Leylin rode through the outer vicinity of Abyssal Bone Forest Academy, the black steed beneath him moving with a steady, silent gait, its hooves barely stirring the ash-laden earth.
After entering the outer vicinity, Leylin canceled the summoning and decided to walk for the rest of the journey.
The surrounding forests, once dense and teeming with life, lay in ruin more than half reduced to a scarred wasteland. (Image)
The ground bore the marks of war: gaping holes and shallow depressions pocked the soil, remnants of explosive spells and desperate struggles.
In the distance, patches of earth glead an unnatural white, strewn with rubble and ashes that whispered of the academy's bitter battle. The air carried a faint tang of charred wood and lingering magic, a somber testant to the chaos that had unfolded here.
After a dozen minutes along the winding path, a massive graveyard lood into view—the underground entrance to Abyssal Bone Forest Academy.
The granite tombstones, once solemn and orderly, were now a fractured tableau; half lay shattered, their jagged edges jutting from the ground like broken teeth, while others had been uprooted entirely, exposing dark passages beneath.
The stone walls and surrounding mud bore the scars of spellcraft—scorched streaks, pitted craters, and faint traces of radiant energy that triggered the A.I. Chip's incessant warnings:
[High radiation detected. Residual spell traces exceed safety thresholds.]
Leylin's eyes narrowed as walked forward, the oppressive silence broken only by the soft clink of his shoes.
Passing the main entrance, he encountered the Granite Ape—a guardian spirit of official Magus strength, its hulking form carved from stone, eyes glowing faintly with arcane light. (Image)
Leylin presented his acolyte credentials to the Granite Ape, afterwards entering the trading post to register the completion of his mission.
The academy's halls stretched before him, gloomy and foreboding, their shadowed corridors echoing with an ominous stillness.
The faces he'd once known from Chernobyl Islands—Kawlier, Ryan, Beirut, Guricha, Dodoria were gone, claid by the war's unrelenting maw. The realization stirred no sentint in him, only a cold acknowledgnt of the Magus world's brutal arithtic.
He made his way to et Kroft, his ntor, navigating the labyrinthine passages lined with cracked stone and flickering torches.
The eting was perfunctory, held in Kroft's cluttered study a room of sagging shelves, alchemical apparatus, and the faint scent of herbs.
Kroft, a wiry man with greying hair and a perpetual frown, offered little of consequence. As a scion of the Leslie family a minor Magus lineage with no ditation techniques of note he suggested the path of Grine Water and Rank 1 spell models for Leylin's advancent, a rote prescription for official Magus status.
Leylin, now ard with an advanced ditation technique reaching Rank 3 potential, masked his amusent with a polite smile, his fingers tracing the edge of a potion vial on the desk.
He purchased as many formulas as his funds allowed, the clink of magic crystals punctuating their exchange, then left to prepare for the looming bloodbath.
Back in his room a spartan chamber with a narrow bed, a scarred wooden desk, and no window Leylin reclined, the Cross-shaped Fallen Star Pendant dangling from his hand. Its cool tal glead faintly in the candlelight, a reassuring weight against his palm.
"With this, my defense is ironclad," he murmured, his voice a low hum in the quiet.
"The A.I. Chip's optimized the Rank 1 spells I've studied, forging potent Rank 0 variants." His raw strength eclipsed any acolyte's, rendering the bloodbath a minor hurdle.
His true aim crystallized: cripple Jayden in the chaos, leveraging the injury to barter with Dorotte for the Branded Swordsman journal.
Thousands of years ago, the southern continent's Magisteriums had forged a pact, restricting official Magus advancent to maintain control. Guilds and families swore secrecy, hoarding knowledge save for what lay in historical remnants, perilous troves guarded by nature's wrath or ancient traps.
Dorotte had unearthed such a script, its secrets propelling him to Magus rank. He guarded it fiercely, a treasure born of blood and peril, yet his bond with Jayden his prized apprentice offered a chink in that armor.
In the Bloodbath after Jayden's maiming, Dorotte had traded the Flourishing Flower a rare bloom with regenerative powers and a fortune in crystals to nd him.
Leylin intended to use this knowledge, both literal and figurative, to secure his prize.
"A.I. Chip, display my stats," he commanded, settling deeper into the bed's creaking fra.
[Leylin Farlier: Grand Knight. Level 3 Acolyte. Summons (4)—Great Withering Mankestre, Black Horrall Snake, Black Steed, Level 3 Acolyte. Strength: 8.5, Agility: 7.1, Vitality: 7.0, Spiritual Force: 15.4. Magical Power: 15. Status: Healthy.]
"My strength outstrips Feng's as a fresh Rank 1 Warlock," he noted, recalling the original stats for comparison: [Strength: 7.1, Agility: 6.7, Vitality: 8.5, Spiritual Force: 27.9].
"Yet spiritual force is the Magus's crux. Even the weakest official Magus could crush the mightiest acolyte. The qualitative leap post-breakthrough is a chasm my edge over other acolytes is absolute, but against a Magus, I'm still wanting."
Spiritual force defined the Magus hierarchy, its quality an unbridgeable divide between ranks. A Rank 3 Magus, no matter how formidable, would fall before a Rank 4's might a law as immutable as the earth beneath.
"The way of the Magus reigns supre, rivaled only by gods," Leylin whispered, his fingers tightening around the pendant.
Dong Dong Dong! A patterned knock jolted him from his reverie. He glanced at the door—Bicky, no doubt, pestering him about the potioneering competition again. Kroft had excused him at his request, but her persistence grated.
He ignored it, her sweet but gullible nature—fixated on fellow acolyte Fayle, willingness to cheat on her fiancé holding no appeal.
The bloodbath would forge her, or break her; Leylin cared little either way. His own path demanded focus, not charity.
.....
The sky hung heavy with grey clouds, a drizzle pattering against the wild grasses of the academy's outer field.
Acolytes in grey robes crowded the expanse, their faces solemn, eyes glinting with viciousness or hollow vacancy. Before them stood official Magi in black and white robes, their presence a silent weight.
Leylin lingered at the crowd's edge, his profile low, stealing glances at the professors.
At their forefront lood Chairman Siley a hulking figure in black, his bald head gleaming faintly, energy waves rippling from him that slowed Leylin's spiritual force like molasses.
A Rank 2 Magus, his power dwarfed all present. Leylin refrained from scanning him the A.I. Chip couldn't pierce even a Rank 1's defenses, let alone Siley's.
The field was a graveyard of silence, rodents and lizards long fled, sensing the storm to co.
"So it begins," Leylin murmured, spotting familiar faces—Bicky, rlin, Nyssa, Jayden. Jayden stood at the fore, his face gaunt, dark circles ringing his eyes, a man teetering on collapse. Nyssa, warped by her professor's experints, hulked at the rear, her swollen form draped in a black veil, reeking of pus.
Bicky and rlin whispered together, her forced smile catching Leylin's eye—a gesture he t with indifference.
"They're here!" A ripple of unease swept the acolytes as a black dot appeared on the horizon, swelling into a giant Abyss Steeled-Back Beetle. Its eight legs, each a dozen ters long, thudded against the earth, compound eyes glaring down. (Image)
[Target shielded by defensive barrier. Rank 1 Magus classification. Host advised to maintain distance.] The A.I. Chip's warning buzzed as yellowish-green saliva dripped from the beetle's maw, corroding a pit in the ground.
Acolytes recoiled, faces paling, until a professor snapped, "Silence!"
A white-robed Magus middle-aged, white-browed leapt from the beetle, taunting Siley with a laugh. "Your acolytes fear my pet—hardly a good sign!"
Siley's cold harrumph unleashed a formless wave, drawing cries from the beetle's passengers. The white-browed Guru, chairman of Sage Gotham's Hut, bristled, his brows reddening, but a whizzing sound interrupted a winged carriage descended, piloted by condors.
A golden-haired woman erged, her voice sharp: "Guru, stop! We've signed an agreent!" The tension broke, both chairn retreating.
Acolytes from Sage Gotham's Hut and Whitewoods Castle disembarked—mostly Level 3s, a few Level 2s, no Level 1s. Abyssal Bone Forest's forces, forced to field all ranks, faced a grim disadvantage.
"This will gut the academy," Leylin thought, licking his lips as excitent stirred. His focus sharpened Jayden's injury, Dorotte's journal, and the bloodbath's spoils awaited.
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