On that bewitched night, Barenda Horn killed his own uncle with his own hands.
"Wizard, I don't regret killing him. Join murdered my father. He admitted it himself, so I don't want you to bring him back."
Skyl had arrived too late to know what had happened that night or how the uncle and nephew had ended up crossing blades.
"Let me guess. It had something to do with that diamond."
"Everything has something to do with this stone. The Horn clan has spilled enough blood over it. Of course, you probably want it too, so take it. It's stained with the blood of betrayal and conspiracy. It won't bring you any luck."
Barenda bitterly cursed the enormous diamond known as the Heart of the Mountains. Its flawless crystal was as clear as pristine ice and colder than a traitor's blood.
Skyl accepted the diamond and weighed it in his palm. It was more than sufficient to serve as the material component for [Greater Restoration]. A gemstone like this would inspire schemes, assassinations, and even wars in any city-state or kingdom.
"I've seen prettier diamonds beneath the Lonely Mountain."
The warlock certainly had a use for the gem, but he casually tossed it back into Barenda's hands.
The young dwarf, only fifty-six years old, stared at him in astonishment.
Skyl swung himself onto his horse and prepared to return to the Way Inn.
"Hey, wizard! You don't want the diamond?"
"I've done you no favor, so how could I accept your gift?" Skyl replied with a faint smile before urging his horse forward.
"Wait! You killed that devil, which means you saved my life. Take it!" Barenda shouted, but his voice could not halt the retreating hoofbeats.
The druids softly chanted their incantations, calling upon the spirits of nature to drive the lingering infernal corruption from the land. A fresh breeze blew continuously across the countryside. The cracked soil within three miles slowly became moist again, and tiny grass seeds sprouted as though a goddess of spring had breathed across the earth, leaving it lush and green.
The rain-soaked road still resembled a vat of thick stew, but the beasts, birds, and insects that had vanished into the stormy night emerged once more. The devil's malevolent barrier had been shattered.
The chestnut horse trotted forward with such light, excited steps that it occasionally broke into a wild gallop on its own. Skyl gently patted its neck and laughed.
"Slow down. You're going to throw me off."
The spells he had cast on the horse kept the rain from soaking its coat and prevented its hooves from sinking into the mud. A gust of wind swept past from behind, and grass and wildflowers sprang up along the road ahead of Skyl.
The world overflowed with vitality. Herds of deer stopped to graze, and every severed blade of grass immediately sent up fresh shoots, remaining green and luxuriant no matter how much the animals ate.
The flourishing scene of ten thousand living things surging upward unfolded before his eyes.
"Druid magic. Hmm, it's rather interesting."
A trace of envy and contemplation appeared in the warlock's eyes. He envied the effortless grace with which druids commanded nature, but the sight also inspired new possibilities for his own future.
Keeping the Infinity Scepter in his possession had always been troublesome. It was useless to his true self, but to the warlock Skyl, it constantly attracted the attention of gods, devils, and every other kind of supernatural power. It was unquestionably a hot potato.
Skyl had long been considering how to dispose of the Infinity Scepter. He had originally intended to use it as a weapon and had already bound it through his Pact of the Blade, but after thinking it over repeatedly, he still felt that the arrangement was too risky.
This time, only a single pit fiend had come after it, but Asmodeus clearly had not abandoned his ambitions. There was also Szass Tam watching from the shadows, along with good-aligned deities such as Mystra.
The whole situation was starting to feel like Raiders of the Lost Ark. The Infinity Scepter was the Ark of the Covenant, and Skyl had somehow become Indiana Jones, with every cult and would-be conqueror in the world hunting him for it.
Watching the druids restore spring to the land gave Skyl a powerful flash of inspiration.
Nature scattered its treasures throughout the wilderness, allowing anyone to take them, yet its bounty never seemed to run dry.
As long as the Infinity Scepter remained in Skyl's personal possession, trouble would inevitably follow. He might be powerful and have Ao supporting him, but a stroke of bad luck could still result in a party of adventurers treating him like a dungeon boss and overwhelming him through sheer numbers. The artifact could then fall into someone else's hands.
Even if he became a god, he could still lose the scepter in a divine war unless he rose to the rank of a greater deity.
Any treasure held by one individual could always be stolen, just as every rule and contract would eventually be broken. All things inevitably drifted toward their opposite.
Skyl did not place much value on the Infinity Scepter. In the beginning, it had merely been an ordinary plastic takeout fork. Compared with it, the smartphone that had crossed worlds with him was far more miraculous. He would not be heartbroken even if the scepter were lost.
However, he disliked having every demon, monster, and self-proclaimed deity trying to steal it from him.
It was disrespectful.
Inspired by the druids, Skyl now intended to transform the Infinity Scepter into a tree and plant it directly in the earth.
The artifact possessed extraordinary malleability and magical conductivity. In the hands of a great wizard, complex transfiguration and enchantment could turn it into a complete substitute for the Weave.
There were currently two magical networks. The first was the Weave controlled by Mystra, while the second was the Shadow Weave controlled by Shar.
Every spellcaster relied on the Weave to regulate magic's immense, violent, and chaotic power. In effect, they were all living beneath someone else's roof.
Mystra had imposed restrictions on the ordinary Weave, preventing mortals from casting spells above the 9th level. The restriction existed to prevent another catastrophe. Long ago, a Netherese archwizard had created and cast the 12th-level spell [Karsus's Avatar], using it to steal the divinity of the goddess of magic. The attempt directly caused the Weave to collapse.
The Shadow Weave had no such restrictions and even strengthened certain forms of sinister magic. However, anyone using it would be subjected to Shar's influence. Shadow magic would corrode the caster's body and gradually distort their personality.
Skyl intended to establish his own independent system.
He possessed the necessary knowledge, materials, and abilities. Why shouldn't he do it?
Thoughts raced through the warlock's mind. During the brief thirty-minute ride, he devised an entire procedure for constructing a new magical network. All that remained was to carry it out one step at a time.
At the Way Inn, the travelers hurried to the windows or stepped outside. Now that the rain had stopped, they could finally continue their journeys.
The terrifying storm that had kept everyone on edge was finally over. Before long, the night's events would become a thrilling tavern tale, spreading along the highway and into distant lands as an extraordinary story told over dinner and drinks.
Skyl returned and dismounted.
Many travelers were bandaging wounds or maintaining their weapons. From the look of things, they had just survived a major battle.
One of the inn's servers approached him timidly.
"My lord, your companions are inside."
"What happened?" the warlock asked in surprise. "Don't tell me you started fighting those Thayans."
"That's exactly what happened," several travelers declared, thumping their chests proudly. "We won a glorious victory!"
Inside the inn's common room, the wizards and knights from Thay lay sprawled across the floor. Several had been beheaded, while the survivors had been tied so tightly with ropes that they could barely move.
Stan sat comfortably strumming his guitar as the gentle melody of "Hotel California" flowed through the room. Edgin sat beside him with a swollen, bruised face. Broken chairs and tables were scattered across the floor, which was covered with scorch marks from magical flames and broad patches of frost.
Skyl tossed the pit fiend's eyeball onto the table. Resembling a red crystal ball, it rolled across the wood and stopped beside Stan's hand.
"Well, look who it is. Our favorite warlock has returned victorious," Stan said with a booming laugh as he set down his guitar.
The bard looked easy to bully, but he was an incarnation of Stan Lee. When the Red Wizards tried to abduct him, Stan needed only a few words to stir every traveler in the inn into action, launching a battle in which superior numbers overwhelmed the enemy. The fight had been dangerous, but everyone had emerged alive.
For some inexplicable reason, every traveler had performed far beyond their normal abilities. While Stan sang, even the most ordinary attacks dealt absurd amounts of damage.
The Red Wizards were powerful, but not even they could endure a mob of adventurers who could not stop rolling critical hits. Their spells also failed for no apparent reason at the worst possible moments, as though some invisible ghost were sabotaging them.
After sharing danger and fighting side by side, the travelers at the Way Inn had become comrades in arms. The atmosphere was completely different from when Skyl had left.
Tawna came rushing over with a shriek, carrying a steaming plate of spicy fried potatoes. She had participated in the battle as well, knocking an unlucky Thayan soldier unconscious with a single swing of her serving ladle. She was still trembling with excitement.
Skyl glanced around. The room was chaotic yet strangely orderly, carrying the atmosphere of something old being broken apart to make way for something new.
Everyone was thrilled except Mr. Jamal, the innkeeper, who looked at his shattered tables and chairs as though he might burst into tears.
Skyl smiled and shook his head. He sat at the dining table, took out his plastic fork, and began eating the extra-spicy fried potatoes.
Once he finished this meal, he would continue his journey south.
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