Chapter 148: Hussein Pays a Visit

As the gem emitted a radiant magical glow, a vast torrent of information instantly flooded into Bowen’s mind.

“Beep! Unknown information detected. Accept data?”

Before the enormous influx could fully enter Bowen’s brain, the chip intercepted it halfway.

Bowen trusted his grandfather would never harm him, but since this kind of “telepathic transmission” might have unknown side effects, he prudently chose to filter the data through the chip.

As the chip processed the gem’s information, Bowen’s face registered surprise—within the gem was a complete spell.

Such a tiny gem contained an immense volume of data. After absorbing the information, the azure gem in Bowen’s hand disintegrated into powder.

He then picked up the remaining gem.

“System, initiate scan!”

Unexpectedly, the usually flawless chip encountered a barrier, unable to extract any data from the gem.

A faint glow emanated from Bowen’s hand. Just as he planned to channel his “Qi” into the gem for probing, a sudden unease stirred deep within him—he sensed that if he persisted, the gem might self-destruct.

Since his perception had surpassed level 10, Bowen not only detected others’ hostility toward him but could also foresee impending danger.

Noticing the anomaly, he immediately halted the chip’s scan, a faint smile curling his lips.

“As expected of Grandfather! Every master alchemist excels in their own domain.”

Through the technique of [Trigger Spell] combined with the hidden data in the gem, Bowen realized it was actually based on a “logical algorithm.”

If he were not a transmigrator, he might never have guessed the count’s true expertise lay in researching magical “intelligence.”

Remarkably, studies into ‘intelligent’ magical items had already begun during this era.

Many believed that Nather’s crowning achievement was the floating city, but that was merely one of its iconic feats.

In fact, Nather’s late-stage black technologies were abundant. Otherwise, after the floating city’s fall, countless races wouldn’t have flocked to scavenge its ruins—including extraterrestrial species and even deities (more on that later).

Intelligent magical artifacts were among these innovations: talking “spellbooks,” sentient magical swords, and so forth.

The gems bore not only bloodline “certifications” but also firewalls set by Bowen’s grandfather. These unknown “logical algorithms” were entirely different from the chip system; without sufficient time and data, the chip struggled to decrypt them.

Forcing a “read” might indeed trigger the self-destruction Bowen had foreseen.

Recognizing the futility, Bowen gave up. Soon, the chip successfully received information from the other gem—another spell.

Two gems, two different magics!

One was the count’s signature six-ring arcane spell: [Chain Lightning]. The other was the [Teleportation Array], which Bowen had long coveted.

Unlike [Teleportation], the [Teleportation Array] was actually a nine-ring spell, though now reduced to five rings due to deliberate suppression.

Bowen’s own [Teleportation] and even the subsequent [Advanced Teleportation] had limited range, whereas the theoretical range of the [Teleportation Array] was infinite. Legend had it that elves, dwarves, and other alien races arrived through such means.

“Seems like Grandfather prepared this gift for me in advance!”

Bowen marveled inwardly. His grandfather had immense faith in him—without the [Teleportation Array], Bowen himself wouldn’t have been confident enough to deduce a six-ring arcane spell.

He then ceased analyzing [Chain Lightning] and shifted focus to the [Teleportation Array]. With its data, Bowen’s six-ring spatial teleportation magic could advance rapidly.

He activated [Teleportation], and amid a burst of light, Bowen vanished from the manor’s laboratory.

Shortly after, the lab doors opened. The elderly steward Walker entered and thoroughly cleaned the entire laboratory...

Bowen had barely returned to the guild when, before he could react, the lab doors were abruptly kicked open from outside, causing his eyelids to twitch involuntarily.

Hussein stormed in, grabbing Bowen and sniffing him urgently.

“Kid, how did you make this?”

The agitated Hussein emitted faint black smoke; his skin resembled cracked earth, glowing red from fissures; his hair blazed like wildfire; his eyes shone like searchlights fixated on Bowen.

Bowen felt blinded by the intensity; had his clothes not been specially made, they’d likely have burned to ashes by now.

“Lord Hussein, Uncle Hussein, please calm down first…”

Seeing Hussein so worked up, Bowen could only soothe him gently. If he could win in a fight, he might have tossed the old rogue off to the Supreme Glacier to cool off.

“Spell potions! I’ve checked thoroughly. The Leyman Guild never recruited spellcasters. Don’t tell me all those potions were made by you guys. I examined each type—they’re virtually identical. That’s impossible. Even the best alchemists produce varying quality batches.”

Bowen had considered this issue initially; if anyone noticed, a simple excuse would suffice.

Unexpectedly, Hussein immediately identified the core problem and descended upon him without allowing room for evasion.

What kind of situation was this? Even supporting characters were so cunning; for a transmigrator like him, survival was truly difficult. Did he lack the fate of a protagonist? In other stories, the hero could claim a pile of dung was a miraculous elixir, and everyone would believe it—why was it ineffective for him?

Before Bowen could respond, an aged, weary voice came from behind.

“Those potions were all brewed by me!”

Hussein’s expression changed; his blazing hair and cracked skin instantly returned to normal. He then smiled and bowed.

“Master Hill! Didn’t expect to meet you here!”

“Oh, a descendant of the Shamsdin family!”

The elf elder’s unkempt appearance was unmistakable.

“Such pure bloodline. I recall once providing a potion for a pure-blooded elemental. Could that have been you?”

“It was me, Master Hill. Hussein still remembers your kindness!” Hussein’s face showed gratitude.

Listening to their exchange, Bowen sighed again. Immortals were truly enviable. For someone who had died once, don’t speak to him about ‘immortality’ being a curse. Bowen had no such sentimental illusions.

After a brief reunion, Hussein spoke.

“I knew it—the boy’s great skill comes from Master Hill.”

Hussein praised, “Since Master Hill brewed these potions, there’s no problem with this batch. The front lines are tense, with frequent attacks from aberrations. We won’t disturb you further.”

With a slight bow, Hussein strode away, casting an intentional glance at Bowen as he left.

The elf elder watched Hussein’s retreating figure and murmured, “Seems I was meddlesome again. I thought he was here to cause trouble.”

“No, that was my oversight—not noticing such an obvious ‘problem.’”

Bowen shook his head wearily. He knew Hussein had uncovered the issue with the spell potions—whether it was their uniform standardization or the fact they could be mass-produced without great quantities, the impact was greater than replicating the “Arcane Garden.”

(PS: Two chapters overdue, will catch up soon.)