Imprisoned for a Trillion Years, I Was Worshipped by All Gods!-Chapter 607 - 163-More Friends, More Paths
Blanche still seemed hesitant, her gaze flicking between the spectral projection of the scissors and the elderly woman before her. Noticing this, the old mage chuckled softly and gave the illusion a gentle push—it glided through the air and stopped just inches before Blanche's chest.
In the next instant, the illusion solidified.
With a quiet shimmer, the pair of elegantly crafted daggers materialized in Blanche's hands. The twin blades were slim and curved, intricately adorned with filigree patterns along the flat of the blade—delicate, but clearly forged for lethality.
Before Blanche could even react, the blades pulsed.
They moved on their own, as if possessed by a will of their own, and nestled perfectly into her grip, fitting her palms like long-lost extensions of her body. A cold sensation surged up her arms—then came the unmistakable warmth of mana activation.
Her mana had instinctively flowed into the weapons, forming a perfect conduit.
She didn't need to concentrate. She didn't need to adapt. The weapons had already accepted her. The connection was seamless—mind and blade as one.
Blanche's eyes widened in awe.
"They're… amazing," she whispered, staring at the glint of mana flickering along the metal.
"Told you so," the old woman replied with a knowing smile. "And just so you know, these aren't even in their final form."
She took a step closer and explained further.
"The daggers are forged from mithril, Nox's preferred material. But that doesn't mean it's the perfect match for you. Once you grow more accustomed to them—once you understand your own affinity and find the metal that best complements your magic—these blades can evolve."
Blanche blinked. "Evolve?"
The woman nodded. "Exactly. That's why they're called the Chimeric Twin Blades. In the hands of different users, they'll adapt—changing shape, weight, and magical traits according to the wielder's essence."
"Chimeric Twin Blades…" Blanche repeated, stunned, turning the blades over in her hands. Her voice trembled slightly with reverence. "They're… alive."
After a pause, she bowed deeply. "Thank you, Senior. Truly."
But before the moment could settle, a loud voice broke the silence.
"Hey, that's not fair!"
Francis, who had been watching all this unfold with increasing envy, finally couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Why does she get awesome daggers, and all I get is an apple?!"
He held up the illusionary apple in his hand like a disgruntled shopper at a fruit stall, inspecting it skeptically.
Ares, standing off to the side, couldn't help but sigh.
"That's not just any apple," he explained dryly. "It only looks like one."
He nodded at Francis. "What you're holding is an artifact that contains the most refined gravity magic array ever created. It embodies the very essence of the concept—True Graviton Core."
Ares crossed his arms and continued.
"Ordinary gravity mages manipulate simulated gravitational fields using their own mana, mimicking planetary forces. But you—if you master that apple—you won't be simulating gravity."
"You'll be commanding the gravity of the planet itself."
Francis blinked. "The planet's gravity? You mean… actual gravity magic? Like… the real thing?!"
"Exactly," Ares said, his tone serious. "It's called Graviton—the core principle of gravity. That apple is no fruit. It's a compression of gravitational truth. If you can synchronize with it, your control over gravity magic will surpass all others."
Francis, now wide-eyed and speechless, slowly reached out and touched the illusionary apple.
Just like with Blanche, the illusion flickered and gained weight—materializing into a solid, ruby-colored apple with a faint sheen of mana swirling within.
At first glance, it seemed ordinary.
But as soon as he gripped it fully, he felt it.
Weight.
An almost unbearable force pressed down through his arms.
Even for someone who regularly wielded gravity magic, the sheer density and force of the apple shocked him.
He nearly dropped it.
"…Woah," Francis muttered, his prideful smirk slowly returning. The dark cloud of jealousy was gone—replaced with a look of gleeful smugness.
He marched right up to Blanche, cradling the apple with both hands like a sacred relic.
"Well, well," he said theatrically, "your twin blades are decent. Elegant, even. But compared to my planet-core apple, they're lacking that… weighty charm, don't you think?"
"Francis…"
"Hm?"
SNAP.
"OW! OW! I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY!"
Blanche had grabbed his ear with practiced precision and dragged him forward like a misbehaving child. She shoved him down into a bowing position before the old mage.
"Thank the elder, you idiot!"
"Th-thank you for the gift, Senior!" Francis whined through gritted teeth.
The old woman burst into laughter, thoroughly enjoying the squabble. After catching her breath, she addressed the group.
"Well?" she asked, gesturing toward Ares and Snow, who stood guiltily to the side. "Do those gifts make up for the earlier… inconveniences?"
Francis immediately raised his hand. "More than enough, Senior! I'd gladly be frozen again for rewards like this! Heck, I'd volunteer to be frozen for a whole week!"
Smack.
Blanche slapped the back of his head. "Have some dignity, would you?! You're making us look bad!"
But at that moment, Alan suddenly stepped forward, placing a steady hand on both of his friends' shoulders and pulling them gently behind him. His expression was serious.
"Senior," he said, eyes narrowed slightly, "aren't these gifts a bit… too generous? Could it be… you have something you'd like our help with?"
The old woman's smile faded—replaced by something far more thoughtful.
She studied Alan's face for a long moment before nodding, visibly impressed.
"Smart lad," she said.
"Your suspicion is valid. There's an old saying in the bounty hunter world: 'Mages never issue bounties at a loss. If the target's strength doesn't match their price, something's fishy.'"
She chuckled, then waved her hand.
"But in this case… those gifts really are just gifts. Apologies, nothing more. To you, they're treasures. To me? Just some dusty relics I've kept buried for decades."
"I'm an old woman—I have no use for them anymore. Better to trade them for goodwill from promising youths."
Then she turned to Ares with a pointed look.
"Well? What's the saying?"
Ares straightened, voice formal.
"More friends, more paths. Fewer enemies, fewer walls."
"Exactly." She looked back at Alan. "I'm not here to use you. I'm here to support you."
"I've seen enough of Lioncrest Academy to know I don't like what they've become. Arrogant. Elitist. Detached from the world. I'd rather back the 'nobodies'—the ones like you."
Alan hesitated, then smiled faintly and bowed his head.
"Senior, I never meant to question your motives. I only…"
He glanced at the others' loot and scratched his cheek sheepishly.
"…well, I did get injured too, after all…"
The old woman blinked, then burst into laughter again. "Oh! Right! How careless of me!"
She reached into her robes and pulled out a sleek, rune-etched staff.
It shimmered faintly with Origin mana, purer and denser than anything Alan had ever felt before. Far superior to the mass-produced staves he had seen in imperial churches.
Without hesitation, he accepted it reverently.
"Thank you, Senior," he said with genuine gratitude.
But before the mood could settle again, another voice chimed in—
"Wait, wait, wait! Everyone's getting something except me?"
It was Fort, arms crossed, staring pointedly at the others.
Francis rolled his eyes. "Oh please, you want something too?"
"Don't forget you're a metal element bloodline freak. You can tank explosions without gear. We need weapons. You don't!"
Fort glared. "That doesn't mean I can't use weapons!"
More than anything, it was the principle of the matter.
Everyone had gotten something—something powerful. And Fort?
Fort got left out.
Even if he was a walking tank, even if he didn't need an artifact, the imbalance left a bitter taste in his mouth.
It's not about the gear, he thought. It's about not being the one left behind.
