Merlin sat in the carriage, his eyes closed, but his mental energy was extended outward, carefully observing every move made by the bandit leader, Keane. Any suspicious action from Keane would be met with an instant lethal response.
However, with the enticing promise of "becoming a spellcaster," Merlin was confident that Keane wouldn't risk betrayal. Besides, Keane seemed to possess the necessary conditions to become a spellcaster.
Merlin had long observed that anyone who could perceive the mysterious postures on the reliefs tended to have an unusual level of mental energy—a critical prerequisite for becoming a spellcaster.
As long as one's mental energy met the requirements, they could attempt to simulate a spell model within their mental domain. If successful, they would attain the status of a spellcaster.
Keane possessed this potential; his mental strength was even greater than Merlin's had been before he became a spellcaster.
Exchanging a spell model for three of the mysterious reliefs, while also defusing the crisis facing the convoy, was a deal well worth it. Killing Keane would still leave Merlin struggling against the thousands of bandits, especially those enhanced by the strange postures Keane had taught them. Such bandits were even stronger than Old Wilson's heavily armored knights and would be challenging to defeat.
Before long, the bandits arrived at a valley—a large one surrounded by mountains and water, an ideal place to settle.
Within the valley were some simple wooden houses and various caves, large and small. Elderly people, women, and children bustled around, giving the impression of a lively, ordinary village.
As the bandits returned to the valley en masse, women came forward, eagerly scanning the crowd to check on their husbands.
It looked less like a bandit's lair and more like a peaceful, quiet village.
"What do you think? I spent five years building this place from scratch," Keane said, pride evident on his face as he looked at the busy valley below.
"Not bad. Those elite bandit riders you trained, all with physical abilities rivaling level-one elemental swordsmen, were taught postures from the reliefs?" Merlin asked, focused on the unique group of bandits, whose physical prowess matched level-one elemental swordsmen—a feat even the renowned Firebird Legion could only achieve with just over a thousand soldiers.
Keane's gaze deepened as he replied, "Yes, I carefully selected those men. I only taught them one posture, which allowed them to reach the level of a level-one elemental swordsman. Those with greater talent and loyalty were taught a second posture, enabling them to reach the strength of a level-two swordsman. Thanks to them, the Hurricane Bandit Gang dominates this area, with no other group able to challenge us."
Merlin nodded. Even without much equipment, Keane's forces had been nearly unstoppable in this region with just five hundred men capable of rivaling level-one elemental swordsmen. Not even Old Wilson's heavily armored knights were a match for them.
"Do you know the origins of these reliefs?" Merlin asked.
Keane frowned, then shook his head. "I acquired them by chance and only know they likely date back to the Morta Empire. Beyond that, I'm unsure."
The Morta Empire had always been shrouded in mystery. Though it once unified the continent, it collapsed overnight, and no one seemed to know what caused its downfall.
As Merlin pondered the reliefs and the five hundred strong bandit riders, he was struck by a thought.
If the Morta Empire's ordinary soldiers had all practiced the postures depicted on these reliefs, granting them the strength of level-one, level-two, or even level-three elemental swordsmen, then their dominance of the continent seemed plausible.
Yet, how did such a powerful empire, so formidable as to defy imagination, crumble in a single night? Many historical accounts hinted that the Morta Empire vanished overnight.
What happened? What power could have led to the empire's overnight collapse?
"Follow me; the reliefs are where I live," Keane said.
Merlin shook his head, clearing away thoughts of the Morta Empire's mysterious fall, and followed Keane.
Keane's residence was a large cave, with signs of being carved out by hand. Its surroundings were secluded, with no one in sight, indicating that Keane had made arrangements to ensure privacy. Only he and Merlin were present.
"Please, sit."
After Merlin took a seat, Keane turned and went into another room within the cave. Moments later, he returned with three reliefs in hand.
He placed them on the stone table, inviting Merlin to inspect them.
"They're indeed the same type of reliefs!" Merlin's eyes gleamed. He picked up one of the reliefs and gently ran his hand over it, his gaze becoming unfocused as he felt the familiar trance taking hold. Within his mind, he saw new, strange postures different from those he had previously practiced.
The trance didn't last long. Merlin's extensive mental energy allowed him to quickly snap out of it at will.
"As part of the deal, this relief is yours," Merlin said, handing his relief to Keane.
Keane narrowed his eyes, his gaze still fixed on Merlin. Instead of immediately reaching for the relief on the table, he asked with intense anticipation, "Merlin, you said you could make me a spellcaster…"
In Keane's heart, even with the possibility of gaining the strength of a level-four elemental swordsman, the allure of becoming a spellcaster was far stronger.
"To become a spellcaster, mental energy and a spell model are essential. You already possess the necessary mental energy. As for a spell model…"
Merlin paused, then took out Etta's wind spell model from his notes and placed it on the table. "This is a wind spell model—a level-zero spell. If you can simulate this model within your mental domain, you'll be able to become a spellcaster."
"A spell model!" Keane's gaze locked onto the model on the table, his excitement evident as even his voice trembled.