Verdiu swallowed instinctively, a sense of fear welling up inside him that he couldn't put into words.
He didn't even know what he was afraid of. There had been no actual danger—just a single drop of liquid of unknown origin falling from above, yet it made his spine go cold and his pores tighten.
Perhaps it was because the environment here was far too eerie and deathly silent, or perhaps it was because the identity and source of that liquid remained unknown... Verdiu cautiously shifted two steps outward and patiently began to observe.
In the minutes that followed, nothing unusual happened here—no more liquid fell from above.
This led Verdiu to reasonably suspect that a bird had simply flown past, carrying a sea fish or a freshwater fish from the island's streams in its beak, with some slightly viscous liquid having dripped from the fish's surface.
He calmed himself and resumed inspecting the ruins of the telegraph office.
Nearly ten minutes passed before Verdiu confirmed that only the bloodstained traces and crude murals here were related to mysticism and worth studying.
Rather than recklessly collecting the bloodstained soil or attempting to make rubbings of the strange murals, he produced a pure, dreamlike crystal ball from his coat pocket.
As an "Astrologer," he would naturally use his most proficient method to determine whether action was called for.
Cradling the crystal ball in his left hand and running his right hand over its surface, Verdiu entered the state of "astrological divination."
The very next second, the crystal ball blazed with brilliant light.
Crack!
It simply exploded, scattering shards in all directions.
...Verdiu's gaze went rigid, his body rooted to the spot as he failed even to register the pain of shards embedding themselves in his flesh.
"It exploded... It actually exploded..." he whispered to himself, unable to accept what had happened.
The crystal ball fragments lodged in his body did not seem to have pierced through his classical long coat—they fell away one by one without staining a single drop of blood.
Of course, a number of small crystal ball shards remained embedded in Verdiu's jaw and face, creating one small wound after another.
"Who's there?" Verdiu suddenly snapped to attention and turned to look toward the other side.
From the ruins across the way, a figure emerged—it was the rather revealingly dressed woman from the pirate ship.
She had been hidden well enough to avoid Verdiu's detection, but the crystal ball's explosion had startled her into making an excessive and obvious reaction, ruining her stealth.
Verdiu's battered face contorted slightly: "Why are you here?"
The woman raised the corner of her lips and assumed an air of indifference: "This is Bantian Port, not your home. What's stopping me from being here?"
"I was bored, so I got off the ship for a stroll. I was hoping to pick up some jewelry and gemstones in the ruins. Surely there's nothing wrong with that?"
She fired off two rhetorical questions in quick succession, showing no intention of distancing herself from Virdel whatsoever.
Virdel didn't argue with her. He took out the ointment and medical alcohol he'd prepared in advance and began treating the wounds on his face and jaw, placing all the crystal ball shards he'd removed back into his clothing pockets.
He had no desire to leave bloodstains in such an eerie place.
Then Virdel tugged at a decorative element on his classical robe.
It was a "gate"-shaped pattern composed of three rubies, three emeralds, and three diamonds.
Almost instantly, the robe constricted violently, causing the flesh on Virdel's body to bulge out in chunk after chunk.
Just as his bones were about to snap, his figure gradually faded and he vanished from the spot.
Then he "teleported" to a coastal mountain peak outside Bantian Port.
This peak had also collapsed, becoming a ruin of jumbled stones.
As far as Virdel knew, this had once been a place where Bantian residents worshipped the "God of Weather," and it had been a priority target for the Church of Storms to strike.
—After the crystal ball's self-detonation had warned him of an unknown danger hidden within the Bantian telegraph office, Virdel no longer dared to continue exploring there or gather mystical materials. He could only forcibly relocate to his next predetermined destination.
And that had also freed him from the woman's pursuit.
The moment Virdel's figure materialized, he doubled over, gasping for air, as though he had finally recovered from a state of suffocation.
At the same time, Virdel felt a stabbing pain in his right ribs, as though at least one bone had already broken.
After several deep breaths, he gritted his teeth through the pain, sweat beading on his forehead, and walked a few steps forward until he reached the altar marked on his map.
Undoubtedly, the altar had been destroyed. All that remained was a massive, glassified crater that was slightly singed black, with scattered rubble of various shapes piled around it.
The debris bore traces of fire and lightning strikes, more or less prominent.
After surveying the area, Virdel Abraham raised his right hand and swept his sleeve.
A whooshing wind sprang to life, and a number of small rocks were "pushed" aside, revealing the ground beneath them.
This was the "Gust" technique of the "Trickmaster." Virdel used it in place of manual labor, maximizing his own safety.
As the scattered stones "flew" away, Virdel could see the equally blackened ground, with some areas still bearing traces of patterns, designs, and symbols—very fragmentary and incomplete.
Whoosh!
The wind grew more fierce, roaring around Virdel's ears. He looked up toward the sky with considerable surprise.
His wind, which had only been strong enough to move small rocks, had at some point turned into a hurricane, pushing him until he was nearly off-balance.
Virdel immediately saw thick dark clouds gathering high above, as though a violent storm was about to descend.
Although he had heard that Banshee was a "weather museum," he had never imagined the changes would come so abruptly.
For a brief moment, Virdel wondered whether his Wind Gust spell had somehow summoned the storm, or whether his earlier clearing of the altar ruins had triggered some kind of change.
The thought sent cold sweat beading across his forehead.