The spell “Word of Prayer” required 2 mana and a basic invocation.
A basic invocation typically lasted three seconds and included both gestures and incantation.
Li Wen’s wide cloak concealed the movements of her prayer, and the incantation itself was silently chanted in her mind through intense concentration.
Which led to the bizarre situation now unfolding—Li Wen sat there like a perfectly ordinary person, unmoving and seemingly idle.
Yet the man who was about to strike her suddenly collapsed to the floor, gasping and writhing in agony.
The sheer shock and eeriness of it sent chills down everyone’s spine inside the tavern.
Someone couldn’t handle the fear and fell to the ground with a scream:
“W-Witchcraft!”
With that cry, nearly everyone who could still walk bolted for the door.
In a matter of seconds, the once-crowded tavern was left with only the mercenaries from Blackfang and a few drunken patrons who were too far gone to notice what had happened.
The remaining mercenaries stared at their still-twitching comrade on the floor, fear clutching at their hearts, their legs trembling uncontrollably.
Afraid?
Good.
They should be afraid.
The gap between a classed individual with a bloodline and an ordinary person was one that could never be bridged.
A mortal without a bloodline could never reach beyond Level 10 in their lifetime.
Li Wen knew these scum all too well.
If she didn’t crush their courage and morale from the outset, their greed and rage would soon push them into doing something stupid.
Witchcraft?
As if.
Perhaps only the mercenary leader truly understood what had just happened.
He had once seen foreigners—blindfolded with white cloth, their bodies covered in strange glyphs and markings—wielding shadows to massacre a group of goblins, tearing them apart limb from limb.
Those people spoke in the ancient tongue of the Jabakh, moved in ways that made your skin crawl, and often toyed with skulls and severed animal limbs.
They sometimes kept ravens and black cats, though those were actually demons in disguise.
They called themselves enforcers of the devils and sorcerers who served the night.
More than once, the mercenary leader had wished he were back on the battlefield, just to avoid dealing with those freaks.
And the mysterious woman before him, her body hidden beneath a long robe, exuding that same nauseating aura from head to toe—she was clearly one of them.
The thought of surrender crossed his mind.
Maybe if they yielded quickly, they could leave this cursed place in one piece.
Then he saw the glint of a coin in Li Wen’s hand.
On it was the symbol of two crescent moons—a symbol he’d glimpsed once before, on those same foreigners.
What the hell is going on?
He glanced at his comrade still lying on the ground, unsure whether the man was dead or alive, and once again questioned whether working with this group was just asking to be eaten alive.
Not that it was his call anyway.
“This… this is all a misunderstanding…” he said hoarsely, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
“A misunderstanding?”
Li Wen let out a cold laugh.
“Then let’s pretend it was one.”
She wasn’t the type to fuss over details.
She had only come here at Pastor Mog’s request.
Gaining experience by completing the mission was one thing, but more importantly, she was also trying to figure out what these people—and the dark factions behind them, like the Crescent Moon Sect—were really up to.
“They… they didn’t tell us who’d be sent to make contact.”
An obvious attempt to shift the blame.
After all, it was Blackfang’s mercenaries who made the first move.
“What did they tell you?”
Li Wen asked in return.
By “they,” she meant the Crescent Moon Sect.
Judging by what she’d just heard, it seemed Blackfang hadn’t had direct contact with Mog.
In other words, the Crescent Moon Sect and the Dusk Dawn faction had communicated directly.
That letter might have even been delivered by one of them.
But if they could communicate directly, why even involve Blackfang?
“One of our shipments went missing—near the Ravine of Creekstone,” the mercenary leader said bitterly.
“Those people told us to wait here. Someone would come to help retrieve the goods.”
The Ravine of Creekstone?
Li Wen’s heart skipped a beat.
That was precisely where she had planned to go.
Something of critical importance awaited her there—so important that her entire rebirth and everything she had done since hinged on it.
What a coincidence.
But this way, at least, she could avoid making two trips.
“That’s all?”
Li Wen raised her voice slightly, feigning anger.
Sure enough, the mercenary leader flinched and stammered, “Th-There’s more. They also said… the ones who took it were mages from one of the Arcane Institutes…”
That was something he really shouldn’t have said.
He’d only overheard it from the foreigners, but if he didn’t spill it now, he was afraid he’d be the next one on the floor.
Arcane Institute?
The Institute of Solar Day?
Li Wen’s expression darkened.
If that were true, she might have to consider backing out of this mission.
The Institute of Solar Day was the largest magical organization in Arthurian.
It was renowned for producing elemental and aether-aligned mages.
Anyone who graduated from the Institute was, without question, among the most gifted.
Mages from the Institute were in a league of their own—on a completely different level from those of other guilds.
Frankly speaking, even Li Wen, if equal in level, would rather avoid picking a fight with a Solar Day mage.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t win, but those mages came from privilege and wealth, often carrying an arsenal of magical gear and enchanted artifacts.
They could practically bury her under a mountain of gold-plated spells.
“I understand. You may leave,” Li Wen said coldly.
“I’m not some bloodthirsty killer. Your companion should still be breathing. How you deal with him is your business.”
Of course, that was all a lie.
Li Wen’s Word of Prayer was only Level 1.
The Darkword Curse it invoked was just enough to scare regular folk, reducing a mortal’s health to below 30%, leaving them gravely wounded and unable to fight back.
If it could kill, she wouldn’t have hesitated to get her hands bloody.
Scum like these mercenaries, who caused nothing but trouble, were better off as EXP packets anyway.
The mercenaries exchanged uneasy glances, then quickly carried off their fallen comrade and fled the tavern at lightning speed—so fast that even the bystanders at the door barely realized they were gone.
Li Wen didn’t think that man would receive proper medical treatment.
These mercenaries would do anything—abandoning a “comrade” who’d lost his usefulness, stripping him of every last coin and item like vultures.
“The Institute…”
Li Wen furrowed her brows.
Now she understood why the Crescent Moon Sect hadn’t acted themselves, and why Mog had passed the task on to her.
They were all avoiding a direct clash with a mage from the Institute.
She had no choice but to go to the Ravine of Creekstone.
As for whether the mage was friend or foe… that would depend on the other party’s luck.
If it did come to a fight, well—Li Wen was a player.
With infinite resurrection, she might just be able to kill them anyway.
Of course, that was assuming the mage was still only in Stage One.
Tftc!