Chapter 71
last update2024-07-22 10:30:34

Caster's party had to squeeze through a small opening the miners had created. After they passed, the opening was sealed, leaving only a small head-sized hole.

They were instructed to communicate through this hole and to knock on the wall in a Morse code-like pattern to identify themselves to the miners on the other side.

Guards were stationed outside to ensure the miners' safety. The adventurers had a map and were tasked with slowly clearing the tunnels of monsters.

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  • Chapter 380

    The escort did not speak. Six wardens walked ahead of him. Two followed. Their boots never touched the marble floor at the same time. Caster noticed that first. Perfect spacing. Perfect silence. The Tower had trained them well.The doors to the Upper Conclave waited at the end of the corridor. They were taller than the archways below, carved from layered stone that bent light instead of reflecting it. Old sigils had been stripped away and replaced with new ones, etched shallow, almost shy, as if the Tower no longer wanted its power to be seen too clearly.One warden raised a hand. The doors parted without sound. Heat washed out first. Then pressure. Then the sense of being counted.Caster stepped through. The Upper Conclave no longer had walls. It was a vast open void contained by invisible force, the sky of the Tower exposed above, clouds sliding past like slow witnesses. Seven platforms floated within the space, each a perfect ring of stone, each rotating at a different speed and

  • Chapter 379

    The gate sealed behind him without sound. No wind followed. No echo lingered. One moment, there was an opening in the air, a thin vertical seam of gold-blue light, and the next there was only stone.Caster did not turn around. The Sage Tower rose ahead of him, tall and narrow, its surface carved from pale gray stone veined with old mana channels. The structure did not reach for the sky like Glassview’s spires. It pressed inward instead, compact and controlled, as if the building itself rejected excess. The air felt dry. Every breath carried dust, ink, and the faint metallic tang of dormant wards.Caster adjusted the clasp of his cloak and stepped forward. The cloak was plain. No sigils. No identifying thread. The illusion was not woven into the cloth. It sat deeper, anchored beneath the skin. His face looked older now. Lines cut deeper around his eyes. His hair was shorter, darker at the roots, streaked faintly with gray near the temples. His shoulders were broader. His movements

  • Chapter 378

    Dawn reached Glassview before the bells did. Light slid across broken roofs and rebuilt bridges. It caught on scaffold metal and new stone, turning the city pale gold. Steam rose from mana vents along the avenues, thin and steady, not yet unstable. The city breathed in slow, careful rhythms.Caster stood at the edge of the rebuilt tower and watched the light move. The tower had been Spectral Lime’s highest platform before the burning. Now it was shorter, reinforced with layered sigils and raw stone. The railing was new. The floor still smelled of cut granite and binding resin. Below, the city stretched outward in uneven rings, some old, some freshly scarred, some clean and rebuilt too quickly.Workers moved along the streets even at this hour. Cloaks, carts, lifted stones. A mana crane hummed once, then went quiet. No one spoke loudly. Glassview had learned restraint.Caster rested his hands on the rail. His coat shifted in the wind. The fabric no longer needed enchantment to keep

  • Chapter 376

    The courier arrived without bells or escort. He stepped through the western gate of Spectral Lime just before dawn, boots leaving wet prints on the stone. Fog still clung to the lower towers. The wards did not flare. The sentries did not stop him. He walked as if he already belonged there.Caster stood on the balcony above the courtyard when the man looked up.Their eyes met for a brief second.The courier raised one hand, slow, open. In his other hand was a narrow scroll tube made of dull silver. No crest. No color. No signature.Caster lifted two fingers.The courtyard guards stiffened but did not move. The courier crossed the space alone. His pace never changed. He stopped exactly beneath the balcony and knelt once, placing the tube on the stone with both hands.“For Spellbound,” the courier said. His voice was flat. “No return address.”Caster descended the stairs without hurry. Each step echoed. Sikoa appeared at the far archway, already armed. Ardis Valen stood near the pillars

  • Chapter 375

    The warning bells did not ring. That alone told Caster this was not a raid. Morning mist clung to the outer platforms of Glassview as three figures crossed the bridge from open air. Their boots struck stone in clean, even steps. No haste. No hesitation. Cloud Tower envoys always walked like they owned the ground beneath them, even when they did not.Caster stood at the edge of the upper concourse, hands at his sides, coat unfastened. Two Wardens flanked him, silent, eyes tracking every movement. Mana wards shimmered faintly under the stone, tuned tight but dormant.The lead envoy stopped ten paces away. Ardis Valen looked thinner than before. Not weaker. Sharper. His gray cloak bore the sigil of Cloud Tower stitched in subdued thread, the kind meant to catch light only at certain angles. His right hand rested near his belt, close to a sealed focus rod. His left sleeve hung longer than fashion required.Caster did not step forward. Ardis inclined his head once. Not a bow. Not quite

  • Chapter 374

    The archive doors seal behind him with a muted thud. Caster does not turn.The sound tells him enough. The locking sigils are old. Spectral Lime originals. No Consortium overrides. No silent alarms. Just layered wards and heavy stone.The lamps inside the restricted wing burn low. Their light is pale and uneven, trapped inside glass cylinders etched with age-worn runes. Shadows stretch across shelves that rise to the ceiling, packed tight with sealed volumes, crystal slates, and memory coils. Dust hangs in the air. Caster steps forward. Each footfall echoes once, then dies. The floor is slate, cracked in places, repaired in others. Old chalk lines still cling to the seams, half scrubbed, half forgotten.He lifts a hand. Mana flows out in thin filaments, brushing the air, tasting it. The wards recognize him. Not his face. Not his name. His pattern.The shelves nearest him hum softly, then fall silent again. He moves deeper.This wing predates Glassview’s expansion. Before Twin Moons.

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