Chapter 718: War Preparations
No mortal can truly resist the urge to transcend their own limits. It’s not just a matter of gaining power—it’s a profound elevation of life itself. Instinct and reason alike drive us toward that goal.
Especially for the Dark Elves—a race born with innate magical power, addicted to the pursuit of mana. For them, chasing extraordinary strength is a compulsion etched in their blood.
To a Sky Rank Dark Elf, two hundred years of service is as trivial as a human committing to a one-year job.
Generous rewards, a brief commitment—who could refuse? In the human kingdoms, if someone could help a Title Archmage break through to Sky Rank in just a year or two, even those on the verge of ascension would struggle to resist the temptation.
Besides, Leon’s understanding of the Dark Elves probably surpasses even their own. For countless years to come, mages of the Northend World would conquer world after world, digging up hidden Dark Elves from every plane, turning them into subjects for study.
In the Age of Peak Magi, Dark Elves had already been studied to the finest detail. Their racial gifts are formidable—vastly superior to humans. The entire clan are mages; once they learn a spell, it becomes a magic rune, and when casting rune magic, they can even unleash it instantly.
But this overwhelming talent and spellcasting ability, in some ways, shackles the Dark Elves’ potential.
Missing out on thousands of complete spellcasting cycles leaves Dark Elves with a natural flaw in their understanding of magic—a hidden defect that severely limits them.
Any Dark Elf who begins studying magic is, at minimum, a mage—the whole clan are mages. After coming of age, most become Grand Mages, but fewer than half ascend to Archmage, and less than half of those ever earn the title of Title Archmage.
At the watershed of Fifth Rank Title Archmage, fewer than one in a thousand make it through. To reach Sixth Rank, you’d need four or five thousand Dark Elves for even a single success.
The higher the rank, the more absurd the odds. For a Ninth Rank Title Archmage, you could count the candidates in an entire Dark Elf tribe on one hand.
As for Sky Rank Dark Elves, even a large tribe might see only one breakthrough in countless years. Even in the early days of the Nesser Dynasty, their proportion was shockingly low.
The ratio is even lower than that between human Sky Rank powerhouses and Title Archmages.
Before the Dark Elves were exiled from the Northend World, countless of them became peak Ninth Rank Title Archmages by the age of one hundred. Yet, those who broke through to Sky Rank in their lifetime were vanishingly few.
Even with their innate ability—the Shadowdream—to perceive magical laws, the situation never changed.
Innate strength always comes paired with a flaw. That’s the universal curse of all sentient life.
Chromatic Dragons are born mighty, but their numbers are painfully scarce. Even reproduction is a struggle—going a thousand years without a single new hatchling is normal. It can take two or three millennia to birth a new Chromatic Dragon, and the slightest mishap can doom the egg before it hatches.
The Dark Elves are all mages, but that only makes it even harder for them to produce Sky Rank powerhouses than it is for supposedly ‘weaker’ races.
Even those with the Skyborne Bloodline among the Dark Elves aren’t exempt. If the Skyborne Bloodline doesn’t awaken, it’s even harder for them to reach Sky Rank—sometimes impossible in a single lifetime.
None of the first four Skyborne Bloodline holders in history ever reached Sky Rank before dying—not even one managed to break through to Ninth Rank Title Archmage.
But at the height of Northend World, the problem of awakening the Skyborne Bloodline in Dark Elves was finally solved by powerful mages. Leon holds that solution in his hands!
That’s why Leon wasn’t worried about Elsa refusing. On one hand, there’s a shortcut straight to Sky Rank; on the other, years of struggle that might end in death before a breakthrough. Anyone still sane would take the shortcut.
After Elsa left, it was as if she’d vanished. Leon spent his days holed up in the cabin, poring over the Spellbook of Ages.
Ten days later.
Leon rubbed his sore eyes and closed the Spellbook of Ages, sighing with admiration: “The Spellbook of Ages… It’s never as simple as it looks.”
Ten days of focused study only made Leon realize how unfathomable the Spellbook of Ages truly was. Every time he opened it, the spells inside were completely different.
When he first gained the Spellbook’s recognition, Leon thought he understood it completely. Only now does he realize: the book itself, yes, he’s mastered—especially after fusing it with the Core Meditation Codex. The Spellbook itself holds no more secrets.
But the real treasure is the spells written within the Spellbook of Ages. Those spells are its true value—not just the fact that it’s an Essence Relic.
Every time he opened it, the spells were completely different. The deeper he studied, the more Leon noticed: many spells were just slight tweaks—change a syllable, swap a character—and you’d get two spells with utterly different, even wildly divergent, effects and power.
At first, Leon was focused on Sixth Rank spells. By the third day, he was studying Fifth Rank spells. By the fourth, he’d abandoned anything above Second Rank, concentrating solely on First Rank spells.
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In those ten days, Leon lost track of how many First Rank spells he’d studied…
The results were transformative. His understanding of magic reached its peak, and his spellcasting ability soared.
In the apocalypse, every spell recorded by that barren librarian was refined to perfection—each one a classic among classics.
But now Leon understood—not every spell needs to be a classic to be worth learning.
From low-level spells to high-level ones, it’s a journey of understanding and insight. Even within the same rank, moving from trash spells to classics is a process of transition and growth. Without studying it, you’d never understand.
Only by walking that path can you truly grasp the essence of magic.
Every syllable, every rune—how they combine, how they’re constructed—Leon now understood at the most fundamental, profound level.
With a thought, an icicle appeared before him—the most basic First Rank spell. But this time, the icicle’s form was optimized for maximum power: deep blue ice, dense structure, streamlined surface, razor-sharp tip.
Compared to before, the spell’s power had increased by at least half a rank.
Satisfied, Leon dispelled the icicle. Now, when casting Sixth Rank spells, their power was at least thirty percent higher than before, and both casting time and speed were drastically reduced.
In other words, without even breaking through to Title Archmage, his combat strength had risen again!
After a break, Leon hungrily reopened the Spellbook of Ages, diving back into the endless study of spells.
Leon was like a man possessed, buried in spell research in the cabin, while the Dark Elf tribe outside began to stir.
Masses of fully armed Dark Elves began patrolling the perimeter. Each patrol leader was a Title Archmage, and anywhere in the tribe, you’d see a patrol pass by within three minutes.
A swarm of Nightwing Raptors, bred by the Dark Elves, was released. Every few hundred meters, one perched on a branch, keeping watch.
There were thousands of Nightwing Raptors patrolling the area for dozens of miles, and many Dark Elves rode Thunderhorn Gryphons, keeping watch from the sky.
Nightwing Raptors are magical beasts bred by Dark Elves for generations. Only Fifteenth Rank, but they’re the tribe’s ultimate tool for vigilance.
Every Dark Elf guarding the tribe had a soul contract with a Nightwing Raptor, allowing them to share whatever the raptor saw.
Nightwing Raptors are born with night vision. Even in the pitch-black world of gods and demons, they can see for kilometers in total darkness.
Now, with thousands of Nightwing Raptors patrolling, every blind spot was covered. Not even a fly could sneak into the Dark Elf tribe.
Add to that the Thunderhorn Gryphons patrolling the skies—these Twenty-Fifth Rank magical beasts command thunder magic, their spells rumble like storms, audible for miles.
Their cries are unique, inaudible to normal ears and only heard by their own kind. The sound carries for hundreds of miles, allowing Thunderhorn Gryphons to communicate across vast distances when unobstructed.
So, at the slightest sign of trouble, a single cry could alert every Thunderhorn Gryphon in the tribe.
Most Dark Elves outside the tribe were recalled, leaving only the elite to patrol the skies. Inside, the Mage Legion began to assemble.
The entire tribe was on high alert. All young Dark Elves were sent to the heart of the enclave, and every able-bodied member was ready for battle.
Every clan member was on edge. In the center of the tribe, beneath the towering Life Tree, a white-haired, white-bearded Dark Elf elder in ceremonial robes stood frowning at the tree’s trunk.