Skyl sat on horseback with a flowerpot cradled in his arms. The undead creature behind him kept trying to bite his neck and shoulders. Ever since becoming undead, Mia had apparently turned part dog.
Fortunately, they had found a leatherworker along the road and commissioned a muzzle for her. Otherwise, she would have chewed Skyl's clothes into beggar's rags by now.
After refusing the diamond offered by the dwarf, Skyl had no intention of wasting more time searching for another one.
What concerned him now was how to grow the Infinity Scepter into a tree.
As someone who had once seized the Golden Order by force in the Lands Between, Skyl still remembered the Erdtree system clearly. Devouring the Elden Beast had granted him a complete understanding of the Erdtree's roots and underlying principles, so he was fully capable of growing a divine tree himself.
However, he despised any system of law that forcibly bound fate, so he had never truly put that knowledge into practice. He had tested it only once in the Marvel Universe, and even then, his sole purpose had been to play a morality game with mortals.
Now Skyl intended to grow another tree.
He wanted to transform the Infinity Scepter into one of the fundamental forces of Realmspace, perhaps even of the entire multiverse. During the process of cultivating the tree, the warlock Skyl would gradually acquire power equal to that of a god of magic.
Mystra called herself the One True Spell, the source from which all arcane magic flowed, reducing every wizard in the world to a supplicant dependent upon her favor.
Once Skyl planted his Infinity Tree, Mystra would no longer be able to claim that she alone embodied all arcane magic. She would have to acknowledge him as an equal sovereign.
If the Weave were compared to the internet, the gods would be its server administrators, while spells would be packaged programs. A spellcaster's incantations, gestures, material components, and other techniques functioned like specific network protocols used to retrieve a spell program and execute its magic.
Everyone was using the same network.
Skyl had once heard of a peculiar human wizard who associated with mind flayers. The man had invented a spell called [Pulp Smut Upload], packaging a collection of his filthy novels into spell data and uploading them directly into the Weave.
The result severely polluted the Weave's spell repository. Many spellcasters attempting to retrieve ordinary magic instead found themselves forced to read an entire chapter of badly written smut.
It was a nightmare.
That was the fundamental weakness of the Weave. It was extremely convenient, allowing spellcasters to avoid memorizing the vast and complicated structures underlying every spell. Mages from the world of The Elder Scrolls would have been deeply envious of Weave users in that regard.
However, if someone tampered with the Weave recklessly, the result could be catastrophic. Spellcasters might suddenly lose access to their magic, and in the worst cases, the goddess of magic herself might be forced to sacrifice her life.
The High Tower King intended to establish a new Weave in this world, giving every spellcaster another road and another choice.
After all, a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush. Skyl had no desire to grit his teeth and spend eternity laboring beneath Mystra's skirts, so he might as well establish an independent system.
The Infinity Scepter was ultimately an inanimate object, and Skyl understood the tool of his trade better than anyone. If he wanted it to become a tree, he simply had to infuse it with the Primal Power. Once filled with the vitality of the living world, the scepter would naturally adjust its form of existence and become a living thing.
As the person bound to the scepter, Skyl first needed to perceive the Primal Power himself, then channel it into the artifact.
Throughout the past two weeks of travel, he had taken every available opportunity to question Doric about the druidic path.
Doric was not particularly friendly toward humans. That was understandable considering her childhood. Nearly every human she had met had regarded her with suspicion or hostility. She had faced nearly as much hatred as a drow emerging from the Underdark.
Because of that, Doric was initially unwilling to teach Skyl, even though the elven woman had specifically instructed her to guide him carefully before departing.
The girl was amusingly direct. She never hid her temper and behaved with a natural honesty. From the beginning, she had openly declared that she disliked humans.
Whenever Skyl asked her questions, Doric usually answered with silence.
However, she still had a responsibility to fulfill. Eventually, she took out a small burlap sack, filled it with fresh soil, and handed it directly to Skyl.
"My guide, my esteemed druidic mentor," the warlock said teasingly, "what profound lesson am I supposed to learn from this bag of dirt?"
Doric wrinkled her nose.
Her skin was fair, and the infernal presence around her was faint. Combined with her delicate features, even her smallest expressions seemed charming. Both Stan and Skyl had grown quite fond of the girl. Like Gali, she gave them the strange feeling that they were raising a daughter.
The tiefling girl motioned for Skyl to hold the sack of soil steady. She then extended one hand and lightly flicked her fingers above its open mouth.
Doric began chanting in Druidic.
A faint current of air emerged from her palm and circled over the sack, gathering into a tiny rain cloud. Moments later, a gentle drizzle began falling onto the soil.
Seeds hidden within the fresh earth immediately sprouted. Clover, plantain, sprangletop, and nameless wildflowers pushed upward through the rain, stretching like people awakening from sleep as their growth forced the sack open.
Stan and Skyl watched the scene with complete concentration. It resembled time accelerating before their eyes.
The undead Mia retreated two steps and released a threatening growl. She disliked the aura of nature, but she could not resist leaning forward to observe. A trace of confusion appeared within her dull, rigid eyes.
The flowers and grasses flourished as their life cycles rapidly accelerated. A breeze carried pollen among them, after which they produced fresh seeds that scattered freely into the soil.
The plants immediately withered.
A flame sprang to life, consuming the dead grass and setting the burlap sack alight before vanishing just as quickly. The resulting ash fertilized the soil, allowing the next generation of plants to grow even more vigorously.
The four great natural elements, air, water, fire, and earth, formed a cycle of dynamic balance, creating a stage upon which life could endlessly reproduce.
Doric withdrew her hand. Her face had turned pale, but she said nothing. The corners of her lips lifted slightly, as though she were waiting to see the warlock struggle helplessly without understanding where to begin.
Instead, Skyl nodded in realization.
"Thank you for your instruction. I now understand how one should take the first step along the druidic path."
The tiefling girl froze.
I haven't taught you anything yet. What could you possibly understand?
Skyl held the sack of soil and pondered for a moment before beginning to cast.
Cantrip, [Gust]!
A small whirlwind blew across the soil. Its gentle force stirred the air without scattering the ashes.
Cantrip, [Create Cloud]!
A rain cloud no larger than his palm appeared and released a shower of water, dampening the earth.
However, none of the seeds hidden inside sprouted.
Stan burst out laughing.
"You ruined it."
Skyl fell silent for a moment. Then he drew the Infinity Scepter and began chanting with complete concentration.
The incantation lasted a full fifteen minutes.
9th-level spell, [Accelerate Time]!
Natural succession began racing forward inside the sack. Flowers and grasses sprouted, grew, pollinated, and withered. Clumps of dead grass scattered around them like the stubborn wisps of hair clinging to a balding man's scalp.
The soil's nutrients were rapidly exhausted, leaving it dry, compacted, and barren. A tiny sapling rose above the surrounding weeds, growing at astonishing speed before dying from severe malnutrition.
Doric could no longer restrain herself. She laughed openly, her voice bright and lively.
Stan laughed even more shamelessly.
Even the undead Mia joined them with a series of harsh, cackling noises.
Skyl laughed as well.
He blinked, then began casting again.
This time, the words leaving his mouth were Druidic.
Doric stared at him in stunned disbelief.
The Primal Power descended as quietly as an invisible spring rain. The withered vegetation in the warlock's hands burned and became ash, returning to the soil.
At the same time, new life silently began to emerge.
A fragile point of green broke through the earth, shining beneath the morning sun with breathtaking brilliance.
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