Chapter 49: [Wailing of the Souls], A Period of Calm

Despite his neighbor's fright and hasty departure, Ronan decided to leave town as a precaution.

He found a secluded spot in the moonlit wilderness outside the city to continue examining the remaining items from the storage pouch.

Among the four wizard books, one was filled with legends of necromancers and creatures, almost like a storybook for entertainment.

Another covered potion-making, more comprehensive than the version Ronan left behind in the treehouse.

The last two books contained three necromancy spells: two low-level spells, [Corrosive Missile] and [Bone Spike], and one mid-level spell—[Wailing of the Souls].

Upon studying the latter, Ronan realized it focused on manipulating undead to emit sonic waves that disrupt an opponent's mental state.

No wonder the black-robed wizard had a ring capable of housing a ghost.

The original owner likely couldn't fully decipher it, hence why it wasn't used.

All three spells were necromantic, leaving Ronan uncertain about learning them.

The first two low-level spells were straightforward, but the mid-level [Wailing of the Souls] was tempting.

It perfectly matched Ronan's need for control spells, with the necessary heritage and casting tool already in hand, almost as if tailored for him.

However,

"Learning necromancy spells means inevitably absorbing traces of negative energy particles. Given the current tension with the black wizard invasion, could the academy mistake me for a Forest of Whispered Death spy?"

Ronan hesitated, ultimately deciding to set it aside for now.

The remaining potions included one that Ronan suspected was for rapid mental recovery. However, differences between black and gray robe traditions made him cautious about using it.

Another pile consisted of miscellaneous items of uncertain value: animal organs soaked in special fluids, dried animal bodies, unidentified powders, and odd wood chips—likely materials for alchemy or potion experiments.

Ronan considered discarding them, but recalling tales of hidden treasures in seemingly useless items, he hesitated.

Ultimately, he decided to burn them along with the first pile of trash under the cover of night.

As the last leaf fell from the forest's sycamore trees, the conflict between the Hoddam wizard territory and the Forest of Whispered Death escalated.

Trained squads of elite academy wizards marched out daily.

Spell airships departed, even accompanied by formal wizards, blazing like suns in the sky.

Once the war truly began, it seemed to matter little to the wandering wizards in town.

The battle between the two wizard territories was over strategic resources vital to their power—ordinary wizards' lives barely impacted the overall conflict.

Temporarily free from the immediate threat, wandering wizards discussed the war over meals.

Rumors of formal wizard battles, brutal skirmishes over small magic stone mines, and clashes between talented students from Hoddam and the Forest of Whispered Death flew around.

The town's atmosphere shifted from tense and anxious to a strange mix of calm, peace, and inexplicable fervor and noise.

"Crunch—"

Ronan's footfalls left crisp prints in the thick snow as he walked.

He collected a few pale yellow matsutake mushrooms from beneath the snow, adding them to his storage pouch before continuing.

These mushrooms were excellent for frying or soup, and with Vinicia having learned some cooking skills from Mrs. Jolin, he looked forward to her preparations.

Behind him came the humming of the wind.

Ronan paused atop a snowy hill, turning to look back.

In the snow-covered town, several ship-like spell airships emerged from the central white fog.

Runic lights glimmered on the ships, faintly revealing the robed figures of wizards on board.

"Lately, the academy's been deploying airships more frequently. Has something shifted in the war?"

Ronan wondered, watching the airships disappear into the clear sky.

But this was inconsequential to a mere wandering wizard apprentice like him. After a moment's thought, he continued on his way.

Toward the forest.

As the war progressed, the threat of the black robes seemed to fade for the wandering gray robes.

Winter brought several snowfalls, rendering the forest increasingly serene.

Lately, more people dared to venture in and out of the forest. Ronan heard some had even returned to the treehouse district.

"For many, enduring months of hardship, they've reached their limit," Ronan thought.

Though town prices had stabilized somewhat, they remained high compared to before the black robes' arrival.

After months in town, many base-level wizards faced a more pressing issue than the black robes: how to survive the harsh winter.

Ronan glanced around. The snowy landscape dotted with figures, like him, slowly making their way toward the forest.

Each carried the weight of life on their shoulders, struggling with every step.

Ronan shook his head, steeling himself.

"Boom!"

He leapt into the forest with the grace of a monkey, his robe billowing like a cape.

Racing through familiar paths, he startled flocks of winter birds.

Ronan's goal in the forest was to retrieve possessions left behind in his treehouse months ago.

After jogging for a while, feeling the weight of his worries lift, Ronan slowed his pace.

Brushing away snow, he found a bubbling spring at the base of a tree hollow, drinking deeply before moving on.

The snow had erased traces of past disasters, leaving only the hollow, haunting calls of forest birds as reminders of former liveliness.

"Crack—"

Ronan snapped a few branches blocking his path, revealing the treehouse district.

Covered in deep snow, the roof hung with icicles, and there was no sign of recent visitors.

Climbing to his treehouse, Ronan opened the door, surveying the scene inside. Apart from snow-dampened bedding and dusty furniture, nothing had changed since his departure.

Silently reminiscing about the past, Ronan quickly gathered some items.

Mainly wizard books from the shelf, unused blank rune stones, rune engraving tools, and some miscellaneous items left by his predecessor.

Before leaving, Ronan stood by his small bed.

Gazing at the words "The soul is the abode of immortality" carved into the bed's edge, he pondered for a moment before taking out his knife and adding an inscription to the bed's underside.

-Support me in Patreon for more chapters 35+ chapters in there 

patreon.com/LegendaryTL

Thanks