The Greatest Archmage To Have Ever Lived [OP MC, LitRPG]

Sael stared out at the passing countryside without really seeing it, his mind occupied with the implications of what the professor had revealed. An avatar. They weren't just trying to tear open a rift and let the Primordial flood through in its raw, chaotic form; they wanted to give it a physical anchor in this world. A body it could inhabit, through which it could exert its will with precision rather than the mindless hunger that characterized most Corruption manifestations.

That changed things.

A Primordial with focused intent, and the ability to plan and strategize rather than simply consume... the Battle of Yrsult would look like a minor skirmish by comparison. And if they'd been working toward this for years, possibly decades, then the infrastructure had to be extensive. Cells scattered across multiple cities, maybe multiple kingdoms.

He'd purged two so far in Orlys and the mines of Marrix. How many more were out there? Ten? Twenty? A hundred?

And somewhere among all those infected, there was someone the Corruption had deemed suitable and whose body could withstand the strain of housing a Primordial's essence.

Finding that person before the summoning occurred was—

The cart hit a rut in the road, jostling everyone inside.

Sael barely noticed. They were heading to deal with the merchant he'd encountered a few days ago, the one who'd tried to sell him that suspiciously enchanted amulet. He'd deal with them the same way he'd dealt with the professor: beat them nearly to death and purge the Corruption.

Would they have answers? Leads on the avatar's identity, or the locations of other cells?

Probably not. The compartmentalization seemed deliberate, designed to prevent exactly the kind of intelligence gathering he was attempting. Each corrupted individual knew only their immediate circle, their specific directives. The network protected itself through isolation.

Which made this slow. Painfully slow, for what he was now racing against.

"Archmage."

Richter's voice cut through his thoughts.

Sael blinked, pulling his attention back to the present. The Duke was watching him with concern and wariness.

"You've been very quiet ever since we got back in the cart," Richter said. His tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of unease. "What happened back there with the professor... is everything alright?"

Sael realized, belatedly, that he'd been sitting perfectly still for the entire ride, staring at nothing, his expression probably somewhere between grim and murderous as he worked through the strategic implications.

...That must have looked somewhat threatening.