"Have a good night, Young Miss," the attendants said in unison as they wheeled the trolley away, the plates now emptied of their contents.
Cynthia gave a small nod. "Mhm. I will call if I need anything."
They bowed in acknowledgment before quietly closing the door behind them, leaving Cynthia alone in the dim glow of her study. She turned back toward the table, where a collection of tomes and scrolls lay in organized disarray, awaiting her scrutiny. As she resumed her reading, each passing page drew her deeper into the vast web of knowledge, her focus sharpening with every word.
After what felt like hours, Cynthia finally closed the tome with a soft thud and exhaled, gathering her thoughts. "So now it makes sense," she murmured, fingers drumming against the book's worn cover. "Father was always confident I was a Warlock, and he even taught me a few basic spells… but why did he forbid me from learning the fundamentals until I was fully recognized as one?"
"Master, I believe the answer lies in what you read regarding the Guardian of Oaths and Contracts Draethon," Veseran reasoned, his voice a steady presence in her mind. "It is stated that all Warlocks must undergo a wand ceremony to formally establish their lineage. Given this, it is possible that the Marquis suffered some form of punishment for having taught you even those three spells before you had officially attained your status."
Cynthia's gaze darkened with thought. "Mhm… you may be right. That would also explain why Father always locked himself away after showing me how to construct spells." She leaned back slightly, eyes flickering with newfound understanding. "And it makes even more sense why he only allowed me to observe the construction of simple spells. If he had gone any further, if the constructs had been more complex the backlash he suffered might have been far worse."
"That is a highly probable conclusion," Veseran agreed.
Cynthia sat in contemplation for a moment before shifting the discussion. "I also now understand why Lumenoth High Commissions exist in every territory. Before, I thought my father's explanation was lacking; he only ever told me Lumenoth was an important state but never elaborated."
"The Marquis likely withheld details due to the intimate connection between the Guardian Beast, Draethon, and the Warlocks," Veseran commented. "Since all Warlocks have the potential to serve as ambassadors of the Guardian, Lumenoth holds a status far beyond that of a mere powerful state. It is not a nation to provoke but one to cultivate strong ties with."
"Also, I'm rather interested in knowing how useful you'd be in assisting me with potion craft, alchemy, transmutations, runecraft, and inscription essentially everything we just read about," Cynthia inquired, her curiosity piqued.
"I can significantly reduce the probability of failure by utilizing gauging, precise measurements, scenario modeling, and other analytical methods to optimize your results," Veseran stated matter-of-factly.
Cynthia hummed in acknowledgment, nodding thoughtfully. "I see… but I assume that for you to be truly effective in potion crafting, I'll need to gather herbs for you to analyze or would the Herbology Compendium serve as a sufficient source of information?"
"Both would be beneficial. However, the compiled information must be comprehensive enough to be properly registered and integrated for use in potion crafting," Veseran explained.
Cynthia tapped her fingers against the table. "Then the Book of Herbology should be a good place to start. It's one of the foundational texts used by the Alchemy Association, after all," she reasoned.
She let out a small sigh. "But that will have to wait until the lab is ready. And I'll also need to retrieve that book from the library, which will take some effort. I suppose this can be placed on hold for now."
Setting aside the thought, Cynthia picked up another book from the table. Upon closer inspection, her eyes gleamed with recognition.
"This is a grimoire," she murmured before opening it, her focus sharpening as she began to read the gentle winds brushing against the window pane.
Elsewhere, beneath the bright midday sun, a grand mountain loomed, adorned with majestic buildings built into its rugged slopes. These structures boasted sweeping, curved roofs that stretched skyward, resembling the elegant arc of bird wings or the undulating waves of the sea. The roof tiles, arranged in intricate patterns and painted in vibrant colors, spoke of heritage, status, and tradition. Yet, their beauty was marred by destruction; some buildings lay in ruin, engulfed in flames, while others bore the scars of battle.
The air was thick with the clang of steel, the anguished cries of the wounded, and the distant roar of collapsing structures. Three massive flying ships hovered ominously before the mountain, their hulls bristling with cultivators clad in flowing robes, their swords glinting menacingly as they levitated in formation. They flanked the ships in disciplined ranks, gazing down upon the chaos below with an air of calculated detachment.
At the forefront of the lead ship stood a cultivator clad in black robes embroidered with crimson and gold. His long, silvered hair and beard swayed in the wind, his hands clasped calmly behind his back. Deep wrinkles lined his face, yet his eyes gleamed with an indomitable presence.
"Great Ancestor, the battle is reaching its peak," a voice reported as two cultivators stepped forward, bowing respectfully behind him.
The elder let out a quiet hum, his expression unreadable.
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the depths of the battlefield, aged yet thunderous, imbued with an overwhelming aura.
"Who dares attack my Azure Dragon Sect while this senior was in closed-door cultivation!?"
The sheer force of his words swept across the battlefield like a tidal wave. Many among the attacking force reeled some spat blood, others collapsed unconscious, and more still found their bodies frozen in place, paralyzed for precious moments. The defenders seized the opportunity, cutting down those immobilized by the overwhelming pressure. However, the most formidable of the invaders weathered the onslaught, standing firm.
From a cave nestled atop the highest peak, the owner of the voice emerged a man with hair divided between midnight black and stormy gray, clad in flowing azure robes. His sharp gaze swept across the battlefield before locking onto the lead ship.
The moment his eyes fell upon the elder standing at the helm, they widened in shock.
"Heavenly Demon Sovereign Tenkō Kiryū… why are you here?" he demanded, his voice laced with disbelief.
Tenkō Kiryū, still gazing down impassively, neither hurried nor idle, finally spoke.
"Baek Jegal," he intoned, stroking his long beard with deliberate ease, "it is simply time for this venerable one to extinguish the flame that is the Azure Dragon Sect."