Raymond led the group to the living quarters, a tower made entirely of gray-white crystal rock, six stories high, with a minimalist design devoid of decoration, except for a hexagram array plate slowly rotating atop the tower, its starlight occasionally flickering as if resonating with so distant existence.
"One room per person." Raymond stood before the tower, his voice low, "The rooms will automatically activate according to your spiritual power characteristics. Once inside, curb your curiosity and avoid trying to forcefully crack the various witch arrays inside, or you will be directly transported out of the Central Islands."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the group: "Tomorrow morning at the first light of dawn, the tower’s main door will open a path to the auditorium. Those who are late will be automatically disqualified."
Duke received a silver key engraved with the number "X-7." As soon as his fingertip touched it, the key transford into specks of light and rged into his palm.
He ascended the spiral staircase, his steps steady.
The seventh floor, at the end of the corridor.
He pushed open the door, and instead of a room, he was greeted by an entire world.
Above was a vast starry sky, the Milky Way like a ribbon, stars circling as if ti were frozen here.
In the distance, snow-capped mountains towered, forest waves undulated, and a pebble path extended from the door, leading to a small house constructed of wood and crystal.
The wind passed through the treetops, bringing scents of pine and ancient moss.
This was no illusion.
Duke crouched down, his fingertips brushing the ground.
The soil was moist, the stones had edges, and he could even feel the faint magical pulses underground—this was a real ecological system compressed into a spatial witch array.
Duke stood still for a mont, then stepped onto the pebble path.
His footsteps were light, yet amplified by the silence of the night to an exceptional clarity.
So small animals were startled in the bushes on either side, rustling before quickly settling back into calm.
He pushed open the house door, finding the furnishings inside almost austere in their simplicity, yet exuding an unmistakable sense of comfort through design.
A sufficiently wide desk stood by the window, already equipped with paper, pen, and an alchemy lamp that never extinguishes.
In the fireplace, flas jumped quietly, beside it a rocking chair and a low table, with a bedroom upstairs whose softness begged one to lie down imdiately, and opening the window offered a view of the distant outlines of snow mountains.
...
The next morning.
A gentle golden light beam pierced through the bedroom window, landing before Duke.
This was the council’s so-called guiding light, a directional magic that directly acts on vision and perception without any dium; simply follow it forward.
He perford a simple wash, donned his formal wizard robe, and stepped outside.
Following the direction of the guiding light, passing through several light gate barriers, and across a few sky bridges of varying styles, Duke arrived at Zone 7’s central building after about a quarter hour. It was a hall entirely constructed of gray-white giant stone, resembling an inverted giant bell.
The hall’s main door, about ten yards high, was open at this mont.
Outside the door, dozens of young wizards had already gathered, conversing in low voices in small groups.
Duke saw Leon and Vera standing together, surrounded by several students from White Cliff Academy.
Adrian was engaged with several young witches from Star Tower, responding politely to sothing, while Morris stood alone in the shadow of the porch, still silent.
Samuel stood at the outermost edge, at least five paces away from everyone else.
Today he wore a formal robe of deep black with silver edges, the vertical mark on his brow temporarily obscured by so thod, leaving only a very faint trace.
Noticing Duke’s gaze, he slightly turned his head, their eyes eting in mid-air before he looked away.
Duke did not approach anyone. He chose a spot neither too forward nor too back, standing quietly.
Lis arrived at so point too, standing on the edge of the crowd, her gaze scrutinizing the surrounded geniuses montarily, then silently moving beside Duke, maintaining a distance of three steps—not too close to be ignored but not too distant either.
Monts later, a long, deep chi of the bell emanated from within the hall.
Everyone simultaneously fell silent, filing inside.
The hall’s interior was even grander than its exterior, the do so high as to be nearly unreachable, replaced by a flowing, seemingly alive projection of the starry sky.
Twelve massive pillars lined the sides, each carved with different historical scenes: plane expansion, council founding, abyss wars, the discovery of the Book of Truth... those figures vividly depicted, as if about to step out from the stone walls at any mont.
Directly ahead was a podium atop a tier of level 3 steps.
The wall behind the podium displayed six large badges, representing the individual forces of the Wizard Council’s six level 6 mages.
At the central most point was a silver-white spiral emblem, the personal mark of Albert.
No excessive decoration, no ostentatious extravagance. Yet the sense of solemnity that has accumulated over thousands of years was more awe-inspiring than any lavish display.
The young wizards stood in their designated areas according to their respective forces and continents.
The West Coast was arranged in the third row on the left side, a position not prominent but certainly not unnoticeable.
Then, a figure slowly entered from the side door.
It was an old man, with white hair and beard, yet not appearing frail.
His figure was lean, dressed in a plain gray robe without any decoration, wearing only a small, silver-white spiral emblem at his chest.
His steps were unhurried, but each one seed to tread on the very rhythm of ti itself.
It was not oppressive, but naturally possessing a solemnity that made everyone hold their breath with focus.
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