Dean Tower:
He could picture the chaos it would cause. A confrontation at the border, with Vincent at the center, would spark a political and magical crisis that no one was prepared for. The academy's enemies would seize the opportunity to escalate tensions, and the fragile balance they had worked so hard to maintain would shatter.
"We can't let that happen," Galvin said aloud, more to himself than to the dean, but his resolve was clear.
The dean nodded in agreent. He had anticipated Galvin's response. That's why he had waited for the right mont to bring this task to him.
"We need to act quickly," the dean said, his voice lowering. "I want you to take the lead on this. Your mission is to find an unmonitored route—a way for Vincent to leave the country unnoticed. I trust your instincts, Galvin. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."
Galvin straightened, the weight of the responsibility settling over him. This wasn't just a mission—it was a matter of life and death, not only for Vincent but for the stability of the academy itself. Failure wasn't an option.
"I'll start imdiately," Galvin replied, his voice firm, determination shining in his eyes.
"Okay, you can go now," the dean said, his voice calm but carrying a weight of unspoken trust. His gaze lingered on Galvin, as if silently conveying more than words ever could.
Galvin gave a sharp nod, understanding the gravity of what lay ahead. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the dimly lit office. The heavy wooden door creaked shut behind him, muffling the faint sounds of the academy's daily bustle.
His heart raced, but his steps were steady. The old dean, now alone, leaned back in his chair, his wrinkled fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk. He was certain Galvin would find a way, as he always had. There was sothing about the young man—an inner resolve that reassured the dean, even in the most uncertain of tis.
An hour later, Galvin stood at the academy's gates, flanked by a small group of trusted comrades. They exchanged brief, knowing glances, their faces set with determination. Each of them had been handpicked for this mission, though none truly understood its full scope.
Not yet. As they made their way beyond the towering walls of the academy, whispers spread among those left behind. Most assud they were heading to the borders again, to quell the unrest and maintain the fragile peace.
But only the dean knew the truth—this was no ordinary assignnt. What awaited Galvin and his team was far more dangerous, shrouded in secrecy and peril.
...
Shadow Skull:
The level-8 Wizard, the revered elder of the infamous Shadow Skull, had already dispatched a killer to Sand Rock Country. This was no ordinary assassin.
The killer had been ticulously chosen by the elder himself, sifting through more than a hundred profiles before settling on one. Each candidate had been deadly, but none more notorious, nor more sinister, than the one selected.
Her na was "" Stacie Sharpe"", known in the dark faction as ""Smiling Flower""—a seemingly innocent moniker that belied the horrors associated with her na. Stacie was a level-7 Poison Wizard, a master of death and suffering.
Her magic was as deceptive as her nickna, her power centering around her signature spell: the ""Smiling Poison Flower"".The flowers she conjured were beautiful, their petals soft and radiant—but they carried a poison so potent that even a level-8 Wizard could et their end within monts of exposure.
No cure existed for her poison, not outside of the Shadow Skull, and even within the faction, their antidote was far from perfect. The antidote itself was a closely guarded secret, developed at a trendous cost, and it was made not for the sake of healing others, but as a failsafe. Stacie was far too dangerous, even for her allies.
The antidote was their safeguard, ensuring that should she ever turn her deadly abilities against the Shadow Skull, they would not be left defenseless.
Stacie was a rarity among wizards. Her kind of power, the lethal mastery of poison magic, was exceptionally scarce. The Shadow Skull knew her value and thus reserved her for only the most crucial and perilous missions.
Ordinary tasks were beneath her. The elders had used her talents to devastate their enemies—small factions, dium-sized forces, anyone foolish enough to challenge the Shadow Skull's dominance.
Entire cities had fallen, their populations wiped out in what appeared to be mysterious plagues. Whispers spread that these disasters were the result of long-dormant toxins escaping from ancient ruins or hidden spaces, their origins unknown.
But the truth was far more terrifying. These so-called disasters were not accidents, nor relics from another age. They were the work of a single woman—Stacie Sharpe, the Smiling Flower, whose poison had claid countless lives, leaving behind nothing but confusion and death in her wake.
And now, she was heading for Sand Rock Country, where an even darker mission awaited her. Only the elder of the Shadow Skull knew the true purpose behind her assignnt, and he relished the chaos she would undoubtedly bring.
Currently, Stacie was making her way back from the wasteland that had once been a thriving town. Behind her, a desolate and ruined landscape stretched as far as the eye could see, the remnants of her latest mission. This was not an ancient battlefield from a bygone era, but a once-vibrant, dium-sized town, now obliterated by her deadly poison magic.
The air was thick with a sickly green hue, tinged with darkness. Everything here was decayed, rotting—nature itself had succumbed to her poison. Trees stood twisted and blackened, their leaves crumbled to ash.
The ground was barren, every plant, animal, and insect long since disintegrated. The poison lingered like a curse, refusing to dissipate, making the area a death trap. Any living creature unfortunate enough to enter would turn to dust within seconds, its life force drained by the virulent toxins. The whole place was deadly.
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