on this.”

“Berber has sealed off the naturally existing Chosen Ones. If I approach, he’ll slaughter all living beings there, regardless of the reason. In this world, he has a local magical pressure advantage.”

The three seeds, along with Locke’s consciousness, flew into the distance.

Unnoticed by the wizard Berber, they landed in the hands of a new treant, who scanned two directions.

One direction was an elven tribe fifteen kilometers away, the very location of a Chosen One.

But Locke knew that if he tried to command the treants to approach, the tribe would be slaughtered immediately.

The Berber wizard was now like a frightened bird; the slightest movement would trigger the massacre of the entire elven or human tribe.

He wouldn’t give him any opportunity.

The second direction was a human tribe six kilometers away.

At this moment, a branch of the Scourge, led by the Dead Winter Knight and a group of undead knights, marched through that tribe.

The Dead Winter Knight, equivalent to a first-class wizard apprentice, idly ordered a hunt on the ice to kill half of the tribe’s living members.

It was a game often played by the undead in this world.

They would suddenly appear when a tribe’s population had recovered to a certain level, then order their undead army to hunt down half of the tribe.

A massacre would then ensue.

In the world of the dead, the living were unnecessary; they only needed to appear as prey for the undead.

The Dead Winter Knight was clad in dark blue armor, like a dead winter, and a silver mirror adorned his chest.

At this moment, he was about to hunt down this tribe.

He deliberately let a small group of low-level undead appear first, letting the humans in the tribe know he was coming. Then he caused these humans to abandon their tribe and flee in all directions. Next, he released the Dead Winter Hounds to hunt down the living.

The Dead Winter Knight watched smugly as the living scrambled to escape for their lives, even deliberately tripping people, so that the swarming undead would target their companions instead of themselves.

He had once been an elf, but after becoming a Death Knight, he lost his appetite, his sense of enjoyment, and his perception of the passage of time.

For a long time, his consciousness was even in a state of hazy awareness. But one day, a dragon’s roar suddenly exploded in his mind,

like the coldest gust of winter air.

He awoke, becoming the Death Winter Knight. As the Death Winter Knight, he felt constantly dissatisfied and tormented, but he couldn’t satisfy himself through material desires as he had as an elf.

As an undead, even the most delicious food placed before him was a waste, and the most beautiful scenery held no appeal for him.

Yet, the more this was the case, the more uncontrollably restless his mind became, and that restlessness manifested as a mockery of the living.

Only by hunting the living and witnessing their greed and cowardice could he find some solace in his uncontrollable anxiety.

But this satisfaction was fleeting.

As an undead, he was constantly tormented by an unfulfilled restlessness.

That restlessness was like an eternal, unyielding winter!

The Dead Winter Knight watched his Dead Winter hounds devour the living creatures.

His Dead Winter riders, equivalent to third-class wizard apprentices, scattered, chasing after the panicked human tribespeople.

At this moment, he found a target: two human children fleeing together.

Or rather, a human boy, pulling along a human boy of about ten years old.

The Dead Winter Knight stared at them, and he seemed to recall memories from his time as an elf. He also remembered how, in his previous life, he had grabbed his sister’s hand and run forward.

Memories from his past life kept flashing through his mind.

But now, these memories were not blessings, but rather a source of pain.

At this moment, he raised his weapon and slashed at the ground. Instantly, a crack appeared in the icy plain, the earth shook violently, and the two human boys fell to the ground. At the same time, a blast of cold air blew out from the crack.

The Dead Winter Knight seemed to be deliberately toying with them, neither killing them with his first-class wizard apprentice-level spell nor taking the opportunity to slaughter them. Instead, he commanded his icy skeletal horse to circle around them.

He uttered a chilling voice,

“Kill one, release one.”

The two human youths immediately understood his meaning.

Only one could survive today.

One could escape, while the other had to die by the terrifying Dead Winter Sword.

And once they died at the hands of the undead Scourge of this world, they would not find peace in death; they would be resurrected as undead.

Born prey, die slaves!

At this moment, the two youths exchanged a glance. Logically, they should decide who lived and who died—perhaps a rational decision, perhaps one that would provoke an ugly struggle.

The Dead Winter Knight watched this scene with a sense of morbid curiosity, waiting for the spectacle to unfold.

Only in this way could his perpetually insatiable heart find a moment of satisfaction. Only in this way

could his endless, eternal torment find a moment of respite.

In that instant, the human boy, about sixteen years old, inexplicably saw a gleaming human sword on the ground. He suddenly picked it up, neither fleeing nor surrendering, but instead raising the sword to strike at the Dead Winter Knight.

A flicker of surprise crossed the Dead Winter Knight’s mind, followed by a sneer.

The difference between them was simply too great.

A mortal, a first-class wizard apprentice.

Like heaven and earth.

The Dead Winter Knight said in an icy tone, “You have chosen a path where both of you will die.”

The human boy’s eyes were neither resolute nor clear-headed; they were simply filled with rage.

He couldn’t make a rational choice: to live or for his brother.

He couldn’t bring himself to betray his own heart and force his brother to die here while he fled.

He wasn’t that kind, nor that clever, nor that evil.

At this moment, his remaining rationality was clouded by the rage born of his desire to survive. He wasn’t particularly bright; he had never been quick or good at hunting in the tribe.

His parents had always thought he wasn’t cut out to be a skilled hunter; he was only fit to do odd jobs in the tribe.

This ordinary boy, in this life-or-death situation, was completely stunned. So when he saw a sword on the ground, he didn’t think twice, ignoring the difference in strength, and picked it up to strike the Dead Winter Knight.

But the next moment, three seeds suddenly appeared from afar, embedding themselves in the ordinary sword like bullets.

The three seeds rapidly took root and sprouted, as if nourished by something; the roots of a plum tree wrapped around the sword, and then the magic of winter descended.

The human boy’s sword clashed with the Dead Winter Knight’s sword.

But it wasn’t the former’s sword that broke; it was the latter’s that was severed.

The Dead Winter Knight stared in astonishment at his broken sword, and then the human boy cleaved his body in two with a single strike.

The Dead Winter Knight looked at the human boy. “Why?”

“I feel comfortable?”

The appearance of winter magic instantly broke the bond between death and winter in the Burial Grounds, bringing part of the world back to consciousness. Once death and winter were unbound, the Dead Winter Knight, built upon this bond, naturally lost his power.

But this Dead Winter Knight felt no fear of death.

He felt the right to die that had been taken from him returning, and that long-lost sense of satisfaction reappeared. The emptiness he felt from being neither alive nor dead was gradually filled with the return of death.

The Dead Winter Knight looked at the boy and said, “Thank you for letting me rest in peace.”

A long-lost feeling returned to his heart.

It was the fear of death.

Death is the beginning of new life. At the moment when all things sprout, every life’s fear of death is precisely its persistence and pursuit of life.

The moment the Dead Winter Knight realized he would die again, fear returned to his heart, and so he returned to the sequence of life.

Death and rebirth are a cycle. It’s normal for people to resist death, but the Burial Grounds keep people perpetually in death, making them believe they are immortal.

This creates a tragic situation where every spirit within the Burial Grounds system is constantly seeking fulfillment.

That feeling has tormented the Dead Winter Knight for centuries; he originally thought it was eternal punishment.

Well, since the gods have given him eternal punishment, what morality is there left for him to uphold?

The Dead Winter Knight’s soul left his sinful body.

“Winter is the season for cleansing sins.”

“Plug that sword into the Eternal Spirit Ground, the very heart of the Burial Grounds.”

“This world will find peace again.”

The elven knight looked at his hands.

“I am burdened with sin, filled with fear.”

“I am weak and wretched.”

“But I am content.”

(End of Chapter)