Chapter 59

"Ptooey! Ptooey! Ptooey!" Alex sputtered and struggled to spit out the foul rag that had been forced into his mouth. But the instant he did, he felt a harsh blow to his abdomen, a sharp pain that made him gasp, and the foul cloth was stuffed back into his mouth.

"Care to try that again? Or call for help once more?" The voice of the one who shoved in the rag emitted a chilling warning from the shadows.

Alex shivered, too terrified to move further. Instead, he strained his eyes, desperate to identify his captor lurking in the darkness.

As his vision adjusted, he recognized three figures approaching from the gloom—members of the caravan. They had never been particularly close, but their relationships had not been hostile either; at least, there had never been any major quarrels. So why would these three conspire against him? It made no sense! Or was there another party involved?

In the next moment, Alex's gaze sharpened as another person emerged from behind the trio. This individual was short and bore a dazed expression, yet his eyes were filled with palpable malice. The figure's mouth moved without producing coherent words, a half-tongue trembling as it emitted muffled, unintelligible curses.

It was Pascal! The "mute" Pascal—the very man whose plight had been instigated by Alex's unkind words, resulting in his tongue being severed!

In that fleeting instant, realization struck Alex hard as he understood the gravity of his situation: today was a day of revenge for Pascal, and the three bystanders standing for him were likely motivated by sympathy or had been manipulated into this alliance through means unbeknownst to him.

"Perhaps Pascal sold his asshole to acquire these three allies!" Alex thought maliciously, yet fear twisted in his stomach. Attempting to plead, words caught in his throat thanks to the rag stuffed into his mouth, leaving him to plead with his eyes towards Pascal.

But Pascal's poisonous stare remained unwavering.

One of the helpers among the three spoke coldly, "Pascal harbors great hatred for thee. Thou caused him to lose his tongue, and now he means to bind thee here, preparing to take something from you as well."

"Wha…?" Alex's eyes widened in horror as he glanced back at Pascal, who grimaced and moved his lips before producing a small, curved blade. His gaze trailed downward, moving from Alex's head to his neck, chest, abdomen… until landing ominously between his legs.

A cold wave of dread washed over Alex, the realization dawning horrifically, as his eyes widened further in alarm. He disregarded the rag and screamed, "Pascal, listen to me! I was wrong—I truly was! Please, don't hurt me! I'll compensate you... I swear…"

Before Alex could finish, he was interrupted by Pascal lunging forward in his mute rage, pain stabbing through his lower body as an uncontrollable stream of liquid erupted forth—he could not discern whether it was urine or blood…

Despair consumed Alex's vision…

"No!" he screamed, but his voice fell silent, unheard outside the confines of the cabin.

An overwhelming chill clung to him...

Somewhere else on the ship.

Another month had slipped by.

Autumn had wholly faded, and when the frigid winds swept down from the highlands, crashing through the northern mountain ranges and descending upon the southern plains of the Kingdom of Prue, it heralded the official arrival of winter.

In the territory of Baron Leo, on the expanse where the black fortress stood, floating ice began to appear in the adjacent stream. As the sun rose from the east, the landscape shimmered—a dazzling display as the frost covering the ground reflected the sun's rays.

After a time, the sun shifted southward, raising the temperature of the earth. The sparkling frost melted, moisturizing the ground, only to evaporate soon after.

At this moment, Richard, within the loft of the black castle, glanced outside at the unfolding scene before slowly exhaling. He turned his gaze back to the table, dipping a quill into ink as he hastily wrote upon a scroll of papyrus.

Richard was composing a summary for the recent phase of his activities—a means to catalog what he had accomplished within a set period. This would serve to spur him on against lethargy while allowing him to accurately gauge how far he still was from completing his "grand objectives."

"Scratch-scratch, scratch-scratch…"

Pausing intermittently, Richard soon filled more than half of the scroll, squinting to review his writing before nodding in satisfaction.

To be honest, not much had transpired in recent times; two significant accomplishments stood out.

The first was healing his injuries.

These injuries stemmed from the ambush he had faced while escorting the caravan, where he encountered assassins and marauders. In a fit of rage, he had discharged every elemental energy from his mana core, unleashing a total of twelve Explosion Fireballs upon a thatched dwelling spanning over fifty square feet. The resultant devastation had been immense, nearly matching that of a main battle tank's cannon fire, yet it had severely compromised his mana core.

After consulting "Loren's Human Skin Diary," Richard had learned that the mana core's output of elemental energy is bound by certain limits; should those limits be exceeded, fissures manifest. It's as if attempting to drain a reservoir's water too rapidly, whereby one would have to release it gradually rather than blast open the dam.

Richard's condition seemed less dire than outright "blowing the dam," for he had merely created cracks in it. Yet repairing those fissures was no simple task. Upon inspecting the tetrahedral structure of his mana core, he found over a dozen cracks on one of its faces, frowning deeply as he mulled over his options. Ultimately, he resolved not to waste time on repairs and instead choose to destroy it entirely!

Utilizing his mental energy in a substantial form, he shattered that singular face of the mana core and constructed three new faces to merge with the remaining three—thereby establishing an entirely new hexahedron. It appeared, visually, as two scaled-down pyramids interfacing, thereby doubling the mana core's capacity for storing energy. This meant he could now, upon saturating his mana, unleash a continuous barrage of an entire twenty-four Explosion Fireballs.

However, the maximum number of simultaneous fireballs he could launch remained capped at twelve. This was due to the immense complexity involved in constructing the spell model for such a multitude, for the calculations required for twelve were already quite substantial. Increasing beyond that threshold would require an undesirable expenditure of time, prompting him to shift his focus toward researching new spells.

This was precisely Richard's train of thought—and actions—during that time.

During this period, Richard also dedicated significant effort to developing a new spell.

The previously mastered "Ghosphorus" and "Explosion Fireball" fell under the category of fire spells. The new discovery, however, was a spell of the wind element, known as —Wind The Affinity.

The spell's effect, once successfully cast, allowed the user's body to align more harmoniously with the winds or, essentially, the ambient air. In more scientific parlance, once effectively cast, the spell could influence airflow within a localized range to a certain degree... akin to a small fan…