Chapter 247

Chapter 247

The Archmage’s palm lifted and then retracted. In the conference room, waves of magic fluctuations came 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 moment, 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 immediately 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 meditative 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 meditative state, especially considering it seems to be a meditation 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 members, and lowered his voice:

"Mr. Hermunculus! Mr. Hermunculus!"

"Calling me?" 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 meditating to advance in the conference room. Could you please help adjust the elemental environment of the conference room to a state suitable for novice meditation?"

"A novice meditation room costs 100 contribution points per day to rent." The crystal buzzed, and from the small orifice next to it, a semi-mechanical voice flowed out:

"Temporary adjustments double the cost. Will you pay, or will the person inside pay?"

"...I’ll pay!"

Old Sam reluctantly took off his badge.

Deep in meditation, Garrett was completely unaware of the commotion outside. As the committee members left, he remained alone in the conference room, writing something. As he wrote, his mind became clearer and clearer:

It seems like the council doesn’t want to imprison me after all!

And maybe they don’t want me to go bankrupt either!

What’s the benefit of bankrupting me? My wealth is like a drop in the ocean for the council; even if they squeeze me dry, they won’t be satisfied... If they really want me to compensate, I can just negotiate with them and sell them these management regulations!

Right, and there are still those high school chemistry textbooks, electrolytic smelting methods, 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.

As for shaping the birthing objects, that’s another issue, which can be solved in adjacent areas...

Garrett was worry-free, with his eyes closed, fully immersed in spell shaping. Outside the conference room, a group of Archmages shifted their feet nervously, exchanging glances.

"I say... how much longer do we have to wait?"

"How long did it take you to advance to level three?"

"Half a day?... When did this

kid start?"

The experienced Archmages hesitated and shook their heads:

"The meditation duration is highly variable... It’s best to give him more time."

After some discussion, the impatient Archmages decided to leave the Tower of Heaven first and come back to check on Garrett later. They didn’t leave the Tower of Heaven but rather lingered outside the conference room. Anxious, they finally looked at each other helplessly and suggested to Old Sam:

"Should we order some takeout for him?"

"He won’t like it." Old Sam shook his head and glanced at the secret magic eye at the door crack.

"Old Sam, how about we set up a betting pool? See who can guess the time when Garrett will break through!"

"You’re saying... the time Garrett will advance in meditation?"

"Yes, don’t you think it’s interesting? If we make a bet, Garrett won’t know anyway, right?"

"...Alright, I’ll inform the others. Who’s participating in the pool?"

And so, outside the conference room, the group of Archmages set up a bet for when Garrett would complete his meditation. This time, the topic of their bet was no longer the battle between the sorcerer and the goblin but the arcane mystery of meditation advancement.

"Five days later, no more, no less!"

"I bet on six days!"

"I bet on four days!"

The Archmages made their bets one after another, and Old Sam hesitated for a moment before finally making a decision:

"Three days... I believe in Garrett’s efficiency!"

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