You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395
The sky hung low and gloomy, like a slab of lead pressing down from above. It was an oppressive weight that choked the damp air.
Ariana's domain seemed to breathe under the influence of some strange, heavy power. Pandero repeatedly glanced at the leaden heavens, yet he made no comment on what he saw.
Ian, however, was still pinning Pandero down on the ox cart.
"Three corpses…"
Ian couldn't help but feel that things were becoming absurd and ridiculous. But by now, he was gradually becoming numb to such bizarre occurrences. After all, he stumbled upon something equally strange every now and then.
Hearing the words "Three Corpses" come out of the mouth of a figure from this world, a world so steeped in fantasy and magic, almost made Ian lose his composure. The phrase clearly didn't belong here. It was a direct transplant from a different mythos.
It was something ripped straight out of prehistoric cultivation novels, the kind where someone "severs the Three Corpses" to ascend to the rank of Supreme Saint.
Ian thought back to all the nonsense that had come before, the so-called True Creator, the Law of Extraordinary Convergence, a chaotic stew of tropes that defied all logic.
"Yes, the Three Corpses," Pandero quickly echoed, having heard Ian's mutter. He let out an awkward, wet laugh. Beneath his silver armor, his back was soaked with sweat. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck and into his collar.
He couldn't help it; he was genuinely terrified.
His eyes darted about nervously, repeatedly flicking toward the spiked mace clenched in Ian's grip.
The backward-curving spikes on the weapon gleamed coldly in the dim light as if ready to strike him again at any moment and deliver another devastating blow to his rear.
Of course, Pandero thought he could probably live with it as long as it didn't hit him in the face.
"What three corpses? Whose three corpses?" Ian frowned, his eyes filled with suspicion and wariness as he stared down Pandero. His voice was low and steady, edged with power.
The young wizard clearly wanted to know more.
If Merlin's words were anything to go by, perhaps the raven counted as his "first corpse." But what about the other two?
That thought gnawed at him; he needed answers.
However,
"Uh..." Pandero gave a helpless laugh. His tone was weary and resigned. "I...I only recovered some of my memories, not all of them."
As he spoke, his gaze stayed fixed on the mace in Ian's hand. He tried his best to look sincere, hoping Ian would believe him.
But Ian didn't budge. He lifted the mace again, the spiked head pointing directly at Pandero's face.
As the saying goes, what you fear most is exactly what happens. The mace trembled slightly in midair, as though ready to fall at any moment.
Seeing this, Pandero frantically waved his hands and shouted, "It's true! I swear it's true! I'm not playing games with you!"
"All I know is that your Three Corpses are connected to the Good Corpse, the Evil Corpse, and the Self Corpse. Beyond that, well, not even Merlin himself would understand what that truly means!"
Pandero spilled everything he knew in one breath.
Indeed, this kind of concept simply didn't belong to their world. Even the most learned archmages couldn't make sense of it.
Only someone like Ian, who crossed between worlds, could recognize its true meaning.
Just as this world had no tales of a Mysterious Lord, it also had no "prehistoric cultivation" novels. Here, even Taoist teachings had long been reshaped by the rational hues of Legalist doctrine rather than mysticism.
Those who transcend the ordinary are wizards.
That is the core melody of this world. Undeniable.
Therefore, Ian was the only one who could clearly recognize that the concepts of the Good Corpse, the Evil Corpse, and the Self Corpse originated from Taoism and were later adapted and evolved in prehistoric cultivation novels into the essential path toward becoming an invincible supreme being.
At this thought, Ian fell into deep contemplation.
"Could all these messy things, the True Creator, the Law of Extraordinary Convergence, and now the Three Corpses, just be some kind of blind experimentation?"
His intuition stirred, hinting at understanding.
Perhaps behind this strange hodgepodge of concepts was a purpose—a deliberate attempt to explore every possible direction to achieve something.
But what purpose? To become stronger? No, it couldn't be that simple.
"Well, at least you've given me something useful this time."
Ian slowly lowered the spiked mace in his hand. His gaze drifted toward the distant, murky sky. His brows furrowed, and his lips tightened slightly.
He couldn't shake the feeling that the constantly shifting weather held a deeper meaning, perhaps mirroring his own chaotic, patchwork fate, concealing something no one yet understood.
"Heh, I've always been honest, since I was a kid," Pandero said quickly. He exhaled in relief the moment Ian set the weapon down. Some of the tension finally left his face.
"We're still good buddies, right?" he asked tentatively.
Ian shot him a glare.
"I'm your dad!" he snapped, irritated.
He figured now was a good time to remind Pandero about the naming rights issue.
Pandero froze.
Then, Ian seemed to realize something.
"No, wait. Pfft, no way. Your first 'dad' was a minotaur, wasn't he? I'm not a minotaur, and I don't steal other people's wives."
With that, under Pandero's miserable stare, Ian jumped off the ox cart.
"…"
Pandero wanted to curse, but a glance at the mace silenced him. He swallowed his words, sighed pitifully, got to his feet, brushed himself off, and straightened his precious clothes.
Then he, too, leapt down, landing straight on the ground from the great height.
At that moment, the buildings of the floating town in the sky were still in complete disarray. Some buildings were tilting precariously, while others crashed into one another with deep, echoing thuds.
"Return."
Ian gave his wand a gentle wave.
Immediately, a vast surge of magic burst forth from him, rippling outward like an invisible tidal wave toward the floating town above.
Instantly, the town's structures began to slowly descend, their bricks, beams, and chimneys moving in perfect, graceful synchronization under his precise magical control.
The houses touched down softly on their foundations, not stirring a speck of dust. It was as if they had never left, never broken, never suffered any harm.
Everything was restored to exactly how it had been before the upheaval. Even the areas that had been turned into wastelands by Ian's flood spell earlier were now completely clean once more.
Ariana watched in awe, her eyes full of wonder and admiration. Her lips parted slightly as she murmured, "Ian's magic is getting stronger and stronger..." A spark of yearning shone in the young girl's gaze.
"Just a little trick, that's all."
Ian brushed the dust off his hands and glanced back at Pandero, who was struggling to climb out of a hay-filled oxcart. His armor and cloak were covered in straw and splinters.
While restoring order, Ian had "accidentally" dropped the cart on Pandero.
Now, Pandero looked like a vagabond knight fresh out of a brawl.
Technically speaking, he had just been in one. And yes, he really was a wandering knight.
"You're such a petty bastard," Pandero grumbled as he took the towel Ariana handed him and wiped the dirt off his face.
"Hm?"
Ian gave him a look that clearly said, "You know I'm petty, and you still dare call me that?"
Pandero immediately took a few cautious steps back.
"Just kidding! Just kidding!" He said quickly, forcing an awkward laugh and waving his hands. He didn't dare press his luck any further. He honestly didn't know why he, a king, was so utterly powerless in front of Ian.
"Would you like something to drink? Pandero's fruit wine is really good," Ariana said, stepping in to ease the tension. Her cheerful tone instantly drew the young wizard's attention.
"Fruit wine? What's the alcohol content like?" Ian looked genuinely interested.
"Not high at all," Ariana replied with a smile. She went off to fetch a large bottle of it.
Watching her, Pandero felt a wave of frustration rise in his chest. Ian had just beaten him up, and now he was about to drink the wine that Pandero had carefully brewed.
What could he say?
He slumped into a corner and sulked by himself.
(To Be Continued…)