The High Wall of Night finally fell, and the Night's Frontline became a thing of the past. Following the successful conclusion of these most critical and arduous negotiations, it was as if a grain of sand had been removed from between the gears, and cooperative discussions between the two sides proceeded much more smoothly. Soon, many major projects were also approved.
For example, the "Joint Development of the White Tower Ruins" project.
By now, the White Tower had become the most renowned mages' guild in Eryan's history. Before most dragons departed due to the Dragon Prophecy, and before the Anti-Magic Campaign branded all spellcasters as demons, this consistently neutral, academic-oriented mage academy had spearheaded the establishment of the Human Mages' Alliance. They used the remains of numerous magical creatures and mages from past generations to create the source of magic power for the Eryan Empire, serving as the final energy source for arcane technology and allowing Eryan's arcane civilization to survive for another century.
The magical power source operating beneath the capital of Eryan was the work of the White Tower mages, but the underground space destroyed by the Tower Sands is not the White Tower ruins. Those final legendary mages transported vast quantities of magical artifacts, materials, and remains into that grand magical array, while the White Tower itself is not located in the capital.
It stands in the heartland of the Erian Empire, preserved to this day.
"Perhaps the findings will disappoint you," the imperial representative said after the agreement was signed. "It is indeed a place of great historical significance, but I'm afraid there isn't much of practical use there—it's merely symbolic."
The White Tower's treasures had long since been divided up: some were taken by the White Tower rebels who were refused entry before the Dragon-Slaying Frenzy; most were carried off as fuel for creating magical power sources; and whatever remained—even if not completely plundered during the Anti-Magic Campaign—must have turned into ordinary objects over the past two or three hundred years of magical decline. The representative was absolutely correct; this development project was indeed a complete waste of time: while the White Tower ruins attracted high-level attention due to the tower's reputation, the potential discoveries were not commensurate with the difficulty of the negotiations.
Tashan said this didn't matter.
The representative from Tasmalin State spoke many polished, airtight platitudes—about the intrinsic significance of the White Tower's original site, the mages' thirst for knowledge, and so on. But the real reason Tasha was going there was something best kept to herself.
Because of Victor.
The Hall of True Knowledge answers questions and demands "information" in return. Given that the materials required for forging appear to be single-use, each inquiry must be made with great caution. With the threat of the Abyss looming, among all the possible questions, Tasha believed nothing offered better value than seeking the answer to "how to awaken Victor."
He and Tasa are like grasshoppers tied to the same string; their soul contract is permanent, binding him to stand by Tasa's side without betrayal or concealment. As a former demon lord, he knows many secrets of the Abyss, and the information he can provide is far beyond what any Abyss researcher could offer; He is currently still evolving; if he can successfully hatch, he will likely ascend to a higher level, providing significant assistance in both combat and intellect… In summary, this is the result of careful deliberation, undertaken for the sake of world peace.
The Hall of True Knowledge guided Tasha, and the destination of her journey lies at the site of the White Tower ruins.
Tasha had long since asked this question and received an answer, but she encountered a minor snag in execution. Although the White Tower ruins were nearly empty, their reputation remained; few paid them much attention, and access was strictly restricted. Tasha couldn't sneak in; this time, the Hall of True Knowledge had provided the keyword "mage," meaning she'd have to bring a group of mages with her.
Most mages lack physical stamina. Moreover, as other hardworking professionals would say, mages are fussy—they need to bring spellbooks, notebooks, casting materials, and apprentices to assist them so they have enough time to rest and recharge their spirits… Without these, they cannot cast spells; a mage who cannot cast spells has a combat effectiveness of less than five, so bringing them is practically pointless. One mage is one thing, but a whole group of them? That's bound to be a massive, imposing crowd, standing out like a sore thumb—looking more like a group of philosophers or a bunch of lunatics. There's no way they could pass for an ordinary tour group.
So, the negotiations took a while, but fortunately, the outcome was favorable.
The members of the White Tower Ruins Expedition included: Team Leader Tasa, White-robed Mage Bruno, Black-robed Mage Miranda, Gray-robed Necromancer Dolores, Alchemist Gloria, Wild Mage Rudolf, and the apprentices of all the aforementioned mages. The expedition coincided with the opening of a new railway line. Traveling aboard the Peace-class magical train, the large group reached the city where the White Tower stood after only a few days' journey. However, to reach the White Tower ruins, they still needed to travel a stretch of road accessible only by horse-drawn carriage.
The White Tower ruins lay a day's journey from the main town.
"It used to be much farther," the guide said. "The White Tower was originally built in a desolate, uninhabited area. It's only within a day's journey now because the city has expanded in recent years."
This guide was indeed just a guide. The Empire had openly dispatched an escort to accompany them this time; after all, the White Tower was a strategically and militarily significant site, even after it had become an empty shell.
On their way here, they passed through a checkpoint. Since the Anti-Magic Movement, this unit has guarded this area for over a century. Soldiers have come and gone, and the unit's strength has dwindled, yet its designation remains unchanged. The few remaining soldiers still bear the name of the Fourteenth Army—whether that is admirable or laughable is hard to say.
"I've heard of the Fourteenth Legion stationed at the White Tower," said the alchemist in the rainbow-colored robe. "At first, they were here to prevent any humans or non-humans hiding inside the tower from escaping. Later, the army was stationed here to keep outsiders from wandering in and dying in some magical trap. But what can this handful of men stop now? Perhaps they don't even know what exactly they're guarding."
In the eyes of people today, this place is nothing more than an abandoned tower.
The white tower was embraced by cliffs, blending seamlessly with the pale stone walls; it could only be distinguished from a distance of less than a hundred meters. When they finally reached the tower's base, everyone stopped in unison and looked up.
"It's shorter than I imagined," said the wild mage Rudolf. "I've read some accounts describing the White Tower; if they weren't exaggerating, it should be a magnificent complex."
"Because this isn't the White Tower," said Bruno, a descendant of the White Tower's exiled mages. "The main tower of the White Tower exists within the Astral Plane, and its entrance vanished long ago when the magical environment deteriorated. What remains now is merely a subsidiary tower—the former residence of the mage apprentices."
The pure-white tower before them was nothing more than the ruins of that ancient mage academy. Even in death, its former glory still lingers—and this was no exception.
The entire tower was hewn from a single mountain rock. The masterful work of magic made it appear as though it bore no trace of human carving, as if it had grown naturally from the earth. The pure white tower exuded a cool, pristine aura—not the sacred sanctity of the Temple of Saro, but rather a kind of emotionless composure, devoid of worship or piety, existing solely to observe and discover objectively. Simply put, it looks very much like a mage's creation.
Upon entering the tower, the light does not diminish in the slightest. Windows have been artfully carved into the walls, and light pours in like water, illuminating the corridor with blinding brightness.
A hollow core runs through the very center of the tower. Standing at the very bottom and looking up feels like gazing upward from the bottom of a shaft. The light filtering through the tiered corridors converges at the center, creating a kaleidoscopic effect; gazing at it for too long induces a disorienting sensation, as if staring into an abyss. The floor and wall tiles—made of an unknown material—remain as vibrant as new after all these years, their colors retaining their brilliance once the dust is wiped away. The faint patterns on the tiles create the illusion of movement, as if the subjects within the picture frames had truly vanished. Along the way, they encountered many picture frames in perfect condition, their canvases blank—the subjects within had vanished without a trace.
"Those frames contain 'specimens,'" said Bruno, the white-robed mage. "Mages capture images of various materials they've obtained, then seal those shrunken, lifelike entities within the frames, where they move just as they did in life. These silver frames serve as guides; the images of some spell servants and deceased mages remain here to guide apprentices and answer their questions."
His tone was full of emotion. Though this mage, who had inherited the legacy of the White Tower, was seeing the White Tower for the first time today, he spoke of it as if returning to a long-lost homeland, describing every detail with the familiarity of a native.
"I've heard that the mages' lingering images roam freely throughout the tower," he said longingly. "The tower spirit is housed within a construct, manifesting in various forms…"
Room upon room nested within one another, corridor after corridor intertwined, utilizing every inch of space and making the entire tower as complex as a labyrinth. The main tower of the White Tower is even more intricate than this, yet even invited guests need not worry about getting lost—it is not a problem, for the Mage's Tower is "alive."
The Tower Spirit is warm toward all welcome guests; it will appear in any corner of the tower where it is summoned, guiding you to your desired destination. Traces of teleportation arrays can still be seen on those abruptly severed passages. Within the tower, short-range teleportation links every corner, making it nearly impossible to find a true dead end. The circular space piercing through the tower looks terrifyingly deep, but as long as the magic remains active, the floating steps hover perpetually in midair. As long as you are a mage and the gates of magic are open to you, you can easily master the method of guiding these tiny floating islands to the correct floor.
"Is that a golem?" an apprentice mage asked, pointing at what looked like a shattered statue at the end of the corridor, his tone as excited as that of a true tourist. Bruno didn't bat an eye; his reply was as enthusiastic as that of a tour guide. "Yes!" he said. "Golems are rare in the Apprentice Tower, but in the Mage Tower, there are plenty of them."
Teleportation arrays and floating staircases catered to the mages' lack of physical exercise, while simple golem attendants delivered food and other necessities to mages who spent their days cooped up in laboratories, allowing them to remain recluses to the very end. Other expensive, high-level golems could even assist with spellcasting. While this might sound astonishing, during the golden age of magic, they were essential companions for wealthy mages. This achievement was actually the invention of the Black Robes. Although the experimental process behind their creation was as sinister as the Black Robes' usual practices, these high-level golems proved so convenient for spellcasters that they eventually spread among all high-ranking mages.
The largest space in the entire tower is the library; as the doors swing open, a cloud of dust drifts down.
Countless chairs are scattered about in disarray, as if their owners had merely stepped away for a moment and would return shortly. A long table, clearly of substantial weight, stands beside the bookshelves. Crafted from some exceptionally durable rosewood, it has never rotted or decayed, not even showing a single wormhole. The rows of bookshelves here were not as towering or grand as those in the Dungeon Library, yet they possessed a thoughtful convenience that made them easy to access. On the metal nameplates, one could still make out elegant cursive script; besides book classifications, there were also slogans such as "Keep quiet in the reading room" and "Good mages cherish their books."
Of course, the place was now empty.
"They've all been moved to the Great Library," the guide interjected, perhaps hoping to curry favor with the mages present. "The entire collection is preserved there in its entirety, just like these remaining ruins…"
"Is that so?" asked Miranda, the mage in black robes, bluntly. "Then are those marks at the end of the first-floor corridor also the result of a lightning strike?"
The guide looked awkward.
"There's nothing left now," Miranda sneered.
No matter what it once looked like, even if one could imagine its past splendor from the ruins, the White Tower was certainly not what it used to be.
The top of the White Tower bore charred marks—the aftermath of a lightning strike. In the past, towers protected by magic need not fear wind or rain, no matter how high they stood; but when the magic departed, even natural lightning could snap off the tower's peak. The charred marks at the end of the corridor, however, were not the work of natural forces; they were traces of deliberate burning.
The Anti-Magic Campaign was no polite, civilized endeavor.
Spellcasters were executed by the basketful; their wealth was plundered, and whatever could not be carried off or put to use was simply set ablaze. The reputation of mages plummeted in a matter of days. The soldiers who stormed the subsidiary towers were filled with contemptuous fury; they wielded swords and spears, and they carried torches.
By then, there were likely no apprentices left here; they needed only to slay the few stubborn guards to storm this tower that had lost its master.
Going back three to two hundred years, the White Tower flourished for a time, then declined rapidly, like a fleeting moment. In the twilight of the Age of Mages, this neutral academic institution had fully embraced humanism—the very reason for its prosperity, yet also the cause of its subsequent rapid demise. Extreme, lofty slogans are always more appealing than moderate ones, and the harm they bring is often not discovered until much later, by which time it is usually already irreversible. The massacres of dragons, nagas, black-robed mages, and dissenters provided immense convenience for the subsequent human campaign to eradicate magic. As high-ranking mages all but vanished, the disciples and descendants they had hoped to protect fled in disarray during the purge.
All the books had been moved to the Grand Library in the capital, just as all magical artifacts had been sent to the source of magic. The remaining White Towers have been completely ransacked; the magical statues and sculptures have been smashed. This place is just an empty shell—there is nothing left.
But.
"There will be," Tasha said, breaking the awkward silence.
"Are you going to bring the things back?" Miranda asked mockingly.
"There will always be a Mage Tower," Tasha said. "We're already building it. "
The black-robed mage wasn't speaking out for the White Tower; her anger was directed at the foolishness of spellcasters as a whole. She said that the knowledge and traditions of the past were completely gone, that the Mage Tower no longer existed, and Tasha told her, "It will be."
The method for constructing the Mage Tower has been lost, but the Grand Mage Tower—which brings together all the mages of Eryan today—has been built and will continue to be refined. They lack the floating staircases that move at will, but magical technology will one day produce elevators for convenient vertical travel. Tasa's spectral avatar serves as the Tower Spirit, and the Mage Tower's staff care for this group of dedicated researchers, ensuring they stay healthy and don't starve—a far more thoughtful approach than that of mindless golems. The dungeons of the Shadow Realm have been transformed into spacious, well-lit laboratories. The mysteries of ancient magic are now openly analyzed and passed down. While this may have stripped away some of the poetic mystique, it has made the transmission of mage lore capable of "mass production." Assistants and apprentices operate under a clearer system of employment; mentors no longer hold the power of life and death over their apprentices, and the school now supplies batches of students equipped with foundational knowledge.
"I don't think there's anything good about the current apprenticeship system," Miranda muttered.
"Times are changing," laughed Rudolf, the rogue mage. He didn't take on apprentices himself, but served as a lecturer at the new mage academy. "You've got to look to the future."
"I think things are fine as they are," said the taciturn necromancer. "There are enough corpses."
Corpse donations are now quite common, and a standardized industrial chain has emerged for handling various types of corpses. They first pass through the medical system before reaching the necromancers. Necromancers must register and apply to obtain a supply of corpses. Legal channels for corpses free necromancers from the stigma of being grave robbers or corpse fabricators—a status people used to avoid at all costs—and effectively prevent any gray-robed mage from going off the deep end and becoming a Great Demon Lord. Perhaps it was because of Dolores, the first necromancer in Tasmalin State, who set the precedent, but necromancers in general are taciturn and reclusive. Rather than digging up corpses or crafting them themselves, they prefer to stay home and write applications.
And there will be treasures within the White Tower ruins as well.
The Hall of True Knowledge had indicated a specific coordinate—the location of the key to waking Victor. It might be an object imbued with immense magical power, or a body part of the Great Demon; whichever it was, it likely didn't exist in isolation. They had reached the southernmost part of the tower, but even leaning against the wall of the southernmost protruding gallery, Tash's current position was still slightly north of the coordinates in his mind.
In other words, a meter or two to the south, there was likely another, as-yet-undiscovered treasure trove.
Tasha tapped her head, realizing she'd jumped to conclusions.
The mage academy known as the White Tower wasn't just a single tower; it was a sprawling complex of buildings. Even if the main section had vanished into a closed sub-space, the portion remaining in the Material Plane extended beyond this satellite tower.
The place she was looking for might not even be inside this tower at all.
Half an hour later, they discovered a stone slab among the weeds south of the tower.