As the door creaked open, Varick strode in, and the n within all lowered their heads. Just as he crossed halfway through the room, the n began to trickle out the door, murmuring to themselves. Matters were addressed, and when Sir Varick entered with half a smile on his face, it ant so dreadful news was going to be shared, and not one of them wanted to be caught in the storm.
When the last man left, Varick stood before the desk, and the eerie look on his face was instantly replaced with surprise.
Golden eyes are slightly curved while twiddling with a thin folded paper in between his fingers. A relaxed aura surrounded the man despite being garbed and handsoly noble, sitting back as though there was nothing in the world that could disturb him. Varick felt a bit guilty but cleared his throat to catch the High Lord's attention.
Lord Hercullio's eyes sharpened, and the warm look on his face disintegrated. His gaze lifted.
Varick swallowed, "Almost half of the lords have joined forces to go against the Silver Scepter's power."
Lord Hercullio withdrew his gaze, "They can do nothing. We have Archaen's word."
"The crown prince might change his opinion. The lords are flocked before his doors."
"When have I feared his little tantrums?" Golden eyes deepened. "Let him enjoy the attention. In a few days, the pathfinders will return, and the map will be ours."
Varick furrowed his brows. The Lord sounded quite confident. The map of Helios' pathfinders will cause a stir once it has been created. With it, they will be able to predict the changes in the land and water bodies in Corhan. Helios has exhausted almost half of its treasury in creating this relic. Once the news is released, there will be no doubt the lords will fight over it.
Varick further conveyed the rest of the reports, "The information from Jagra's curse has been extracted."
Hadrian watched as Varick placed so papers on the table surface. The rough sketch of the curse's formation looked like a ssy drawing of rings. The runes were inconceivable, making Hadrian's eyes deepen while he touched his chin thoughtfully.
It was getting on his nerves. A black pool of dark water swirling dangerously, waiting to swallow wandering ships of the night. Even a demon's puppet shouldn't be underestimated. The power from looking at that dreadful formation alone was enough to send chills down one's spine.
"Any progress?" Hercullio spoke deeply.
The man before him shook his head with a sigh, "None at the mont, my Lord."
A deep chuckle sounded sending chills down Varick's spine making him unconsciously straighten his back. Golden eyes rose to et his gaze and their owner spoke with a frown. "Find people who are capable of their job. We have given too much ti for this extraction and it's ti we see so results."
Disheartening.
After he laid bare all his findings, Varick's attention was caught by the thin piece of paper within the golden Lord's fingertips. He hasn't stopped playing with it ever since Varick arrived. What about it caught the High Lord's interest?
Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. He asked slowly, "Is it from Lord Fraunces?"
There was only one certain Lord Fraunces that could catch High Lord Hercullio's full attention. Just as he thought, he saw a corner of the Lord's lips lift. The man did not need to speak for Varick to confirm. His soft expression was more than enough.
Lord Hadrian drew his full attention back to the folded letter and pried the edges open. All of a sudden, a gentle and cool breeze burst from the letter as soon as it unfolded. Varick jumped, startled, while his master remained composed with only his eyebrows lifted slightly.
The mana seems to surround Hadrian's body, seeping soothing energy into his skin, and making all the aches in his body disappear. This surprised Hadrian. It seems a certain young man has turned himself into a wizard.
A chuckle rumbled in Hadrian's chest before he read the contents. Varick curiously observed him, going even as far as craning his head forward to sneak a peek at the writings. When Hadrian glanced at him, he snapped back into place like a bowstring.
"Schedule a eting with Fridal." Lord Hercullio ordered while carefully folding the letter and tucking it in his pocket.
"Right away, my Lord? However, Lord Hyantor is currently busy supervising the armory supply."
"Bring the new wine." An intriguing gleam filled his golden eyes. "He won't say no to the new proposal I have to offer."
.....
Soft white skin is dappled with warm sunlight. The water surrounds every bit of Moulin's body. He feels as light as a feather as his internal energy circulates in a soothing rhythm. The fabric he wears dances around him slowly as though lulling him to sleep.
Suspended within the holy bath, he empties his mind and is drawn into sweet calming slumber. He didn't know when he had found himself standing on a lonely frozen lake. Its vastness dwarfed him significantly, making him feel vulnerable and lost.
The biting cold creeps into his flesh and his moist lashes thicken with ice. Moulin braced himself, shivering.
He has returned to his dreams... and is afraid. He knows how it will end for him.
Feeling the unwanted gaze on him, Moulin closes his eyes and shudders. What should he do?
'Call for him.'
Silver eyes snapped open. The desolate lake vanished and his views were replaced with tall walls of ice surrounding him. Shocked and motionless, he stood gaping and trapped.
But... as he looked closer into the walls, they seed familiar. The thought hit him in an instant making his heart pound.
Ah, how could he forget? During the first weeks of his arrival in this world, the icy cave walls beca a comfort from the dangerous elents he had to face outside the cave. His primitive shelter possessed intriguing glowing walls of ice that illuminated his anxious heart and protected him from the wild. Its beauty imprinted itself into the youth's heart.
But what was he doing here?
The lights inside the walls abruptly dimd swallowed into a single point on the wall behind him. Moulin's heart drumd as he faced the glow hidden behind the thick icy surface.
It pulsed like a beating heart.
The youth stared in a trance, pulled by its hypnotic light and oblivious to his movents. Before he could touch the wall, a strong force pulled him back.
His head broke through the surface of crystal-clear water. Arches of splashes flew in the air as the water rippled, disturbed. Plump water droplets clung to his damp skin and dripped from his long lashes. Moulin breathes heavily, trying to restore his chaotic energy.
"Why did it stop?" He asked as a shadow enshrouds him from behind.
Lady Celeste's slim figure appears from behind him. She lowers her gaze with her hands raised slightly facing the heavens. Her soothing mana surrounds the room, flowing in the air and water. It covers Moulin, drying his skin and assessing the crystal on his chest.
Her eyes glow slightly. "Sothing hindered you from reaching into the depths of your spiritual connection. The reason is difficult to extricate."
Moulin sighed. He rose from the pool and covered his damp clothed body with a robe. The holy bath was a separate realm Lady Celeste had her temple built for herself, housed within a unique celestial key. Of course, the blessed water had no master but only a few were chosen and had the honor to use it.
When both of them left the realm, Moulin changed and t with the High priestess with a somber expression. "I have tried thrice."
"It takes patience to achieve the results you seek." Lady Celeste shook her head.
With a sigh, Moulin spoke. "But ti is the only thing we are running out of."
When Moulin left, Lady Celeste remained staring at the door. The young man was right but the process's altercation was already difficult for his first-ti discerning dreams. However, she found that not only was Moulin capable of flawlessly entering his mindscape, but he was able to control his emotions and thoughts well despite the pressure of crossing the bridge to the spiritual mind. Although... the young man was mostly oblivious of the act.
Bathing and dutifully absorbing the purities of the purified water, he has ntally and physically cleansed his whole being.
The High Priestess gazed at her clasped hands. Truly... as expected for Lord Hercullio's beloved. Ignoring the slight ache in her heart, she began to pray.
.....
In the next few days, Moulin holed himself within the study, studying complex runes from the Book of Orchaedia and writing down intricacies he could not solve by himself. His mind revolved around the spell he had carefully created to use miasma to their advantage. But what would be extrely beneficial to a small base against the evergrowing darkness producing thousands and thousands of monsters and demons?
The darkness outside would not relent, giving forth endless legions of monstrosities, the base needed more than re passive defense. It needed a weapon forged from the very essence of its enemy.
Moulin's thoughts turned to the miasma itself. What if, instead of just repelling it, the spell could change it?
A transmutation glyph, anchored at the heart of the base, could siphon the miasma from the surrounding lands, purging its corruption and converting it into a tangible force. This force could then be wielded—a weapon ford from pure energy, as deadly as the darkness it ca from.
The concept began to coalesce as he started to sketch out the pattern for a siphoning lattice, the net of runes ant to attract and condense the miasma. A containnt shard would be at the center-a gem imbued with purifying properties ant to anchor the energy. From there, the spell could manifest the raw power as material weapons: blazing spears of light, whirling blades, or waves of destructive energy capable of cutting down hordes of monsters in an instant.
His eyes glowed as his thoughts beca a whirlpool of chain reactions, centering around this vague idea growing clear in each minute, in every stroke of his quill.
But it was missing a significant part...
It lacked one important ingredient: a device vigorous and firm enough to ta the change. Without it, the spell was a wild animal that proved uncontrollable and mortal, with energy too strong to be harnessed unless it broke itself; the pattern that the runes traced could direct the process but needed a vessel—sothing to bridge the gap between the crude miasma and its refined form.
His gaze fell upon the page as he leaned back slightly to calm his nerves.
Patience...
He had no choice but to wait.
"You seem quite focused. I wonder what has overtaken your mind?"
The voice sounded abruptly making Moulin jump in his seat in fright. His palm imdiately slamd on the pages and he turned to Lady Calanthe who stared at him in curiousity.
"I-I... was studying." He stuttered. How did he not hear her co in? How long was she standing there?
"I see."
With a smile, Lady Calanthe did not question him further and began to start their sessions. Moulin hurriedly tidied the table and brought over their usual materials.
While stroking her staff, the sorceress calmly watched as Moulin began artificing with the little baubles. Like a diligent student, the young man completed the tests with flying colors. His eyes brightened realizing that the problems he found unsolvable a week before seed much easier to deal with now. A spark of clarity broke through the haze of frustration.
"Splendid..." Lady Calanthe praised while assessing the pretty blossom reborn from the pot of ashes Moulin gave her. "Now tell about Chrysolite."
Moulin froze, "Pardon?"
The sorceress smiled. Although Moulin had carefully hidden his parchnts swiftly, he had underestimated the woman standing before him—an expert in the art of clairvoyance.
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