The glass was soon empty, but still, no word had come. Stevenson felt slightly dizzy and thought perhaps he had drunk too quickly. Minnie refilled his glass, this time to the brim. Hope rekindled in the Dragon-blooded Sorcerer, and he began to sip slowly once more. This was a crucial moment. Every great figure experienced many such moments in their lives, and their common characteristic was remaining calmer the more critical the situation became. The Dragon-blooded Sorcerer had lofty ambitions and had read many biographies of great figures since childhood, so he naturally understood this principle deeply.

  Therefore, he was composed, patient, and quite satisfied with, even proud of, his own patience.

  The glass emptied and filled, filled and emptied again. When the bottle itself was drained, Stevenson could finally no longer maintain his forced calm. A full two hours! Enough time not just to kill one person, but an entire street full of people! Yet the news had vanished like a stone dropped into the sea. No message came, neither of success nor failure. Nothing!

  Cold sweat suddenly broke out, soaking his clothes. When he looked up, his vision somewhat blurred, he saw Minnie's face was equally pale, her hand clutching the empty bottle trembling uncontrollably. Stevenson grabbed her hand, startling her. With a jolt, the bottle slipped, shattering on the floor with a crash. Stevenson didn't erupt in anger; instead, he began to gently rub her hand.

  Minnie's hand was ice-cold, as if just pulled from freezing water. She was clearly worried and afraid too. Perhaps before she could feign detachment, watching from the sidelines, but this time she was deeply entangled in the conspiracy, playing a significant role. Her fate and Stevenson's were now firmly bound together.

  Minnie didn't dare even think about the consequences if the plot was exposed. A favorable outcome like Randolph's was certainly out of the question.

  "What should we do? Should we run?" Stevenson suddenly asked. Profound fear had seized his heart, robbing him of his judgment. Right now, he just wanted to flee Deepblue quickly, escape back to his family's territory. His future, becoming a Construct Master, glory—all the things he once thought worth sacrificing everything for—seemed so insignificant when weighed against his life.

  At this moment, Minnie surprisingly calmed down. She pulled her arm free from Stevenson's grasp, then took his hand in hers, speaking in the calmest voice possible, "No, we can't run. This is Floe Bay, over six thousand kilometers from the Sacred Tree Dynasty. Running is simply unrealistic. Besides, are you confident you can outrun a Legendary Mage? Even if just one of the seventeen Archmages came after us, we wouldn't make it a hundred kilometers."

  Stevenson finally calmed slightly, still clinging to a sliver of hope. "Maybe they succeeded..." He stopped mid-sentence. Even with his thoughts dulled by the burning alcohol, Stevenson knew his guess was laughable.

  "What do we do now?" Stevenson was utterly panicked now, and the still-composed Minnie became the only straw he could grasp.

  "Do nothing!"

  "Just wait like this?"

  Minnie shook her head. "Of course not. I mean, we can't make any more moves against Richard, none at all. Right now, if we want to save ourselves, our only option is to appeal to our families for help. Tell them everything that happened and see what they can do for us. If the family is willing to offer enough compensation, perhaps the Legendary Mage will forgive us."

  Minnie's words plunged Stevenson back into panic and despair. He lowered his head, clutching his hair, rambling incoherently, "What can they do to help me? They can't do anything! What I did wasn't trivial; I tried to kill Richard, the Legendary Mage's little lover! Even Father can't help. He didn't say it, but I know he must have lost the duel with Helen Su last time... Ah, no! There's another way! War! Go to war with Deepblue! Deepblue has plenty of mages but not enough soldiers! Why didn't I think of this! Let Father lead a great army to attack Deepblue..."

  Minnie shook Stevenson desperately, but the Dragon-blooded Sorcerer's mind was completely addled by alcohol, his voice growing louder. Although this was his private residence, Minnie couldn't be sure if spying devices like magic eyes hadn't been secretly placed here.

  War? War with Deepblue? Even if Deepblue's military was weak, for Duke Solam's army to reach Deepblue, they would first have to fight their way through six thousand kilometers of the Holy Alliance!

  Seeing she couldn't stop Stevenson, Minnie simply fetched a basin of ice water and poured it over his head.

  Stevenson shuddered violently and leaped to his feet. The bone-chilling cold finally dispelled the alcohol's effects, sobering him. Looking at the slightly panicked Minnie, he went and got another basin of ice water himself, poured it over his head, then shook his head forcefully, throwing the copper basin to the floor with a clang.

  "We haven't reached complete desperation yet..." Stevenson said slowly. Though his voice was completely hoarse, once calm and rational again, the Dragon-blooded Sorcerer always managed to inspire confidence. He pondered, pacing slowly. The effects of the alcohol were rapidly fading, and having suppressed the overwhelming panic and fear, several potential solutions surfaced. Though the chances of success were slim, there was still hope.

  After pacing a few more times, Stevenson quickly made a decision. "Every action has room for compensation. Prepare magic paper and quill for me; I need to write several letters. Also, you write a letter to Marquis Neo. At a time like this, he can't expect to stay out of it!"

  Minnie's spirits lifted, and she quickly prepared everything needed.

  Stevenson hunched over the desk, his quill flying across the paper. Swish, swish, swish. He quickly finished four letters: one each to Duke Solam, Master St. Crus, and his mother. Surprisingly, the recipient of the fourth letter was the Gray Dwarf, Blackgold.

  Seeing the contents of the four letters, Minnie felt a secret chill. Stevenson's letter to Duke Solam was practically a threat. If the Duke couldn't help him through this crisis, he wouldn't mind revealing some of the Duke's clandestine activities over the years. Though he only hinted at them, even Minnie could see the severity of these secret dealings. They weren't actually related to the Legendary Mage, but if made public, the Emperor of the Holy Alliance would surely be furious. Yet, the most enraged wouldn't be the Alliance's bloodthirsty monarch, but Peter the Great of the Sacred Tree Dynasty.

  The letter to Blackgold was simple, merely expressing Stevenson's willingness to discuss terms—any terms.

  Watching Stevenson feed the letters one by one into the magic array, Minnie finally couldn't help asking, "Will this really work? There will be no room for maneuver left between you and your family after this!"

  "Room for maneuver?" Stevenson sneered. "Only if we survive this are we qualified to consider leeway."

  Minnie nodded, spread out a sheet of paper, and wrote a similarly styled letter to her father, Marquis Neo. Her psychological burden was actually much lighter than Stevenson's, as her father had long since given up on her. Every gold coin squeezed out was extra income.

  The light of the magic array flickered and dimmed, completely consuming the four letters. Stevenson then sent out the highest-level magic signal, summoning all his subordinates in Deepblue to gather in his residence.

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  Minnie knew the meaning of this magic signal and couldn't help saying again, "Doesn't this expose everyone?"

  Stevenson glanced at Minnie, then smiled self-deprecatingly. "Don't be naive. Is there anything left that they don't know about us?"

  The Dragon-blooded Sorcerer subconsciously fiddled with the magic ring on his finger, constantly analyzing the situation. "...Summoning all my men is actually a gesture, showing that I've completely admitted defeat and won't try anything else. Only by doing this can we temporarily ward off the fatal blow that could come at any moment. Furthermore, this is intended to alarm Deepblue's upper echelons, forcing them to do something. If they do nothing, that would be the most terrifying outcome."

  At this point, Stevenson had almost completely accepted that all his actions and plans had failed.

  However, he was considering another possibility. He silently cursed the old mage who had initially given him the tour of Deepblue. It was from that garrulous old man he had learned "Richard is a future Construct Master," along with incidental information, such as Richard studying alone in Deepblue. And he had actually believed it, never thinking to verify it later. How could a direct descendant of a major family head, an important figure being groomed as a future Construct Master, possibly have no personnel around him?

  Stevenson estimated that the Akmond family's manpower in Deepblue must have at least double the combat power of Blood Parrot's group of assassins, who ranged from level 10 to 14. Outside, this might not be a particularly worrying force, but the few men he currently had around him couldn't possibly withstand them. Although Deepblue prohibited direct violence, the fuse had been lit by his side. Deepblue didn't even need to intervene; they just had to remain silent... Thinking of this, the Dragon-blooded Sorcerer, normally impervious to heat and cold, shivered.

  A short while later, the warrior entered the residence. His face was extremely haggard, his eyes deeply sunken and bloodshot, clearly having spent the night in anxious turmoil. Upon seeing Stevenson, he immediately knelt and said heavily, "Young Master, still no news. I was preparing to go out and investigate myself..."

  Stevenson waved him off. "No need to investigate. Take your men and go back shortly. All previous orders are canceled. Just act as you normally would when you haven't received orders. If... if you happen to hear any news incidentally, then come tell me, but don't go deliberately asking around, understand?"

  The warrior was initially confused, then understood the meaning behind Stevenson's words, his expression becoming even uglier.

  Stevenson glanced at the magic clock, frowning again. "Where is the Thaumaturgist? Why isn't he here yet?"

  Just as Stevenson's patience began to wear thin, the Thaumaturgist finally arrived. He mysteriously dragged a large rectangular box inside, placed it carefully on the floor, and only then bowed to Stevenson.

  "Young Master, I stumbled upon this item by chance. It's said to be a magic dummy Richard once used. It was originally scheduled to be melted down as it was beyond repair. But I believed it held significant value and needed to show it to you, so I spent thirty thousand gold coins to buy it," the Thaumaturgist said.

  Thirty thousand gold coins? Even in Deepblue, a magic dummy cost only a little over a thousand gold, let alone one used to the point of being irreparable.

  Both Stevenson and Minnie were curious about the dummy itself. Only the warrior, driven by rivalry, questioned the purchase price. A dummy with an original cost under 2,000 gold bought for 30,000—the difference suggested embezzlement far too blatant. Both the percentage and the absolute amount exceeded the limits of Stevenson's tolerance.

  The Thaumaturgist knew the severity of this accusation. Dispensing with the mystery, he hastily took out the dummy while rapidly explaining.

  It turned out the person responsible for destroying and recycling this batch of magic dummies was Blackgold's trusted assistant, who had been constantly muttering to his subordinates about how strange the dummy Richard used was. One of these subordinates was a friend of the Thaumaturgist, so he had rushed over immediately. The assistant shared the common Gray Dwarf trait of near-obsessive adherence to Deepblue's rules, yet wasn't entirely inflexible—provided the price was right. After just one look at the dummy Richard had used, the Thaumaturgist instantly decided he had to bring it to Stevenson, leading to the incredible price of thirty thousand gold.

  The moment the dummy was revealed, Stevenson was captivated by the extensive damage and wounds covering it. The mottled bloodstains looked gruesome. He reached out, gently tracing the dents and fractures on the dummy, and asked the warrior, "What do you make of it?"

  The warrior's expression was grim. "I don't see any specific attacks targeting vital areas; it looks like random strikes. But the force is astonishing. Only a well-trained level ten warrior could possibly unleash such power. This dummy should have defensive capabilities equivalent to standard knight half-plate armor. This means Richard's strength has reached the point where he could kill a knight with a single punch. But isn't he a magic apprentice...?"

  Although already certain of the outcome, seeing this dummy seemed to steer the assessment of what happened in a bizarre direction. Stevenson once again felt waves of cold wash over him. A magic apprentice with the strength of a level ten warrior? It wasn't entirely unbelievable—racial talents, bloodline abilities, or even certain powerful magic items could provide mere strength. The problem was, how many other secrets did Richard have hidden about him, or on him, that he didn't know?

  For the first time, Stevenson felt he might have chosen the wrong opponent. But it wasn't a choice he could have made freely; after all, he was just a self-funded student, and Helen Su would only train one Construct Master.

  "Why didn't you bring this to me sooner?!" Stevenson roared at the Thaumaturgist.

  The Thaumaturgist was truly speechless. He had only received the news that morning. Being able to retrieve the dummy by now was already a testament to his capability. How could he possibly have been any earlier?

  Once Stevenson's anger subsided slightly, the warrior reminded him, "Young Master, the dummy's head..."

  Only then did Stevenson notice it was a headless dummy. The head, which should have been the most critical part, was missing. The cut at the neck was remarkably smooth. Without the other side of the cut for comparison, it was impossible to determine how it had been severed. Seeing Stevenson's gaze turn towards him, the Thaumaturgist immediately said, "Apparently, this dummy's head is very special, so Blackgold took it for his private collection. I asked Blackgold's assistant; the head belongs to the category of transferable collectibles, but the price might be very high, at least one hundred thousand gold coins..."

  A very special head?

  "I'll give you one hundred fifty thousand. Go get me that head!" Stevenson no longer cared about the expense. He needed to understand his opponent better, to know how he had lost, so he could plan his next move.

  The Thaumaturgist glanced at the warrior and suggested, "Young Master, perhaps send someone else?"

  Stevenson shook his head. "No, you go. I trust you!"

  The Thaumaturgist left with a look of gratitude, casting a vicious glare at the warrior before departing.

  Stevenson didn't have to wait long. Barely half an hour had passed when the Thaumaturgist returned, though his face was ashen. He held a delicate, locked copper box in both hands but hesitated to open it. Stevenson said nothing, strode forward, snatched the copper box, snapped it open with a click, and pulled out the dummy's head inside. Then he froze.

  It was a dummy head as smooth as a mirror, identical to a brand new one, capable of reflecting one's face. Compared to the body, it was indeed very special—because there wasn't a single scratch on it.

  "This thing cost one hundred fifty thousand gold coins?" Stevenson's voice was as cold as a wind blowing from hell. The Thaumaturgist, drenched in sweat, forced out a "Yes."

  Stevenson suddenly laughed several times, tossed the dummy head into a distant trash bin, and said, "Good, well bought! As long as the money can be spent, it's a good thing!"

  The warrior and the Thaumaturgist were baffled. Only Minnie understood what was happening. But she couldn't laugh like Stevenson. Every dent, every bloodstain on the dummy's body weighed heavily on her heart. From this dummy, she saw a crazed, beast-like Richard, yet one who could normally bury a soon-to-erupt volcano deep within himself. If she had any other choice, she would never choose an enemy like Richard. Just as Stevenson had roared in his earlier outburst, why hadn't they seen this dummy sooner?

  So Minnie knew Stevenson's mood was likely even heavier now. The only truly good news was that Blackgold was willing to take the money, offering them a sliver of hope in the darkness.

  At this moment, Blackgold's mood was equally good. He was humming a war song of the Stormhammer Tribe while organizing Deepblue's accounts. Under the sub-item for unplanned income, he first wrote a line: 30,000, then added another entry: 150,000. After writing, he looked it over and over, feeling each number was as round and full as a raw gemstone, much to his satisfaction. And the cost? A mere ten gold coins, roughly the price of the steel recoverable after melting down the magic dummy. To sell something destined for the furnace at such a sky-high price, Blackgold felt he was approaching the realm of art. Who said a treasurer's job was just bookkeeping?

  The extra income sparked a flood of inspiration in Blackgold, and he didn't feel the slightest bit uneasy about the money. Since all the gold coins went into Deepblue's coffers, he dared to accept any amount, no matter how large.