The Fluid Guardian twisted violently in midair.
As the spell took effect, Tasa suddenly released her grip. Her descent was still too slow, so she flapped her wings to accelerate, narrowly avoiding the ceiling as it thrashed wildly. The space above the sewers had become a battlefield even more treacherous than before, with countless tentacles convulsing madly—enough to turn the area above into a meat grinder on high speed.
The scene resembled the moment when acid caught up with that tiny fragment of the soldier's head, only on a larger scale, with a more intense reaction, and lasting far longer. The Fluid Guardian had no vocal organs, yet watching it in this state, one could almost hear the roar of a colossal beast. The shattering runes blazed with a blinding light, spreading like wildfire from its core to every tentacle, much like frost winding its way across leaves in the cold.
The Fluid Guardian's frenzy reached its peak within minutes; everyone was flat on the ground, and anything taller than a meter was doomed to be caught in the crossfire. The soft-bodied creature was no longer concealed, resembling a cluster of broken neon lights—countless colors, drawn from the environment yet completely out of place, flashed overhead in waves, twisting into nauseating shapes. The Fluid Guardian now resembled a giant caterpillar—vividly colored, with a thick, plump body—twisting futilely in an attempt to escape the tiny parasitic wasp's control.
No matter how it thrashed, the spread of the silvery runes was unstoppable, flowing silently like water toward the lowest point.
The very tip of the last tentacle was now covered in runes; the final stroke of the Fluid Guardian's tattoo had been completed. Now they looked so harmonious, the runes appearing as if they had grown naturally from the soft flesh from the very beginning. The Light spell Bruno had cast earlier had reached its casting time, and the scene above had, in fact, become quite beautiful.
High up on the ceiling, the faint glow of the lantern vines was insufficient to illuminate the giant worm's form, so when people looked up, all they could see were the glimmers of the runes. They sparkled like stars, echoing one another, transforming the ceiling into a starry sky. The soldiers stood there with their mouths agape, astonished that this earthly hell had turned into paradise in the blink of an eye. Tasha's night vision deprived her of the chance to enjoy this aesthetic filter, and she couldn't help but have a strange thought: perhaps it was a good thing people couldn't see the night sky clearly—who knew what might be growing right next to those "stars"?
"The starry sky" froze.
The Fluid Guardian's death throes ultimately offered it no glimmer of hope; the more it struggled, the deeper the runes pierced, eventually penetrating every layer of its soft body. The struggle had lasted centuries, the rune's placement took over ten minutes, yet the time it took for it to take effect was but a single second.
Crash!
The people on the ground hurriedly ducked as the ceiling suddenly collapsed, and a torrential downpour poured in from the sewers below. In its final moments, the Fluid Guardian shed all color, transforming into a pool of colorless, harmless liquid. The Disintegration Rune, having fulfilled its purpose, faded away; its patterns dissipated, its radiance extinguished, merging with the disintegrating Fluid Rune. These two relentless, sworn enemies, having settled their rivalry, shook hands in reconciliation and poured down upon the ground, merging with the rest of the underground river.
The moment they vanished, Tasha felt the wind.
A current swept down from above, not blowing downward, but pulling upward. People's damp hair was tugged aloft, fluttering like flags. Tasha looked up, eyes wide, her pupils—protected by the nictitating membrane—clearly seeing the scene in the wind.
The ceiling was gone.
A huge, pitch-black hole had appeared overhead, about three or four meters in diameter, with a bottom that could not be seen. Holes leading downward were always pitch-black, but deep holes leading upward were always connected to the light of the outside world. A pitch-black ceiling? It really made one wonder just how deep this place was.
Perhaps trying to make sense of this with conventional logic was a mistake to begin with.
It wasn't scientific, but it was magical. The gale that followed the opening of the hole lasted less than a minute; the violent air currents soon subsided, as if the pressure differential between inside and outside had stabilized. The mages were the first to stand up; they straightened their unsteady legs and craned their necks to peer into the hole.
"That must be the Mages' Tower," Gloria said excitedly.
"Good heavens, I actually get to see a real mage tower," Rudolf exclaimed. "Too bad Edwin isn't here—this adventure would've made perfect material for his next novel."
"The feat the White Tower mages never completed…" Bruno muttered to himself.
"A complete, ancient mage tower!" Miranda's voice betrayed her excitement.
The mages looked utterly spellbound, like a group of archaeologists facing an unexcavated ancient tomb, completely oblivious to the curses and traps within, looking as if they wanted to sprout wings and fly right up to it.
"How much mana do you have left?" asked Tash, who had actually grown wings.
All the mages' faces fell, as if a group of teenagers had just had their summer camp plans dashed by a weather forecast from their parents.
"We need to rest for a while," they said. "A few hours."
"Can't we just come back tomorrow?" Tasa asked.
"No," Gloria said, pointing to the hole above them. "This passageway in the dismantled mage tower is extremely unstable. We can reinforce it with magic—it'll be completely safe for five or six hours, but it definitely won't hold for half a day or a full day."
"If it disappears, none of us can open it again—those spells have been lost to history," Bruno sighed.
"This is the last ancient mage tower in Eryan!" the black-robed mage declared more vehemently. "I'd rather die in there than miss it!"
"No one is going to die," Tasha sighed. "What about Dolores?"
The necromancer, whose complexion was as pale as a corpse's, shook her head. "Give me two hours," she said tersely, pulling a suspicious-looking object from her pocket, popping it into her mouth, and crunching it to pieces.
The critically wounded were sent back over the long distance while the fireball spell's deterrent effect on the giant rats still lingered. The mages closed their eyes to rest, and the soldiers composed themselves and ate. Fortunately, they were well-prepared this time—there was no shortage of food, water, or spellcasting materials. Bruno had brought the tortoiseshell spatial bracelet crafted by his ancestors, which could hold enough gear to fill half a library, more than sufficient for this adventure.
After two hours of rest, the party set out once more.
Rudolf buried several seeds in the mud. Under the catalysis of his spell, thick vines shot up from the ground, spiraling upward like the magic beans from a fairy tale, twisting into a sturdy, rigid vine ladder. Bruno repeated his trick, and the Leander Lantern Vine climbed up the vine. He frowned; while the lantern vines on the ladder remained bright, the section deep within the cavern emitted not a single ray of light.
This shouldn't be happening. The Leander Lantern Vine was capable of both illumination and environmental detection. If it encountered an environment unsuitable for human respiration or if a section was completely destroyed, the entire vine should wither—not remain half-intact while the other half showed no reaction, as it did now.
"It really is an ancient magical realm," Miranda said, looking somewhat pleased. "Try this."
She pulled out a black candle. It looked as if it had gone moldy, though it didn't smell strange. The black-robed mage's finger brushed against the wick, and a tiny black spark ignited, burning dimly.
In theory, black fire shouldn't even exist, but then again, why bother arguing about science when it comes to magic? The black candle burned as if it weren't lit at all; if anything, it actually made the surrounding light a little dimmer. Miranda exchanged a few words with Dolores, and a soldier—whose head was empty from the neck up—slowly crawled to his feet, the black candle secured to his jaw.
Many of the living soldiers grimaced in discomfort; several turned pale. Bruno cast a spell of encouragement over the crowd, and they seemed to recover only slightly.
The dead man with the black candle on his head slowly crawled along the vines into the center of the cave, and the pitch-black void was finally illuminated. The scouting zombie soldier signaled "all clear." The necromancer nodded, and the group began their ascent.
The vine ladder offered plenty of handholds and footholds; the guards climbed up with ease, and most of the mage apprentices had no trouble either. Tasa spread her wings, carrying one mage in each hand, making several trips back and forth to spare the astonishingly weak mages from having to use their flight spells.
On the other side of the cavern lay a surprisingly spacious chamber.
The zombie soldier serving as a candlestick stood to one side. The black candle, which had seemed dim down below, now shone with startling brightness in this open space. Though its brightness was no different from that of an ordinary candle, its light covered a radius of over ten meters, and every spot within that radius was just as bright as the area directly next to the flame. Within this vast illuminated area, the floor was covered with thick carpets. The illuminated ebony exterior walls cast a somber glow, while the ceiling, carved with intricate patterns, shimmered like obsidian.
"Stay where you are and don't move! Don't touch anything!" Miranda said sternly. "Any mishap triggered here will leave you with nothing but bones, and your souls will never find release!"
With that, she grabbed the hem of her robe and darted toward a nearby pillar, as if a lovesick maiden were running toward her beloved. Tasa had never seen her move so swiftly.
The guards stood obediently in place, not daring to take a single step. The other mages surveyed their surroundings, appearing somewhat calmer than the black-robed mage; their excited gazes still betrayed their professional composure. Rudolf, the wild mage with the least understanding of the situation, was the first to look away. "Where do we go from here?" he asked.
"Find the passage and head up. The most valuable things are usually hidden at the top of the tower," Gloria said, still looking around. "I wonder whose tower this is. It definitely isn't an alchemist's."
"Is there any way to tell who the owner of a mage tower is?" asked Tashan.
"Only the most outstanding mages of ancient times would possess a mage tower within the sub-space—at least at the Legendary tier," Gloria explained. "Owning such a mage tower is a source of pride; the owner would leave their 'signature' throughout the entire tower."
"The entire tower?"
"The owner of a mage tower must create extremely complex protective runes within it to ensure the tower remains safe in the sub-space, while also safeguarding the treasures, apprentices, and guests inside. When the owner completes the protection, they weave their name and a maxim into the runes, and these elements are hidden in every corner of the mage tower in the form of runes." "Gloria said, "I only know the pattern alchemists use to hide their names; the content is usually an admonition to apprentices to pursue eternal knowledge."
"I've heard that the maxims of ancient mages were mostly curses—things like 'May those who covet my treasures meet a wretched end,'" Rudolf interjected, recounting rumors and anecdotes. "The 'Tower Sayings' of the masters of black magic sound just like warnings a grave owner would give to tomb raiders."
"Because the relationships among Dark Mages aren't exactly friendly," Bruno, the white-robed mage, cheerfully joined in on the "bashing of the black robes." "Rather than educating apprentices, their towers are mostly used for defense and storing treasures—keeping life-chests and corpses, waiting for future resurrection. That's why they curse trespassers to a grim fate—and these curses often hold real power."
"I think talking about this right now is rather unlucky," said Tasa.
"Don't worry. A wizard's tower that's been dismantled by the White Tower must have been ownerless for a long time. A tower with an owner wouldn't be captured," Gloria reassured her.
"Besides, ancient magic was a mix of black and white magic. A tower master with fluid guardians isn't necessarily a particularly cruel or evil wizard," " Bruno added, "Even if we do encounter a dangerous mage who issues a warning through a curse, as long as we leave immediately upon hearing the warning, we won't trigger the curse."
Hearing you say that actually makes me even more worried, Tasha thought to herself, recalling the jinx-prone commentator currently sleeping in the Magic Pool.
"Hahahahahaha, it's him! It really is him!" The black-robed mage suddenly burst into excited laughter. "Dragon Slayer, Enemy of Light, Lord of Evil Spirits, the Dark Meteor, Richel! Richel Cliff, the legendary mage from eight hundred years ago—they've actually found his mage tower! We've actually found his mage tower!"
This isn't good, Tasa thought. No matter how I look at it, this tower's master doesn't seem like a nice guy.
The title of "Legendary Mage" isn't something you throw around casually like "Demon Lord."
"Dragon Slayer"—one who has slain three or more pure-blooded adult dragons. Subspecies dragons won't do, nor will juvenile dragons. Those who successfully slay one or two dragons are called Dragon Slayers, but only when your tally reaches three will the world recognize that your feat wasn't merely a flash in the pan. The title of Dragon Slayer makes young dragons retreat in fear and allows you to stand as an equal among older dragons.
Enemy of the Light: One who has provoked the Saroth Cult at the height of its power and emerged unscathed. The bearer of this title must have inflicted immense damage without suffering any significant consequences—only then would Saroth priests curse them with gritted teeth afterward, rather than watching them flee in disarray, their name lost to obscurity.
Lord of the Fiends: one who has struck numerous deals with the creatures of the Abyss and reaped the rewards. Most deals with demons end badly; those rare few who truly gain immense benefits from such transactions are despised by the world, yet envied and admired by many. Though they maintain close ties with the Abyss, people call them Lords of the Fiends rather than Abyss worshippers, for these individuals do not worship the Abyss—they exploit it.
"What is the Black Meteor?" Tasha asked, hoping it had nothing to do with the Astral Plane.
"Archmage Reichel ascended to Legendary rank in less than a century, earning that title by defeating other ancient mages who had held Legendary rank for far longer." Miranda's voice trembled with excitement, like a fan speaking of an idol. "He was the innovator of spell-casting golems and the inventor of numerous groundbreaking spells—and that's without even considering his research findings. His true achievements are certainly greater than what's recorded. Master Reichel's rise is a legend."
"Just like his downfall," Bruno interjected. "Rescher was active for less than a century. He vanished suddenly amidst widespread attention. The searches conducted by numerous factions and the artifacts unearthed over the following centuries clearly indicate he did not simply fade into obscurity of his own accord."
"Unlike those mages who 'disappeared' from the records simply because they dabbled in the Astral Plane, he truly vanished—just like many ancient mages who died in places unknown to anyone," Gloria added.
"A life as fleeting and legendary as a shooting star is far better than that of countless incompetent, long-lived, ancient mages!" Miranda glared at them, effectively acknowledging the truth of their words.
That Archmage's rise and fall were as swift as a shooting star, yet his presence tore through the night sky, leaving behind a legend even after nearly a thousand years of turmoil—truly a tale steeped in legend.
A tower master of such renown, with so many people standing at the entrance offering commentary—no matter how you looked at it, it felt deeply ominous. If this were a game dungeon, this must be the final boss, Tasa thought helplessly. With all this buildup, even if we had to fight the missing tower master himself at the top of the tower, it wouldn't feel particularly strange to me.
But at the same time, there is some good news.
Tasha asked the Hall of Wisdom "how to awaken Victor," and the Hall of Wisdom will provide hints rather than acting as a wishing well to solve the problem outright. In other words, before coming here, she had already prepared herself mentally for the fact that this place offers only prescriptions, not the actual ingredients. Now that the Tower Masters' impressive titles have all been revealed—a powerhouse who punches dragons, kicks the Saroth cult, and has shady ties to the Abyss; a mage skilled in scavenging and stockpiling spell materials; a legendary figure who vanished so suddenly that he left behind a wealth of unused legacies—coupled with the fact that the White Tower's demolition is only halfway complete, and the magical environment in the area remains perfectly preserved…
What does this mean?
Danger—and equal opportunity.
It's highly likely that Tower Sand will stumble upon something that could wake Victor in one fell swoop.
"What is the 'Tower's Oath'?" Rudolf interjected between the black-robed and white-robed mages, trying to smooth things over. "Did that Archmage curse trespassers?"
"The 'Tower's Oath' is," Miranda paused, her expression growing grave, "'All who enter my tower shall become my property.'"
Everyone fell silent for a moment.
"For some reason, I always felt a curse like 'stealing my things leads to a bad end' would be a bit more relatable," Rudolf grumbled.
"Did ancient mages also keep apprentices in their towers?" Gloria speculated. "Perhaps their parenting methods were just a bit more brutal, meant to warn apprentices against betrayal or something."
"For many ancient mages, the graduation ritual was to kill their teacher," Miranda added. "Or to be killed—that meant failing the course. That's why ancient mages were so much more powerful and accomplished than modern ones."
The black-robed mage spoke with a tone of longing. She turned and shot a disappointed glance back at her apprentices, who all shuddered in unison.
"Please don't do that; it's against the law," Tasmalin's magistrate finally interjected.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Bruno sighed.
This white-robed mage already had drooping eyebrows; even when silent, he carried an air of melancholy. Ever since entering the White Tower ruins, he had been constantly frowning and sighing, looking more like a middle-aged, unemployed scholar with a hard life. Furrowing his bushy eyebrows, he plucked several fruits from the unlit lantern vines beside him and tossed them into the great hole.
The fruits didn't hit the ground; they vanished.
Beneath the pitch-black chasm, the underground passage they had just traversed was clearly visible. Beyond the ancient mage tower's domain, the Leander lantern vines illuminated the vine ladder and the underground passage. Water flowed through the passage, now free from the area-restricting water-diverting spell, and perhaps rats and leeches scurried about within.
But the fruits thrown into the abyss before everyone's eyes vanished into thin air before they even left the great hole connecting the Mage Tower to the sewers.
Someone untied a sash and dropped it into the hole; the sash disappeared at the cross-section of the opening. When the soldier pulled the sash back, the missing part did not return—one half of the sash bore a smooth cut, while the other half was nowhere to be found.
"A one-way passage," Bruno sighed.
The magical environment in this area had never faded; a portion of the Mage Tower's power remained intact to this day. The phrase hidden within the protective runes—more of a declaration than a proverb—was, in fact, no empty warning.
Fortunately, the Inspire spell was still active, and the guards and apprentices remained calm.
"Is there any way to stop this effect?" Tasha asked.
All the mages shook their heads.
"Staying here is pointless. Let's go inside," Miranda said.
"Did you find anything?" Gloria asked hopefully.
"No," Miranda replied bluntly. "But there's nothing else worth seeing here. Why stay?"
This black-robed mage had clearly reached the point where she felt her life had been well lived, and what she said made perfect sense.
"Let's head up," Tasha decided. "There might be other passages leading to the outside."
"The odds are slim," Bruno said. "The cave we came in through wasn't part of the original mage tower's layout. The fact that we can only enter and not exit here likely means the entire tower is covered by this one-way effect. Even if we find another exit—assuming we can safely navigate the entire ancient mage tower, which hasn't been unsealed and is teeming with fluid-guard-level magical creatures and golems—we'll be just as stuck as we are here."
"Can't you say something positive?" Gloria sighed. "Come on, give us a glimmer of hope! Think of your family, your apprentices, your research projects, the flowers and plants you grow, and your pets?"
"I just finished my last research project," Bruno said gloomily. "I'm not married; I'm the only one in my family. My apprentice is here too, and I don't keep flowers or pets."
Gloria paused, then her tone brightened again: "Isn't that just perfect? Even if we die here, we'll die with no regrets!"
"Thanks for remembering to mention that at the 'Antan Conference Table,'" Rudolf said, torn between laughter and tears. "You've really done a great job boosting the morale of our entire team."
Are you guys here to perform a comedy routine? Tasha wondered.
"Maybe we won't have to die."
After a long silence, Dolores suddenly spoke. She pointed forward, and the zombie lampstand took a few steps ahead, illuminating an open area several meters away.
There, lying in pieces, was a golem.