Chapter 70: The Modified Wish Spell

Black Rose was a legend, but her expertise lay firmly in necromancy.

Her legendary boon, Death Gaze, had allowed her to amass a vast undead army in the Umbral Depths. For as long as anyone could remember, she had devoted herself exclusively to necromantic research, with little interest in other magical disciplines.

Ambrose, on the other hand, was curious about everything and utterly incapable of settling down. Otherwise, he would never have discarded the power of divination so casually.

Even before ascending to the legendary realm, Ambrose had been fascinated by all things magical.

Thanks to the many ways this world offered to extend one's lifespan—and the fact that elixirs of youth had once been reasonably affordable—Ambrose had ample time to indulge his curiosity. He had spent more than a decade studying nearly every field of magic: alchemy, golem creation, necromancy, divination, evocation, divine magic, and more. He might not have reached the absolute pinnacle in any single discipline, but when it came to sheer breadth of knowledge, he had only a handful of rivals across the Nine Kingdoms.

That was how Ambrose had instantly recognized the sewer system as a modified Wish spell formation.

The reason it resembled alchemy was simple: those lunatics had drastically altered the spell formation, transforming the spell into a massive ritual in an attempt to reduce the difficulty of casting it.

𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

After carefully studying the schematics, Ambrose reached a single conclusion: "It's a genius idea, but only a madman would ever do this."

The Wish spell was the absolute strongest non-divine spell in the world. No one would disagree.

The most advanced spells, paradoxically, were often the simplest to cast. Wish required only a single gesture. No sacrifices. No preparation. Not even mana was, strictly, required.

The cost seemed laughably disproportionate to the result. Wish was, by nature, miraculous.

Even so, there had been few successful Wishes cast throughout history. Its principle was simple: you made a wish to the world itself, and the world would respond with a trial that tested your understanding of natural law.

The difficulty was roughly equivalent to the Millennium Prize Problems that Ambrose had seen before his transmigration: century-spanning challenges that countless geniuses had failed to solve.

Was mathematics difficult? Anyone could attempt it with pencil and paper. The barrier to entry was exceptionally low.

The Wish trials were the same. After all, it demanded nothing from you, neither price nor offering. You simply had to answer a question posed by the laws of the world. There was no way to cheat. You either understood the problem and its solution, or you didn't. No amount of wealth, status, or influence could help you.

The only thing that mattered was individual wisdom.

That was the peculiar nature of Wish: anyone could attempt it, yet who among billions could claim to truly comprehend the essence of the world?

Only a small number of gods could use Wish without restriction, those who were themselves part of the world's laws.

As for mortals, the consequences of failing a Wish were catastrophic, so much so that the records describing them were age-restricted.

And even if you passed the trial, your Wish wouldn't necessarily succeed.

After all, Wish and Perfect Wish were two different spells entirely.

Wishes were often fulfilled in deeply unpleasant ways.

The laws of the world were like a rule-abiding administrator who despised loopholes, and Wish was precisely such a loophole. The world would go to great lengths to impose side effects as a punishment.

Many had Wished for a deceased loved one to be revived—but at what age, and in what condition? The world might furnish a newborn without any memories, or a frail elder on the brink of death.

Many had Wished for an enemy to die—but in what manner, and after how long? There was a shocking record of one such Wish that had seen its caster being sent hundreds of years into the future. His enemy had lived a full life before finally dying of old age, surrounded by his descendants.

In short, Wish was a trap. Even someone as reckless as Ambrose would never touch it. Whether you succeeded or failed, there were overwhelming odds that something would go horribly wrong.

And yet the lunatics of Alkhemia had boldly set their sights on Wish and transformed it into a ritual spell.

Studying Black Rose's map, Ambrose was roughly able to infer the ritual's effects.

The first effect was extended casting time.

Wish normally resolved instantly. The result was immediate: either you knew the answer or you didn't.

This ritual, however, forcibly extended the duration of judgment. Exactly how long it could be extended, and at what cost, Ambrose could not yet determine.

Would more time make the trial easier? Some people couldn't solve a math problem even if they had centuries. Time had never been what made Wish so hard to cast. Ambrose couldn't fathom the lunatics' reasoning, but this function occupied the majority of the array, and was likely the foundation upon which all other effects were built.

The second effect was sacrifice.

Flesh, souls, mana, intense emotions—almost anything could be used as an offering. Only an array of such sheer scale could allow for this effect. Different sacrifices generally corresponded to different array structures, but this array's scope meant that the underlying substructures could overlap seamlessly without interference, a design so precise it bordered on artistry.

No wonder those lunatics had gone so far as to fabricate a prophecy.

They had intended to lure ambitious individuals from across the continent into Alkhemia's sewers. Everything those adventurers brought, and even the emotions they experienced during the ordeal, would become fuel for the ritual. Even those who escaped would still contribute power through their fear, greed, and desperation.

The idea was terrifyingly brilliant and went beyond a mere stroke of genius. Bringing such an outrageous concept into reality must have cost Alkhemia dearly. Decades, perhaps centuries of time; tens of millions, hundreds of millions of gold. This madness was something only alchemists could pull off.

Ambrose hurriedly took out his notebook, copying everything down and filling the margins with dense annotations. This was priceless knowledge.

Yet once he finished, he couldn't help but doubt himself. How did these sacrifices contribute to the Wish spell?

According to magical theory, wisdom was all that Wish required. What good were mountains of flesh and souls?

Staring at the incomplete schematics, Ambrose felt an itch deep in his bones.

If he could fully decipher this ritual, how much would it sell for? Every spellcaster within the Nine Kingdoms would go mad for it.

Beyond these two primary effects were auxiliary functions like concealment, stabilization, and illusion designed to keep the ritual running. The map was too rough for Ambrose to work out its fine details.

The lunatics had turned the entire sewer system into a Wish array. Judging by what he'd noticed, the ritual was already active.

He hadn't even gotten to the most important question of all. Just what had the mad alchemists of Alkhemia wished for?

Given the prophecy of Alkhemia's destruction, had they made a fatal mistake while making their wish?

Were they punished for failing the trial, or had the wording of their wish been too vague, allowing the laws of the world to twist it mercilessly?

There was too little information for Ambrose to draw a conclusion.

Ambrose frowned. In light of this newfound knowledge, the situation in Alkhemia had grown far more dangerous. He was about to consult Black Rose for more details in hopes that she might be able to offer him insight.

But before he could send another message, an origami phoenix with fluttering, multicolored wings landed before him.

The letter unfolded on its own. It was a formal decree from Alkhemia demanding that he hand over Allen and the other paladins. At the very end was a single line: "The Wish machine is ready. You may submit your wish at any time."

Ambrose glanced at the document, then at the incomplete ritual schematics. A deep sense of foreboding washed over him.

Was he about to lose his head?