In the depths of the mist, he saw a familiar figure.
It was Trish, but she looked in an extremely terrible state.
Her whole being seemed like a semi-transparent ghost, her body constantly oscillating between reality and void, as if she might completely fade away at any moment.
She seemed to sense the gaze, turning her head in Ron’s direction.
Those eyes, once filled with vitality, now held only deep despair and a silent plea for help.
Her lips moved silently as if she was saying something, but no sound could be heard.
Ron tried to enhance the energy output of the crystal orb, hoping to establish a more stable connection.
But the image soon began to fracture, like a piece of paper being torn apart by an invisible giant hand, eventually fading completely into the void.
The crystal orb returned to tranquility, though its surface glow became even fainter.
"They are still alive... in a sense."
Ron gazed intently at the crystal orb in his hand and began a calm analysis:
"But they are trapped in some kind of forgotten space, liable to vanish at any time."
He tried to use the orb to trace the exact location of the alternate space, but the information was extremely limited.
He could only determine that it was a far-off other plane, likely the internal space of some Hall of Oblivion.
With his current capabilities, there was no possibility of attempting a rescue.
Even a Moonlight Level Mage, in the face of the Land of Oblivion, can mostly only flee.
To effectively counteract such "existence erasure" forces, it would require at least Dark Sun level power, specialized defensive measures, and ample preparation.
Ron quietly stared at the crystal orb, conducting a precise cost-benefit analysis in his mind.
From a purely rational perspective, the lives of Trish and Corina were indeed of limited relevance to him.
Although they had maintained a good relationship during their time at the Black Mist School, it was far from life-or-death depth.
Undertaking enormous risks to save them didn’t make sense from a profit-maximizing standpoint.
Moreover, even if he did attempt a rescue recklessly, the probability of success was minuscule.
The horrors of the Land of Oblivion require even experienced Great Wizards to act cautiously.
Acting rashly would only jeopardize himself in the same danger.
On the other hand, Trish was one of his few friends from the Black Mist School.
Though not a deep friendship, at least it was a memorable bond.
If conditions permitted, attempting a rescue could be considered.
The key lies in the words "if conditions permit".
"When I have enough strength, I will consider the possibility of rescue."
Ron finally decided, carefully placing the crystal orb back into its protective case:
"Until then, they’ll just have to continue waiting. If during this time they completely fade away... then it can only be said to be a twist of fate."
This cold calculation might seem ruthless, but it’s Ron’s usual way of operating.
He never makes irrational decisions out of emotional impulse.
Every choice must be based on objective risk assessment and benefit analysis.
Such rationality is not cold-blooded, but a kind of deep wisdom.
He knows clearly that only by becoming strong enough can he truly protect those worth protecting.
Blind sacrifices and impulsive actions would only perpetuate the tragedy.
After resealing the orb, Ron devoted himself entirely to his own growth.
Only by becoming stronger can he face the myriad challenges of the future.
Whether it’s the threat of the Conquest Faction, the allure of the Abyss, or those old friends awaiting rescue...
All require a stronger foundation of power.
......
In the East Wing of the Crystal Tower, the last rays of the setting sun cast through the stained glass window onto the stone lectern inside the Enchantment classroom.
Frederick Levin slowly put away the rune pen used for teaching, his gaze sweeping over the empty classroom.
The seats that had been full just moments ago now had only a few scattered apprentices tidying their notes and tools; most had left in a hurry.
As an experienced enchanter with decades of teaching under his belt, Frederick was long accustomed to this phenomenon.
Enchantment was never a popular course.
Compared to the practicality of Magic Potion Making and the directness of Alchemy, Enchantment requires an extremely high degree of precision in spiritual power control and a deep understanding of the rune system.
Most apprentices quit after a few months due to slow progress.
"Again, it’s like this..."
Frederick sighed inwardly, feeling the minuscule feedback of favor within himself.
An entire month of intensive teaching, thirty-two meticulously prepared hours, yielded such meager returns.
The number of students who truly understood the core principles he imparted was probably less than a tenth.
He could feel the feedback coming from the students: confusion, frustration, annoyance, and complaints about the course’s difficulty.
These negative emotions pricked at his heart like needles, reminding him that the teaching outcomes were less than satisfactory.
"Blockheads, a bunch of blockheads."
Frederick shook his head with a bitter smile, beginning to tidy up the scattered teaching tools on the lectern.
The carefully crafted rune models, the example tools prepared with great effort, all seemed like dull decorations in the eyes of the students.
But he knew too that it wasn’t the students’ fault.
Enchantment is indeed one of the most demanding disciplines in wizardry.