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...
In the dimly lit basement of his newly acquired manor, Leylin stood hunched over a long black worktable, his hands steady as he delicately carved glowing golden runes onto a pitch-black sword.
The basement, converted into a grand experiment lab, resembled a scholar's dream and an alchemist's paradise. Scrolls and parchment lined the walls, overflowing with arcane formulas and theoretical notations. Shelves groaned under the weight of alchemical tools—glass vials filled with luminescent liquids, jars of preserved rare herbs, and metal contraptions meant for refining magical reagents.
Large oak tables were stacked with different types of feathers—phoenix, griffin, night hawk—each chosen for their mystical properties. Strange runes glowed faintly on the walls, designed to absorb residual energy from experiments and prevent accidental explosions. Dim blue firestones embedded in the ceiling provided the only source of illumination, their eerie glow casting elongated shadows.
But Leylin paid no attention to his surroundings. His focus was solely on the delicate carvings he was etching onto the sword. The black blade, polished to an unnatural sheen, absorbed the light around it, exuding an ominous aura. Each stroke of the carving knife was precise, calculated, the golden engravings taking the shape of a twisted demonic design.
"Umari-Fastfa…"
Leylin whispered in the ancient Byron language, his voice reverberating subtly through the chamber. With the utterance of the incantation, he dipped his fingers into a small crystal vial and flicked a few droplets of thick, purple water onto the blade. The liquid hissed upon contact, evaporating instantly as a thin mist of violet energy swirled around the sword before being absorbed into the carvings.
Leylin wiped the blade with a silk cloth, ensuring no residue remained, before continuing his meticulous work. Each line, each symbol, had to be flawless—one mistake, and the entire rune matrix would be ruined, rendering the artifact useless.
As time passed, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His fingers ached from maintaining precision, but he did not stop. Months of theory, experimentation, and failures had led to this moment.
Once the final stroke was completed, Leylin took a deep breath, setting down the carving knife. He reached for a small glass bottle containing a thick crimson liquid. The moment he uncorked it, the scent of iron filled the air. This was blood—an essential component in finalizing the artifact's activation.
He tilted the bottle carefully, allowing a single drop to fall onto the sword.
The reaction was instantaneous.
A golden glow erupted from the blade, pulsing through the demonic runes like veins carrying life force. The entire sword trembled, emitting a deep hum as its energy stabilized. The glow intensified, then slowly dimmed, settling into an eerie shimmer. The process was complete.
Leylin grinned, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he reached out and grasped the hilt of his creation observing it. (Image)
For months, he had struggled to bridge the gap between rune plates and actual magical artifacts. And now, after relentless effort, he had succeeded. Though the sword was a one-time-use item—capable of unleashing a devastating attack before crumbling—it was still a monumental achievement.
Artifacts of this kind were invaluable to acolytes. In the absence of powerful magic spells, a single-use magic weapon could mean the difference between life and death. This would sell for a fortune.
Leylin took a step back and swung the blade experimentally. Even without activating the runes, he could feel the raw energy contained within the sword. His high-level knight's body instincts tingled in warning, as if the weapon recognized its wielder and was waiting for his command to release its power.
Satisfied, Leylin carefully placed the sword on a velvet-covered display rack. He then exhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders to release the tension that had built up from long hours of strained concentration.
"Finally…" he muttered, stretching his fingers. He had lost track of time during his research, and hunger gnawed at his stomach.
Turning away from the worktable, he glanced around the chaotic state of his laboratory. Wood shavings from rune carvings littered the floor, empty vials were scattered across the tables, and stacks of parchment were in disarray.
With a sigh, he clapped his hands, and a nearby bell chimed softly. Moments later, his old butler, Dicus, entered, bowing respectfully.
"Clean the lab," Leylin ordered casually, dusting off his robe. "And have the kitchen prepare a feast for me. I've been neglecting proper meals for days."
Dicus bowed once again. "As you wish, Young Master."
Just as the butler turned to leave, he hesitated slightly before speaking again.
"There is another matter that requires your attention, Master Leylin."
Leylin raised an eyebrow, waiting. He knows that unless absolutely necessary Butler Dicus wouldn't dare discuss the affairs of manor.
"A banquet invitation," Dicus continued. "You have refused to entertain the previous ones, but this time… it is from Lord Murphy."
Leylin's expression shifted slightly at the name. Murphy was a level 3 acolyte and a scholar of great influence in Extreme Night City. The old man had been of immense help in securing Leylin's residency and access to the magus market. It would be impolite to refuse him outright.
'But why so soon?'
After a brief pause, Leylin nodded. "Very well. Prepare appropriate attire. I will attend."
Dicus bowed in acknowledgment before leaving to make arrangements.
Leylin allowed himself a final glance at the sword on the rack. He had made progress, but this was just the beginning. There were still many paths of alchemy to explore, many runic mysteries to decipher.
And now, it was time to move to the next phase.
...
The brilliant rays of the afternoon sun bathed the city in a golden glow, reflecting off the cobblestone streets and the polished spires of the grand estates. The warmth was comforting but not oppressive, a gentle reminder that despite the looming presence of power and ambition, the world still followed its own course.
Leylin adjusted the cuffs of his ceremonial attire, a dark, well-tailored coat that gave him an air of refined elegance. Unlike his usual practical clothing suited for alchemical experiments, this outfit was chosen for appearances—though he hardly cared for such trivialities. Today, however, was different. (Image)
At his command, the seasoned Knight Abid guided the horse-drawn carriage through the bustling streets of Extreme Night City, weaving between merchants, commoners, and other nobility who were also en route to the City Lord's banquet.
Grand Knight Saeed, meanwhile, had been given a separate task—acquiring high-quality weapons for Leylin's magical artifact research.
The clip-clop of the horses' hooves echoed rhythmically as the carriage approached Murphy's villa, an old but well-maintained estate that carried the weight of history in its aged stones.
Waiting by the grand entrance, Murphy leaned on a black cane, his wrinkled yet noble face alight with a rare expression of joy. His attire, though formal, bore subtle indications of his long-forgotten past as a magician.
"Welcome, my friend!" Murphy greeted, his voice filled with warmth.
Leylin, ever the picture of nobility, bowed slightly in return. His expression was neither overly enthusiastic nor cold—simply the perfect balance of charm and decorum. "My apologies for being a little late," he said smoothly.
Murphy waved a hand dismissively. "The agreed time isn't up yet! I merely stepped out earlier to enjoy the air." With the assistance of his servant, the elderly magician climbed into the carriage.
The ride towards the city center was comfortable, the interior of the carriage lined with plush seating. Outside, the scenery gradually shifted from merchant stalls and craftsmen's workshops to grand estates and the towering city lord's castle.
"City Lord Jackson's banquet is to be held today," Murphy began casually, his fingers tapping lightly on his cane. "He invited you as well. As a ruler, he naturally keeps an eye on new individuals of power who enter his domain…"
Leylin, hands folded behind his back, regarded the cityscape through the window. His gaze flickered momentarily to the imposing walls of the City Lord's manor. "I see," he replied nonchalantly. It was mildly surprising that Viscount Jackson had taken so long to acknowledge him.
"Are you bored, my young friend?" Murphy chuckled, noticing the indifference in Leylin's tone.
Leylin's lips curled slightly. "I just find these things unnecessarily tedious. You know as well as anyone, Sir Murphy, that we are very different people."
Murphy laughed heartily. "Haha! I felt exactly the same way when I was younger. But trust me, my boy, one must learn to enjoy life. A man cannot live by research alone! Delicacies, fine wine, and fervent, unrestrained women—sometimes, they lead to excitement that even magic cannot provide!"
Leylin simply shook his head, amused by the older man's perspective. It was a clear distinction between those who had abandoned the pursuit of magic and those who still had the potential to ascend further.
Murphy had already reached his limit on the path of magic, so he sought pleasure elsewhere. Leylin, however, still had endless possibilities before him. Wasting time on such distractions was beneath him.
Shifting the topic, Leylin spoke, "By the way, Lord Murphy, the gift you provided last time was incredibly useful to me. I must extend my gratitude."
Murphy grinned. "A small matter! If it proved useful to you, then I am glad."
After a moment's pause, the older magician's eyes gleamed with a knowing look. "There are several individuals I'd like to introduce you to today… acquaintances of mine."
Leylin's gaze sharpened slightly. "Could they be…?"
Murphy chuckled. "Indeed. They are acolytes like us, though younger than I. I believe you'll find common ground. Some of them have been on rather interesting adventures, and if I persuade them well enough, they might even provide you with a few blood samples." He smirked. "If I recall correctly, you were particularly interested in individuals with higher spiritual force, were you not?"
Leylin's lips curled in satisfaction. "Sir has a sharp mind and a good memory. Now I'm starting to look forward to this banquet."
The carriage soon arrived at the heart of Extreme Night City. Before them loomed the City Lord's castle, an imposing structure surrounded by towering walls. Two rows of fully-armored black-clad guards stood at attention, their expressions stoic and disciplined.
Murphy gestured towards them as they stepped out of the carriage. "Those are the Black Iron Guards of Viscount Jackson. Once, they fended off a five-hundred-man army with only a hundred men."
Leylin's sharp eyes scanned his surroundings. Several other carriages were arriving, and elaborately dressed noblemen and noblewomen descended from them in waves, their laughter and chatter filling the courtyard. Women in extravagant gowns, some revealing more than modesty would permit, moved with calculated grace.
Murphy, it seemed, was well-regarded in these social circles. Many of the nobles greeted him enthusiastically, pausing to exchange pleasantries before moving along.
At the entrance, a guard quickly ran inside upon spotting Murphy. Moments later, a thunderous voice rang out from within.
"Murphy, my friend! You have finally arrived!"
A burly man strode out, his presence commanding immediate attention.
Viscount Jackson.
Standing nearly two heads taller than Leylin, Jackson possessed strong western features, with a broad forehead and thick, well-groomed sideburns. His powerful frame was evident even beneath his ceremonial attire.(Image)
The surrounding nobles and soldiers bowed respectfully as he passed.
Jackson wasted no time, embracing Murphy in a firm hug. "Little Jackson has always been asking about you!"
Murphy's eyes softened. "I too miss that boy. He is one of the brightest among my students."
Then, turning to Leylin, Murphy made the necessary introductions. "This is a dear friend of mine from far away, Sire Leylin Farlier."
Jackson's gaze settled on Leylin, studying him for a moment before his lips curled into a pleased smile, he instinctively had a good impression of Leylin. "Extreme Night City welcomes you, Leylin Farlier." Without hesitation, he opened his arms and pulled Leylin into a firm embrace.
Leylin's smile was cold but well-practiced. It was an expression he had worn many times before—one of polite charms masking the endless calculations running through his mind.
As he stepped back, he cast a fleeting glance at the grandeur surrounding him, at the powerful figures gathering within these castle walls.
A city lord's banquet was never simply about revelry. Beneath the gilded words and hollow toasts, ambitions clashed in silence.