Equipment Printing School Mage

As far as his eyes could see, there was a huge glacier formed by the white dragon's breath. No matter what kind of life it was, it had become part of the glacier - this was not what the druid wanted.

He opened his hands and with a simple wave, he summoned a raging firestorm that covered the sky and the sun.

However, the blazing flames seemed to have life and did not melt the frozen corpse at all.

The sea of ​​fire swept across the earth, but only rescued the grassland, which was also frozen into ice crystals, from the frost.

The druid looked at the glistening water droplets on the grass blades, caressed them lovingly, and sighed deeply: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to involve you."

This time, he was really leaving.

Amidst the deafening dragon roar, the white dragon spread its wings and flew towards the south.

South of the Dragon Bridge in Baldur's Gate, there is a strange inn - it is clearly an inn, but it looks like a castle.

Its name is Friendly Arm.

If all went well, the old druid's three subordinates should have completed all their tasks and returned to the Sharptooth Forest - but he decided to check again.

The reputation of the deceased informant has gradually begun to spread.

Three druids might be enough to crush ordinary resistance... but against the Deathbringer, anything is possible.

*************************

In the Friendly Arms, a middle-aged knight was dozing off against the city wall. When the faint roar of a dragon reached his ears, he narrowed his eyes slightly: "...Dragon roar."

Thirty-nine Sons of Baal

It was already approaching dusk, but the sun had not yet set, and the moon was still several hours away from rising.

When the sun sets, Faerun will briefly fall into permanent darkness.

However, in the eyes of Shadow Druids, such darkness is far from enough.

A few days later, Archdruid Khal once again visited the inn, which looked like a castle from the outside.

It wasn't even dark yet, so it wasn't time to close the shop. Especially since an inn like the Friendly Arms, nestled in the wilderness, was supposed to focus on late-night business.

But now the gates of the Friendly Arm stood empty, and the gates were wide open. A gentle wind from the wilderness blew across Korhal's back, as if urging him to enter immediately.

It's more of an open trap than a welcome.

Keha pondered for a moment and sighed.

"...those three idiots."

If all went well, the Friendly Arms should now be fully operationalized by the Shapeshifters. Even a lazy Shapeshifter wouldn't leave his post before sunset.

After the old druid confirmed that there was indeed no one on the city wall, he walked calmly towards the arms of friendship.

As far as the eye can see, there is no human figure, as if the entire castle is deserted.

Only in the open space between the city wall and the main body of the castle, there was a middle-aged man in a linen shirt standing there, humming a song while brushing the horse.

This middle-aged man with slightly gray hair seemed to be completely out of combat mode. He was not wearing any armor, but his tall body and bulging muscles implied a terrifying deterrent power.

There was only a plain two-handed giant sword stuck in his side.

The middle-aged man looked like a warrior, but at this moment he was holding a brush in both hands, carefully combing the tall horse in front of him, as if he was just an ordinary groom, without showing any murderous intent.

But Khar obviously doesn't think so.

The old druid slowly approached the warhorse. The horse was unusually strong and tall, almost two meters tall at the shoulder. Korhal himself wasn't short, but next to the horse, he seemed like a pre-teen.

Standing behind the middle-aged man, Keha asked, "I've heard that the Friendly Arm has declined. Both the number of customers and the staff are far less than in its heyday. But even so, having only one person to greet guests is a bit shabby."

The middle-aged man silently and vigorously scrubbed the moisture out of the warhorse's mane, flicked it on the ground, and asked without turning his head, "For a druid, you are a little too enthusiastic about worldly affairs. How do you know about the rise and fall of a simple inn?"

Korhal slowly walked over to the warhorse, observing its defined muscles. He replied, "Some druids are content to maintain their sacred forests, while others care for ordinary people as if they were wild beasts. I, however, am not content with such a narrow vision. I hope to spread my care and concern to a wider community."

"For those whose circumstances are too difficult, I will assist them, allowing them to retain their potential. For those whose circumstances are too favorable, I will test them to prevent their evolution from stagnating."

The so-called trial of the Shadow Druid is naturally destruction and death.

The middle-aged warrior didn't get angry. Instead, he nodded with understanding. "Ah, so you're druids who believe in evolution. Since a species will be eliminated and sifted under external pressure, then as the external pressure grows, the intensity of the elimination will naturally increase. This will also accelerate the evolution of the species."

Keha had originally thought the middle-aged man was just an ordinary mercenary, but he hadn't expected him to be so well-versed in such unpopular theories. He couldn't help but frown, "For someone who wields swords, your knowledge seems a bit too broad."

"That stereotype isn't accurate." The middle-aged man swung the brush hard after scrubbing the last bit of water off the warhorse. "My students are even more nerdy than I am."

It is understated and seemingly effortless.

However, the moisture contained in the brush rushed to the ground like a bullet fired by smoke powder, making small holes in the soil.

The druid silently looked at the scars on the earth and said, "I see. It seems you think you alone are enough to stop me."

"You think so, don't you?" The middle-aged man casually tossed the brush aside, shouldered the greatsword, and turned around with a bright smile. "We both think we can easily win. But apparently, only one of us is right."

But in front of him was no longer a white-haired druid, but a crimson behemoth.

Its scales were crimson, like cooling lava. Its slender, elegant horns resembled sharpened scimitars. Its wings and body were so oversized that they couldn't even fully unfold in the gap between the castle and the city wall.

It was a full-grown red dragon. With just a single breath, the terrifying heat had already heated the late summer evening to a near-boiling point, and the smell of sulfur had already permeated the entire castle.

The red dragon's limbs grasped the city wall, and even its scarlet pupils seemed to be able to spit out flames.

"Form change, so you are a nine-ring druid." The middle-aged man sighed.

The red dragon looked disdainfully at the bare tree stump in the castle and sneered, "You cut down the castle's giant tree, only to destroy a hundred years of life... Then, you will pay the same price for this arrogant murder."

Facing the adult red dragon, the middle-aged man shrugged, "That's indeed very fair. When I first came to the Friendly Arm, this tree was no thicker than my forearm, and its age is probably not much different from mine. In terms of time, it can barely be considered a one-to-one exchange, so it's indeed fair."

"...?"

The druid was stunned for a moment.

The middle-aged man looked to be only about 40 years old, but the stump of the felled ancient tree was at least one meter in diameter.

The red dragon shook his head. "You're full of lies—how could you possibly be the same age as that tree? You're obviously an ordinary human. Human lifespans don't even reach 120 years."

Having said that, the druid glanced at the still silent castle.

"Perhaps you are buying them time, but that's meaningless." Khasiri said calmly, "Are my three followers still alive? Their lives can be exchanged for the lives of the civilians in the inn."

"I have no right to explain this. After all, they are not my prisoners." The middle-aged man shrugged, "But I must clarify something."

"I was born in the year 1347 of the Valley Calendar." As the middle-aged man spoke, the two-handed giant sword on his shoulder suddenly emitted a brilliant golden light. "I am indeed one hundred and twenty-four years old this year. As for not looking old, that is certainly not my credit. If time ever catches up with me, I will gladly accept it."

The middle-aged man grasped the eight-star necklace on his chest with his left hand: "Silence."

Mystra's holy symbol, a hundred-year-old swordsman.

Several clues simultaneously point to a single possibility.

The druid was horrified and suddenly flapped his wings and took off, while breathing out a breath of destructive fire in the direction of the paladin.

At the same time, a transparent halo with a radius of ten meters suddenly illuminated, completely enveloping him and his steed. The destructive flames, once raging at breakneck speed, slowed drastically upon contact with the halo, allowing the steed and the paladin to easily dodge the most intense bursts. Even the remaining flames were half absorbed by the paladin's spells, which he could cast at will.

The remaining heat was just enough to ignite his shirt.

The middle-aged man seemed oblivious to the flames and smiled faintly, "It's no wonder I took off my armor so deliberately—my enemy finally failed to recognize me at first sight and fled in panic a few hundred meters away."

The middle-aged man seemed to be still standing there without moving, but the heart-wrenching pain had already penetrated the Red Dragon's heart.

A long sword mark had appeared on the red dragon's right wing at some point. The seemingly plain giant sword suddenly burst out with terrifying magic power the moment it hit the dragon's wing. The whistling magic storm swept over the druid's body, and the powerful red dragon's body slowly dissipated in the air like a phantom.

——Also dissipated were all the protective spells that the druid had prepared for himself.

Shapeshifting is certainly one of the most powerful spells in the world, but like other persistent spells, it still has a fatal weakness: it has a time limit and can be dispelled.

And that giant sword just happened to have the power to dispel magic—

It is the most feared nemesis of spellcasters and the most famous and powerful holy sword of the paladins. This holy sword, called the Holy Avenger, is so rare that countless heroic stories are passed down for each one that remains in the world.

In Faerûn today, the most famous Holy Avenger is called the Cassomir. Its owner was Aberdair Adrian, a paladin known throughout Faerûn as the Son of Bhaal.

Dragons, sons of gods, red wizards, drow, beholders, mind flayers - perhaps all the evil monsters and evildoers in Faerun have relatives who died under this sword.

Of course, Shadow Druid is also among them.

A hundred years ago, the Son of Bhaal represented the offspring of Bhaal, the god of murder, and represented the unstable factors that endangered Faerûn. Today, the Son of Bhaal has become a nickname for a certain paladin, almost referring to him alone.

With one strike, he dispelled all the spells on the druid. Then, without hesitation, the paladin pierced the druid's heart with his second strike.

At this moment, the old druid struggled to grab the small bag at his waist. The next second, the holy sword was empty.

The druid's figure suddenly disappeared from where he was.

The paladin stared at the blood-stained holy sword in astonishment and couldn't help but gasp, "This world is truly full of strange and bizarre things!"

He could no longer care about anything else. He jumped off the wall and rushed into the castle's basement like a whirlwind: "Brother Mirror Shadow! I couldn't kill that Shadow Druid. He got away! I have to chase him immediately!"

"Oh, by the way, please find Miss Pastor and contact those two guys! I'm about to leave!"

He didn't even bother to hear a response, he immediately jumped onto his warhorse and shouted to his mount, "Alright guys, let's get going now! If we're too late, we'll just have to collect the bodies of those two guys!"

"If nothing unexpected happens, the Shadow Druid should have gone to the Sharptooth Forest! Let's go straight to the tallest tree in the forest!"

The mount was now licking its own charred mane and grunted in dissatisfaction.

Then, the thick mane on the sides of the tall warhorse trembled slightly, and then broad wings spread out from the sides of the warhorse.

It is not a war horse, but a noble Pegasus.

The Pegasus sprinted quickly across the open space, then raised its body high and galloped towards the east with the shouting paladin.

Author's Note: In the official canon, the Son of Bhaal is a pure warrior. And his power level is... quite hard to describe. The Son of Bhaal in this book is the character Chanem, used by the author in Baldur's Gate, a regular pure-class paladin. However, his faith is set to Mystra for story purposes.

Author's Note 2: As you can see, this book takes place approximately a hundred years after the ending of Baldur's Gate II, with Chanem choosing the mortal path. This is essentially a perfect ending. However, some of this storyline draws upon unofficial history, becoming a key thread in the book, which I won't elaborate on here. Furthermore, this storyline is also closely tied to the protagonist, who remains independent of any particular storyline.

Forty Shadows Begin

Emilia made the final stroke on the parchment, bringing to an end several hours of painstaking thought.

Reading, understanding, researching, learning, experimenting, correcting... Now that an extremely long day is coming to an end, Emilia finally dares to say that she has learned the force field wall.

Thinking of this, he glanced at the instruction book of more than a hundred pages and couldn't help but raise his eyebrows.

Before he had time to learn all four rings given by the teacher, new academic pressure was added to his shoulders.

It takes him eight hours to learn a fourth-level spell.

The Fifth Ring Road takes ten hours.

Even if he didn't get the new spellbook, he would probably have to work non-stop for several weeks just to copy the existing spellbooks... and maybe even that wouldn't be enough.

At this moment, Yin's voice rang out without warning, filled with regret: "Are you not going to continue studying?"

The sudden sound startled Emiya, and he turned his head sharply, only then did he realize that Yin had been sitting not far from him. He had been immersed in the world of the magic network and had not noticed it for several hours.

"I've been sitting for hours straight, so I need a break." Emiya sat down to the side and stretched her shoulders. "By the way, what did you mean by that? I didn't quite understand."

"Hmm?" Yin blinked and tapped his lips with his finger, recalling what he had just said. Then, suddenly realizing, he said, "Ah, I just wanted to say that I like the focused expression on your face when you're copying spell books."

"Excuse me for asking...but what's your favorite part of liking someone?"

"Hmm?" Silver tilted his head, taking a moment to process what Emiya was saying, then answered without hesitation, "Copying spellbooks, of course. I never get tired of watching knowledge transfer from one mind to another. What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Emilia replied unhappily.

I understand. Although this guy looks like a beautiful young girl, he is actually a 1000% magic fanatic. He absolutely does not believe that a teenage girl can develop such a personality and hobby.

The innocence she occasionally revealed was not so much naive as it was ignorant of the world - or perhaps it was the ability to put all worldly affairs behind her... maybe it was too much to say that she was fanatical, at least she could be called obsessed.

Emiya shook her head and put the two books into the dimensional hole.

Although he was confident that his will was strong, unfortunately, the mental and physical exhaustion could not be overcome by willpower alone.

He had just stood up and was about to walk out of the tree house to rest when the direct communication of the short message technique sounded in his mind in a rather rude way.

The person who sent the text message was the only priest of the Friendly Arm, a servant of Galshanjin.

[The remaining paladin fought with the shadow druid and won but failed to kill him.]

The nature of the spell allowed Emilia to immediately recognize the identity of the sender.

This thunderous news instantly dispelled all the tiredness in Emilia's mind.

During this period of time, Korha's whereabouts have been the sword of Damocles hanging over their heads - the archdruid may appear at any time and anywhere, wherever they least want him to be.

And his appearance is likely to overwhelm the fragile balance of combat power.

Although short messaging allows for communication across space, the number of words is limited.