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...
A full year had slipped by since Leylin's last venture into the withering woods, the passage of time marked by subtle shifts in his world and within himself.
He stood now in his laboratory, a spacious chamber filled with the faint hum of alchemical apparatus and the sharp scent of reagents.
Leylin had grown taller in that year, his frame stretching to a lean, imposing height. His handsome features had sharpened—rich brown hair fell in disciplined waves over his brow, framing eyes that gleamed with a quiet intensity, dark and piercing like polished obsidian. (Image)
His presence carried an air of calculated confidence, a young man on the cusp of power. Before him, resting on a velvet-lined stand, was a pendant that captivated his gaze.
The Fallen Star Pendant bore a striking resemblance to a silver cross, its surface adorned with a scattering of red and blue diamonds that caught the light in a mesmerizing dance of color. The jewels glimmered faintly, casting prismatic reflections across the lab's stone walls. (Image)
Leylin's lips curved into a satisfied smile as he studied it, his fingers tracing the air just above its surface, as though reluctant to disturb its perfection.
The Fallen Star Pendant was a low-grade magic artifact, rare for its defensive properties.
In a world where attack-oriented artifacts dominated, its value soared—enough to pique the interest of an official Magus. When active, it promised a shield as unyielding as a turtle's shell, capable of withstanding any assault below its threshold until its energy reserves ran dry.
Leylin had poured nearly all his resources into its creation—smashing magic crystals to dust, grinding them into the alloy, and incorporating the potent marrow of the Great Withering Mankestre. The result was this prototype, a testament to his skill and ambition.
Yet, according to the Lowian Academy Teachings, it remained incomplete. The core was forged, the structure sound, but one final step loomed: the spirit awakening.
Leylin glanced at the pendant again, its silver surface glowing with a spectrum of hues under the lab's bright lights. Mysterious patterns etched into the metal twisted and flowed, lending it the appearance of a mystical artwork, both beautiful and arcane.
"The last ingredient is already in my possession," he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. "I need only wait for the right moment to awaken its spirit." His hand turned over, revealing the pendant once more, its jewels sparkling like captured stars.
"A.I. Chip! Display my current stats!" he commanded inwardly.
[Leylin Farlier: Grand Knight. Level 3 Acolyte. Summon—Great Withering Mankestre. Strength: 8.5, Agility: 7.1, Vitality: 7.0, Spiritual Force: 15.1. Magical Power: 15. Status: Healthy.]
The data flashed before his eyes, a private ledger of his progress. Over the past year, Leylin had ignited his life force, ascending to Grand Knight status—a feat that boosted his physical stats significantly, particularly his strength. At not yet seventeen, his achievements were remarkable.
His spiritual force had climbed to 15, a critical threshold for advancing to an official Magus, requiring only a high-grade meditation technique and a Rank 1 spell model to complete the leap.
The academy's summons loomed six months away, and with it, his journey to Dylan Gardens to claim Great Magus Serholm's inheritance.
"I must finish the Fallen Star Pendant," he resolved, his gaze hardening. "It's my edge in the secret plane." He crossed to the adjacent experiment lab, a cluttered space of shelves and worktables laden with tools and ingredients.
From a locked drawer, he withdrew the Confining Spirit Sphere, its dim surface flaring to life as he released the seal. Light spilled forth, illuminating the tiny, worm-like figure of Roman trapped within, his translucent form writhing like a caged insect in amber.
"Roman," Leylin said with a mock sigh, "I've enjoyed our time together, old friend, but it seems we must part ways."
His tone carried no real regret—Roman had served his purpose as a subject for spirit research, and now his utility had reached its end.
The vengeful spirit shuddered, the madness in his eyes giving way to a flicker of clarity. "You… you can't," he stammered, his voice trembling through the crystal.
Leylin ignored him, setting the silver cross beside the sphere on a large oak table scarred with years of use. He gathered his tools—a feather quill, a vial of shimmering ink, a bowl of crushed herbs—and began the ritual.
Dipping the quill, he traced runes across the table's surface, each stroke deliberate and precise. The ink, infused with essence of nightshade and silver dust, flowed smoothly, forming angular symbols that pulsed faintly with energy.
He drew a circle first, its edges sharp and unbroken, then layered it with spiraling glyphs—symbols of binding, containment, and sacrifice. Smaller runes branched off, curling like tendrils, their shapes inspired by ancient texts he'd memorized from the academy. (Image)
As he worked, he chanted in a low, resonant voice: "Vara es tuum, spiritae captus, lumen et tenebrae, vinculum aeternum…" The words, a blend of old Magus dialects, rolled off his tongue, their cadence steady and unhurried.
He sprinkled a pinch of ground mandrake root over the runes, then added a drop of mercury, watching it bead and shimmer atop the ink. The symbols writhed, twisting into a cohesive spell formation that glowed with a dim grey light, casting eerie shadows across the room.
Roman, trapped within the sphere, recoiled as the formation took shape. "No… You can't do this…" His voice quavered, his spectral form pressing against the crystal's inner surface as though seeking escape.
The spirit awakening required a sealed soul brimming with energy—a catalyst to ignite the pendant's power. Roman, a Level 3 Acolyte in life, was ideal.
Once bound, his soul would be eternally imprisoned within the silver cross, condemned to endless torment until the artifact's destruction freed him to dissipate.
Leylin's expression remained impassive as he completed the runes, the final stroke locking the formation in place.
"What bargaining chip do you have left?" he asked, tilting his head as he studied Roman's desperate pleas with mild curiosity.
"I… I'm an alchemist!" Roman blurted, grasping at straws. "I've mastered secrets, skills—let me go, and they're yours!"
Leylin's smile turned cold. "Your knowledge comes from Serholm's book, which I already possess. As for alchemy, I have surpassed you."
"I know a secret about advancing to an official Magus!" Roman pressed, his voice rising. "Something the guilds hide—swear to release me, and I'll tell you!"
"Don't tell me it's a Rank 1 spell model, Grine Water, or an advanced meditation technique," Leylin said dryly, unimpressed.
"You… know of these?" Roman's shock was palpable.
"Or perhaps the Zither Moon Mountain Plains? Dylan Gardens, where Serholm's inheritance lies?" Leylin's tone was mocking now, his patience thinning.
"You…" Roman's fear deepened, his form trembling violently.
"Your time's up, mate," Leylin said with a faint grin, snapping his fingers.
The runes blazed with light, engulfing Roman in a radiant surge. "No! Stop! I have more—stop!" he screamed, his voice cracking with terror as Leylin's intent became undeniable.
Leylin paid no heed, placing the silver cross at the formation's center. The pendant's creation stemmed from a fragmented page in the Lowian Academy Teachings, decrypted by the A.I. Chip and cross-referenced with Serholm's diary.
After advancing to Level 3, he'd invested countless hours and resources—magic crystals, rare ingredients, and his own ingenuity—into this artifact.
Only the spirit awakening remained, a hurdle he'd conquered through a year of soul research on Roman and human subjects alike. Even within Abyssal Bone Forest Academy, no one can rival his expertise in this field—not even some Magi.
He regarded Roman's writhing form with detachment, then recited a cryptic rhyme under his breath:
"Usefulness wanes, cruel hand guides,
Gods ascend where the many subside,
Power forged in the ashes' sprawl,
Rise of one, and fall of all."
The pendant was a trump card for the trials ahead.
Sssii! White smoke billowed from the silver cross, coalescing into a gaping maw lined with jagged teeth. It lunged at Roman, snapping shut with a Ka-cha! The spirit vanished into its jaws, the mouth chewing briefly as though savoring its meal. (Image)
Leylin watched, then began a new incantation: "Shal'veth koru, zentara vum, exthra dolum sae…" The incantation flowed with a cadence that mimicked ancient rites, its rhythm syncing with the shrinking runes.
The formation contracted, its energy funneling into the pendant. The silver cross's patterns deepened, glowing with vibrant hues—crimson, sapphire, and molten gold.
"Seal!" Leylin commanded, pointing at the maw. Pu! It burst like a bubble, releasing threads of white and black vapor that drifted downward.
He intoned a final chant, voice steady: "By Leylin Farlier's will, I bind thee—vital et mors, animus dominus, sigillum eternal."
Biting his finger, he let a droplet of blood fall onto the pendant. The red jewel flared, absorbing it instantly.
Bang! A vortex erupted, swirling around the cross and drawing in the gaseous remnants.
The pendant floated, encased in a sphere of black and white mist, pulsing with latent power.
"Perfect," Leylin said, a thrill in his voice. "The awakening phase is flawless so far."
[Beep! Low-grade magic artifact – Fallen Star Pendant successfully synthesized!][Fallen Star Pendant – Low-grade magic artifact. Main components: Stellar Alloy, Manfayla Rock, Mankestre Bone Marrow…][Physical Defence: 13 degrees, Magical Defence: 15 degrees. Instant activation upon host attack!]
The A.I. Chip's report sent a surge of elation through him. With this, he could shrug off Level 1 and 2 acolyte assaults effortlessly, and paired with defensive potions, even a Level 3 barrage would falter.
Bolstered by his Grand Knight strength, Level 3 Acolyte status, the Mankestre summon, and four loyal knights, his survival odds had soared.
The pendant's cool metal pressed against his skin as he slipped it beneath his collar, hidden from prying eyes. Leylin's path was clear—power beckoned, and he would claim it, piece by meticulous piece.