SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

Chapter 984: The Well of Forgotten Truths

The shining gate behind the Third Wisdom dissolved into flickering particles as Kent stepped forward. The golden glow of the mirror had faded, leaving behind a new silence, one that felt deeper, older, more unknowable. The path ahead was dim, carved of ancient coral stone that pulsed faintly with life, guiding him to what he thought would be the final chamber.

But instead, it led to a clearing — an immense circular hollow carved within the ocean bed. In the center stood a well.

The well was ancient. Its stones were mossed over, engraved with forgotten script that pulsed with divine light. And beside it stood an old man — cloaked in rags, holding a thick, ocean-blue book tight against his chest. His long silver hair floated like seaweed in the water, his eyes clouded and unreadable.

Kent stepped forward.

“You’ve come far,” the old man said, his voice hollow, as if borrowed from another world.

Kent bowed slightly. “I seek the Sea God Legacy. I’ve crossed the Three Wisdoms.”

The old man smiled, lines deepening on his weathered face. “Then you must descend. The legacy you seek… lies within this well.”

Kent blinked. “Inside the well?”

The old man simply nodded.

There were no further riddles. No barriers. No warnings.

No doubt.

Without hesitation, Kent stepped onto the well’s edge — and jumped.

Darkness swallowed him. There was no falling — only sinking. Deeper and deeper, as if time slowed around him. He drifted through the void, then his consciousness began to fade. A sleep, deeper than all sleeps, overcame him.

Until…

Light. Blurry.

Pain.

A woman’s sobbing.

Kent stirred. Something was wrong. He wasn’t underwater anymore. He wasn’t himself. He felt… smaller?

As he sat up with a groan, the woman beside him let out a gasp and shrieked, scrambling back, knocking over a ceramic jar.

“G-Ghost! Ghost!”

Kent rubbed his temples. “Your mother is a ghost! Shut up!”

The woman froze, blinking. Her wide eyes locked onto his.

He looked around.

He was lying on a rough wooden bed inside a crumbling stone cottage. Smoke curled from a broken stove. A bucket leaked in the corner. It smelled of damp hay and bitter herbs.

Kent stood up, groaning. His body felt alien — thinner arms, weak legs. He moved to a broken mirror, and when he looked into it, he gasped.

He wasn’t himself.

He was someone else.

His hair was black instead of golden, and his eyes dull brown. His face was handsome but malnourished, with a faint scar on the cheek.

What kind of trial is this?

Kent took a breath. “This is still the trial. A test inside a dream. Or memory. Or… something.”

The maid was still staring at him, frozen in fear and awe.

“Who am I?” Kent asked quietly.

The maid gasped again. “Y-Young Master Philip… you’re awake…! The gods… they really answered my prayers!”

Philip.

That was the name of this body.

Within an hour, chaos erupted in the manor of the Salt family.

A messenger sprinted through the muddy roads. Horses neighed. Doors slammed. The cry echoed through the courtyard:

“Young Master Philip has returned from death!”

The manor itself was grand — three stories of blackwood and saltstone built into a seaside cliff. Salt banners flapped in the wind. Soldiers lined the walls. Servants rushed in confusion.

Kent was escorted into the hall by the maid and two trembling guards.

Inside the great hall sat a dozen nobles — men and women dressed in embroidered robes of salt-grey and sea-blue. At the center stood an imposing man with a square jaw and stern eyes — the Salt Patriarch, and apparently, Kent’s “father.”

The room went still.

“…Philip?” the patriarch asked, disbelief in his voice.

Kent bowed slightly, careful not to speak too soon.

“You were dead,” said a cold voice. A young man stepped forward — Kent recognized the venom instantly. This was a rival. “I saw your corpse myself.”

Kent gave him a flat look. “Then either you lied, or your eyes were too stupid to tell the difference between sleep and death.”

The gathered nobles gasped.

The patriarch’s eyes narrowed. “Where have you been, boy? How are you standing here now?”

Kent took a breath. “I don’t remember. There’s a fog in my mind. But… I feel different. Like something ancient touched me. Perhaps the gods gave me a second chance.”

Whispers broke out among the elders. Some looked horrified. Others terrified.

“Why now?” one muttered. “Why after the inheritance was passed?”

Kent’s ears perked. Inheritance?

Another noble spoke. “We held a funeral. Moved on. Leon was declared the heir.”

Ah. So the rival had taken his place.

Kent’s eyes fell on the younger man who had spoken earlier — Leon Salt, perhaps a brother or cousin. The tension in his body, the clenched fists… he wasn’t happy to see Kent alive.

The patriarch waved his hand. “Enough. My son lives. Whatever the past—”

“—he died dishonorably,” Leon cut in. “Fell in the street from a sickness no healer could name. Your body is filled with filth of cheap women. You tarnished family reputation by publicly raping the Han family daughter. There was no sign of divine will then. Why now? This is not the will of the Sea Ancestors.”

Kent raised an eyebrow. “Careful, cousin. The gods may strike twice.”

Leon’s face darkened.

The patriarch turned to Kent. “You will rest. You will be watched. And the priests shall test your spirit. If this is truly a second life, you must prove it.”

Kent was escorted to a separate guest house. A silent guard stood outside.

Inside, he sat quietly on the bed, piecing it together.

This trial was different. No battles. No beasts.

A role to play. A mystery to solve.

Who was Philip Salt? Why was he killed? What legacy must be corrected?

And what truth lay at the bottom of this illusion?

Kent looked out of the window. The sea in the distance shimmered. And in its light, something stirred in him — a promise from the Sea God Legacy.

This was only the beginning.

–

Tq~!