Chapter 3: The Journey to the Pleiades Watchtower
The sandstorm gradually faded, and the sky's light reappeared after the great battle with Amon. The wanderer stood still in the empty desert, his hand still gripping his sword, his gaze fixed to the north, where the invisible map in his mind was calling out the name—Pleiades Watchtower.
He no longer had time to rest.
And he could not walk barefoot across the endless dunes any longer.
He raised his hand, and his index finger traced a circle in the air, drawing upon the power of spirit—a blue light surrounded his finger as he cast the Summoning Spirit Circle.
"Come forth, Aqualion."
A swirling stream of water erupted from the sands, rising like a waterfall in the desert. From it, a spirit horse emerged: its silver-white coat shimmering, its mane flowing like a cascade of water, its deep blue eyes as vast as the ocean.
Aqualion, the Water Spirit—an embodiment of coolness amidst the desolation.
It bowed its head in greeting to its master, both graceful and proud.
The wanderer said nothing, simply leaping onto its back. In that instant, the sands beneath Aqualion's hooves turned into a shimmering lake, and their journey began to accelerate.
From the moment the sun blazed at its peak...
Aqualion raced through the desert like a tidal wave of water, each leap spanning dozens of meters. The wanderer bent low, gripping the sword hilt tightly, his eyes fixed ahead.
…until the sky shifted into the hues of twilight...
The sand began to turn blood-red, and monsters crawled from the deep fissures in the dunes, rising like a swarm of fire ants—scorpion skeletons, flameworms, wind serpents, sand wolves—all charging forward like a tidal wave.
Aqualion growled low, and water erupted from its hooves, creating swirling vortexes that shredded the first wave of attackers.
But he knew they couldn't afford to keep fighting forever.
Four Amon appeared simultaneously.
From the sand, four massive, distorted figures emerged, their arms made of sand, their heads shattered stone statues.
They spoke no words, only attacking.
The wanderer raised his head, his eyes as cold as eternal night.
"You again... I don't have time."
He activated the Blessing of Death once more.
BOOM!
It wasn't a strike. There was no sound or flashy light.
Only silence.
Each Amon was twisted by time, crumbling into dust. The remaining monsters stood still for a moment, then collapsed, like ripe grain carried away by the wind.
Death enveloped the area like a curse.
And then...
Under the twilight sky, as the last rays of the sun slid down the other side of the dune...
The wanderer finally saw it.
The Pleiades Watchtower.
It rose high, as though reaching the clouds, yet its reflection shimmered like a mirror in water. It was unclear whether it was real or illusion.
Around it, space bent as if the glass of a broken mirror. Floating stone blocks, everything twisted like a labyrinth, light warped, and the air twisted like gazing through boiling water.
With each step closer, the ground beneath him seemed to change. Above—below—left—right no longer had clear meanings.
The wanderer took a deep breath.
This was no place for humans.
The Pleiades Watchtower—where wanderers meet their end... or where they are reborn.
He tightened his grip, preparing to enter a world where even Augria dared not interfere.
The wanderer sat firmly atop Aqualion, his spirit unwavering and his gaze locked onto the hazy silhouette of the Pleiades Watchtower ahead. Though the water spirit horse galloped with the speed of a storm, the distance between them and their destination did not shrink.
One step—two steps—three steps… and still, the scenery remained unchanged. Nothing around them shifted, save for the dunes passing under Aqualion's hooves. Strangely, no matter how far they rode, the Pleiades Watchtower remained where it was, unmoving, as though it were forever out of reach.
The wanderer sensed something was wrong.
Though twilight had begun to fade, a strange feeling welled up inside him. The natural connection he once felt to the world was gone, suppressed. It was as if each step he took was being stopped in place, held back by some invisible force.
He turned slightly to glance at Aqualion. The water spirit still surged forward, but it felt as though the desert beneath them wasn't moving at all. The entire space ahead seemed warped, looping—an endless cycle repeating itself. An unseen pressure settled in the air, and the wanderer realized:
This wasn't ordinary space.
He reached out his hand, and it trembled—sensing the presence of a massive field: an invisible wall of time and space. It wasn't something that could be touched or broken with a sword. It was a membrane of higher concepts, a force that couldn't be seen, yet could be felt in every fiber of his being.
Closing his eyes, the wanderer focused his mind on the universe around him, tuning into the waves of time, the shifts of space. Every concept in this cosmos could be altered, could be bent—if one truly understood its mechanisms.
"Blessing of Death…" he whispered in his mind, channeling all the energy of the blessing into the tip of his sword.
Then, a powerful force surged from the blade.
The aura of death did not simply act on physical matter—it targeted abstract concepts, things beyond mortal comprehension, the untouchable. Tears in time, strands of space—all were severed.
The wanderer thrust his blade into the empty air, and a tear opened in space—like the mouth of a deep abyss. Light and shadow alike were drawn into it, spiraling toward a single point. Without hesitation, the wanderer led Aqualion into the rift.
A sensation overcame him, as though space and time were first compressed, then violently stretched. The wanderer felt every cell in his body twist, but in the blink of an eye, everything returned to normal. With a thunderous sound and unimaginable force, a gateway to the universe had opened.
When he opened his eyes, the Pleiades Watchtower stood before him—real, at last. No longer an illusion, but its true form.
It was immense, taller than any structure the wanderer had ever seen—easily several hundred meters high—built of gleaming black stone, overgrown with moss. The tower was circular, yet not smooth; it bore deep cracks—scars from countless years of erosion and time.
A balcony jutted out from the third floor, a strange and dreamlike sight, yet unmistakably real. And at the base of the tower stood a grand door—unlike any in this world. It appeared to lead not into a physical space, but another dimension entirely.
The wanderer looked to Aqualion—the water spirit remained steadfast, unmoved, its eyes locked on the tower with a faint glow. He knew then: this was the final destination. This was where his fate would be decided.
The wanderer drew a deep breath. Surely, trials awaited inside—but he was ready. With Aqualion at his side, and the Blessing of Death in his grasp—he felt no fear.
This was the moment.
He stepped toward the door.
The wanderer sheathed his blade, eyes stern as he looked toward the massive door at the base of the Pleiades Watchtower. Still seated atop Aqualion, he gently tapped his heels, urging the water spirit horse forward toward their goal.
But then—
BOOM!
The sand beneath them shook violently. An eerie screeching—like a thousand drills boring into the mind—pierced the air. Giant mounds of sand erupted, and from the depths below, an army of monstrous scorpions burst forth. Each one as large as a war chariot, their armored shells gleamed with a dark violet hue under the fading sunset. They swarmed forward like crawling nightmares, charging straight for the wanderer and Aqualion.
"Another obstacle…" the wanderer muttered, his expression unflinching.
He leaned slightly to the side, guiding Aqualion in a spiraling arc, narrowly avoiding the crushing claws of two of the beasts. The water spirit galloped across the sand like wind, graceful and powerful, leaving behind shimmering trails of mist that quickly vanished in the desert breeze.
The scorpions shrieked in fury. Gathering in clusters, they raised their stinger-tipped tails high. A sharp whoosh split the air, and from their tails, massive arrow-like bolts of fire were launched at blinding speed.
Still calm, the wanderer knew: he couldn't keep dodging forever.
He raised his left hand, crossing his index and middle fingers into a strange symbol, and chanted loudly:
> "AL – ZERUNDETH!"
A cataclysmic storm of lightning exploded from the sky above, as if a wrathful god had descended. Bolts of divine electricity ripped through the heavens, striking down upon the scorpions with merciless precision. Each impact was a deafening explosion, incinerating the monsters in blinding flashes.
The sand caught fire. The air burned with raw energy. Yet the wanderer remained still atop Aqualion, his eyes barely open.
—
That was the nature of magic.
Each spell had a base incantation, but its power could be amplified by a prefix.
No prefix: basic magic.
EL: above ordinary.
UI: for mid-tier battles.
AL: the apex—destructive, ancient, forbidden.
—
The ground finally fell silent. No creatures stirred. Smoke drifted from the scorched sand. The wanderer lowered his hand, lightning still crackling faintly between his fingers.
"Let's go," he said softly to Aqualion.
At that moment, the great door of the Pleiades Watchtower creaked open by itself, groaning like it hadn't moved in a thousand years.
The wanderer stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind him, sealing away the light, leaving behind a dim and chilling stillness.
He scanned the space—it was a vast hall, the floor made of smooth stone. No decorations. No pillars. No windows. Only silence, and a space so massive that even a single footstep echoed endlessly.
Behind him, the giant door—ten meters tall—was now firmly shut. There was no going back.
Before him, two grand spiral staircases unfurled, symmetrical like a pair of slumbering stone dragons.
One led upward, illuminated by a soft, inviting light.
The other spiraled downward into darkness, exuding an ominous and mysterious presence.
The wanderer did not move right away. He stood still in the center of the hall, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, attuned to every pulse of the space around him.
One choice. One path.
An ancient tower no one had ever conquered.
The winds outside had fallen silent.
But inside the tower… the game had only just begun.