When the magicians finally understood their situation and gradually quieted down, Lynch waved his hand to lift the force field.

The dwarves looked at this group of magicians with strange eyes. No resident now would consider them a traveling adventuring party, but rather malicious invaders. The kind and simple dwarves couldn't understand why those who could perform beautiful spells, bringing countless laughter and joy, turned out to be the villains who want to drive them from their homes.

But still, no dwarf spoke to these magicians with harsh words. The residents merely watched with unfriendly eyes, crossing their arms and not saying a word to them. This silent scene was very embarrassing for Soraya, who felt like a scurrying rat crossing the street, wishing he could quickly find a hole to crawl into.

Zilvra, along with Soka, was always watching this group as they left the city, and the little angel's bow and arrow never left the string. For any sudden situation, Soka, lacking combat experience, couldn't react immediately, but when it came to obeying Zilvra's command, the little guy was absolutely meticulous.

Lynch refocused his energy on drawing the magic array. This was not a necessary part for the transmission device, but an insurance measure. If Lynch's theory was correct, then the transmission device would obediently comply and take the mage anywhere he wanted to go; but in case something went wrong, Lynch needed sufficient protective measures to avoid having any impact on Dwarf City.

"Don't ever touch those beautiful patterns." An elderly dwarf educated their juniors, "Very likely, lightning and flames will jump out from between those runes, leap onto you, and set your clothes and hair on fire."

Whispering sounds continuously came from behind the mage, but he ignored them completely. For some reason, Lynch entered a perfect trance state, as if everything in the world had faded away except for the ink and quill in his hands and the burgeoning magical power within his chest. His arms moved tirelessly and involuntarily as if controlled by a power of the arcane.

When Zilvra returned, she, like Eryies, looked worriedly at Lynch, who was sweating profusely from his forehead. No matter how they called the mage's name, wanting him to take a break, Lynch was oblivious and still wrote vigorously.

It wasn't until nightfall, when Soka brought food for the second time — although neither the drow nor the Desire Demon ate any — that Lynch finally completed the entire circular magic array.

His body softened, and he sat on the ground gasping for air. However, from his expression, it was a kind of relief and infinite pleasure. He felt he had just completed an astonishing work of art, one that was enough to satisfy his whole life. The magical words seemed like elves, leaping out from some unknown corner deep within Lynch's body, bringing him an entirely new experience.

"Lynch, are you okay?" Zilvra supported the mage, "Your breathing now sounds like a fat sloch beast, and you just carried five hill giants and ran three laps around Ratris City. What's going on?"

"I don't know, maybe I was too focused." Lynch squinted his eyes, comfortably yet somewhat roguishly leaning on Zilvra's shoulder. Suddenly, an inexplicable light flickered in his narrowed eyes. His mouth opened slightly, and his trembling fingers pointed at the magical words in front of him: "This... Did I write this? Impossible!"

Zilvra was not a mage, and no matter what was written on the ground, she couldn't understand it, let alone distinguish any differences. But if any Great Mage came here, they would find that the magic array on the ground didn't belong to any current magical school, being completely constructed with knowledge beyond the existing arcane.

Lynch could only understand a limited part of it, and this was credited to his study of those scrolls about the "Arcane Origin." But he had just learned to call upon the power of the magic origin, and the spells and magic he used were still built on the knowledge he had learned before. Now, the spell in front of him was structured in a way Lynch never truly mastered; it was an ancient Great Arcanist's spell.

Lynch was completely stunned. He didn't know why he could write such things. A sense of fear surged in his heart, entirely replacing the joy from before. He felt as though he was being controlled, or that another soul was buried deep within him. For some reason, "it" borrowed Lynch's hand, writing down these magical words.

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