Chapter 255: The Eyes and Mouth in the Jar

"I think the biggest question is: who would want a Fireball Magic Scroll that gets triggered by high temperatures?"

After hearing Ron’s explanation, never mind Elden and his two disciples—even Silvia was dismayed. "With this kind of Scroll, the Fireball might detonate in your hand before you even get a chance to throw it. Do they sell fire protection spells in bulk or something?"

"In the past, during times of war, some Lords tried sticking Scrolls with similar trigger mechanisms to large rocks, then using Catapults or aerial units to bombard enemy positions or city walls. It was a way to lessen the burden on the Mage corps," Elden said, rubbing his face wearily. "But those were tactical weapons, and they were phased out in less than a hundred years."

"After all, Catapults aren’t easy to move, and aerial units are too expensive. The Scrolls themselves are difficult to store, and in war, it was often a case of ’kill a thousand enemies, lose a thousand of your own.’ In the end, most factions reached a consensus: it was better to just make the Casters’ lives a little harder," Gordon added with a shrug, seeing that the dean had no intention of elaborating.

"But for you, these problems are... less of a deal-breaker." Elden felt as if the hair on his head was regaining some of its luster and color. "You use a bow, not a crossbow. The time it takes to nock an arrow is extremely short, so it’s difficult for an opponent to seize the opportunity to detonate your arrows before you can shoot them. This is even more true if you have a quiver with a Dimension Bag."

"The only drawback is that the cost of such arrows would inevitably be sky-high, and the timing for their use would be extremely strict—unless you’re prepared to have your companions die every time you fire an arrow."

"There will always be opportunities, and as my understanding of Arcane Magic deepens, those opportunities will only become more frequent," Ron said with a smile. "But you hit the nail on the head with your first point: creating an arrow like this requires not just skill, but also luck. If just one person involved makes a single mistake, you have to start all over again."

"Surely, it can’t be that bad?" Victoria asked. "At least the Alchemy Potion and the Scroll inside..."

"It’s not that easy," Ron said, carefully reassembling the arrow in his hand before placing it back in his quiver. "To achieve the standard we just saw, the wall of the Alchemy Potion’s container must be thin enough, and the writing on the Scroll must be small and precise. You saw their size—once they’re set into the groove, the next time they’re ’removed’ has to be the moment of detonation. Any other attempt to tamper with them will destroy them and render them useless."

Ron looked at the gradually silent group, his smile slowly fading. "I know what you’re all thinking: it’s unstable, has poor replicability, and is prohibitively expensive. It’s not an achievement worth boasting about. It’s far from enough, right?"

"But you don’t have to worry too much. Just like that Magic model I’m researching, I believe there’s still room for improvement. I think I should be able to—"

"Shh! Shhh—"

Sera rudely cut Ron off. "Ron, I am begging you, please stop assuming you know what we’re thinking, okay?"

"Not enough?! You actually think this isn’t enough?!" Sera’s face flushed red. "What even is this thing? Firing a Fireball with a single arrow?! And you think that’s not enough! Are you insane? No one here thinks that! It’s more than enough!"

"What more could you possibly want?!"

The barbarian kicked Elden, who was crouching on the ground with his head in his hands, deep in thought. "Hey, you! Say something! Don’t tell me you also think this thing is ’not enough’!"

"If you’d kicked any harder, you would have killed me, you know that? Do you have any idea how old I am?!" Elden glared irritably at Sera. Then, as he turned to look at Ron, the old dean sighed again. "Enough or not... for your next step, you could consider switching to an Abyssal Silver Arrowhead. I saw that bracelet on your wrist."

"Seriously, have you considered just dropping this whole troublesome Lord business? I still have some connections; I could write a letter of recommendation for you to pursue advanced studies at a better academy."

"I have no doubt about your abilities. With what you’ve already created, you could graduate from any academy in this world. With a little more effort, you could even stay on to teach."

"Delusional Land... what’s so good about this place? You have no future here. Come with me! I can help you, give you better things—things you deserve and should have!"

As Elden spoke, his eyes were sincere, without a trace of any ulterior motive. Ron had no doubt that this Dwarf, who still hadn’t fully recovered from the effects of the Fading Sickness, was speaking without a shred of self-interest.

’Besides, even if I did take his advice, it’s not like he would get first-author credit.’

"But I think you also know that’s impossible," Ron smiled, declining Elden’s offer. "My friends are here. As for the things I ’should have,’ I think I already have them."

"As for the other reason, well, I personally have no intention of returning to an academy."

’There’s a limit to everything. He’d already spent quite a few years in an academy. Go through it all again? Ron wanted no part of that.’

’The "Ivory Tower" is like a besieged city. When resources are plentiful inside, those outside want to get in, and those inside want to get out. But when conditions inside worsen, those inside want to get out, and those outside are terrified to even look!’

Of course, Ron couldn’t possibly voice these inner thoughts to Elden. Thus, to an outsider’s ears, his humble words took on a different meaning.

"HEE HEE HEE HEE! You old Dwarf, don’t even think about luring someone away from Delusional Land! It’s impossible!" a hoarse female voice echoed from some unknown corner. "This is a cursed land! Everyone comes flocking here like gamblers, hoping to find everything they’ve ever wanted!"

"But there’s nothing here! Only conspiracy, only death! But no one listens! They all think they’re the special one!"

"So it was for the kingdom of old, so it was for that Elf, and so it will be for him! He is destined to die here! That is his fate!"

The voice cackled sinisterly, making no attempt to hide its location. Ron and the others followed the sound and broke open a Secret Door entwined with tree roots, stepping into a hidden chamber. There, by the light of the Eternal Bright Flame, they got a clear look at the "thing" that was speaking.

It, or rather she, was pickled in a jar like a cucumber. It had no head, no face—only a pair of eyeballs connected by nerves and two chattering lips. The latter flapped open and shut inside the jar, constantly letting out loud, mocking cries, only falling silent when Ron and the others found the chamber.

"You’re..." Ron picked up the jar, a little uncertain, and began to shake it violently. The thing inside slammed against the walls of the container, making a CLANG CLANG sound. "Don’t tell me you’re—"

"Polly! Rotten Polly!" the mouth spoke again. "I’m so touched, my dear Lord. To think you’d still remember a humble Ghost Witch!"

"Whether you came here specifically to save me or not, could I ask you for a small favor? Just open the jar. My foolish mother hoarded enough materials here; I should be able to regain my freedom!"

"But I also know we’re not exactly on friendly terms. If my merciful Lord is unwilling to take pity on an old crone, then just be done with it and kill me!"

"Please, I’m begging you, stop shaking this jar. I’ve been imprisoned here, unable to live and unable to die. I really... I can’t take any more pain..."