The golem was already destroyed.
The ceiling of this mage's tower gleamed, the wood on the walls was both rustic and as good as new, and even the long-pile carpet looked as though it had been laid down just yesterday. Tashan had run his hand over the carpet earlier; it felt soft and warm to the touch—comfortable, luxurious, and completely dust-free.
Time within the tower seemed to have stopped. Centuries after the tower's master had departed, everything remained frozen in place, waiting quietly for his return. But the golem not far away was different. Only half of it remained, its surviving metal parts rusted and pitted; it was far harder to determine that "this had once been a golem" than to conclude that "this thing was broken."
It felt as though time throughout the entire tower flowed solely upon this damaged golem.
Miranda took out another black candle, placed it beside the large hole, and protected it with a spell. The necromancer continued forward, controlling the corpse-candlestick, while the group of living people kept their distance and followed, heading toward the golem's remains.
"That's right, this is a spell-casting golem."
Gloria crouched beside the golem's remains, pulling a pile of tools—whose functions she couldn't fathom—from her pouch. The alchemist's movements as she dismantled the golem resembled those of a coroner performing an autopsy.
She pointed to the rusted golem's opened chest cavity, tapped the hollow section with her fingernail, and said, " "In a standard golem, this space is completely filled by the mechanical core, but a spell-casting golem has a spell-casting hub encased around the mechanical core. By the time of the Eryan Declaration, spell-casting golems had already become widespread among various mage academies and legendary mages; the spell-casting hub is made of runic-engraved mithril. But before that, it is said that the earliest versions of spell-casting golems were powered by unstable 'magic fountains.'"
A "magic spring" is a solidified spell; once the spell's constraints within the golem's body are broken, the space is left completely empty.
"That was the earliest form of the spell-casting golem," Miranda said. "No, it would not be an exaggeration to call the golem in this mage tower the progenitor of all later spell-casting golems. A 'magic spring' core a hundred times more powerful than runic mithril, a shell forged from moonlight iron a hundred times stronger than ordinary steel—Archmage Reichel activated the golem directly with magic, without even needing runes as a catalyst… Just imagine it! No need for the tedious process of engraving runes—a single wave of the hand could summon an entire army of spellcasters! They know no pain, possess astonishing resistance, and obey absolutely. A single volley would be enough to bring those frail, academic mages to their knees, and even brutes with nothing but brute strength would find no advantage against those bodies of steel! Magical light flickers in their eye sockets, harder to extinguish than soulfire. Necromantic puppets, severely weakened by light-elemental spells, simply can't hold a candle to them!"
Miranda grew more and more excited as she spoke, a flush spreading across her sallow face, as if she'd had one too many drinks. Tasha thought to herself that this black-robed mage's poor social standing wasn't just due to his field of study. The necromancers still looked like half-dead souls lost in their own worlds, while Bruno, a representative of the academic tradition, wore an expression of resigned acceptance—as if to say, "Here we go again." His hot-headed apprentice, Laurien, rolled her eyes dramatically.
"But even such a powerful spell-casting golem was dismantled, wasn't it?" " Gloria said bluntly, poking at the wreckage again. "It couldn't have just collapsed on its own because it was poorly made, could it?"
"I'm talking about an army of spell-casting golems," Miranda said. "A golem acting alone might certainly be picked off one by one—even a demon lord acting alone has moments of weakness."
Dolores remained silent. The skeletal sentinel she'd sent ahead to scout—a creature made of rat bones, with little combat ability but quite fast—ran back, and the corpse candlestick took a few more steps forward.
Within the black candle's range of light, new golem remains appeared.
This time, the remains were no longer scattered about; they lay haphazardly together, like trash blown together by a strong wind. The jumbled fragments and parts merged into a single mass, making it impossible to tell exactly how many there were. But to dismantle such a large pile of parts, they must have taken down far more than just three or five golems.
This was a pile of slaughtered golems.
Miranda's face darkened, and the others wore grave expressions—they had no time to mock her. The distribution of the wreckage made it clear: these golems, like the fluid guardians outside, served as guardians of the mage tower. If the tower had remained intact, the first group of Tower Sands to enter would have faced this legendary group of spellcasting golems—a horde of steel spellcasters immune to pain, possessing astonishing resistance, and capable of indiscriminately casting area-of-effect spells. Even if they had managed to prevail, they would undoubtedly have paid a heavy price.
These creations, which Miranda had described as immensely powerful, were now rusted and battered, resembling a pile of discarded crab shells—they no longer posed the slightest threat.
Who, exactly, had arrived here before them?
"The 'gate' outside is unfinished, and the fluid guardians are still alive and kicking. Why, then, have the golems inside been dismantled?" Tasha asked.
"I had assumed the White Tower mages had used teleportation to send the Disintegration Runes in advance, so they could work from the inside to dismantle the mage tower. But now it seems that wasn't the case…" Bruno frowned. "Teleportation couldn't have precisely targeted so many golems. A mage—or some being with spatial abilities—must have come here after the tower's master left."
"They're just taking advantage of the fact that the tower's master left long ago," Miranda said bitterly.
"To 'digest' a mage tower, you must create a 'gate' leading to it so that ordinary people can enter," Gloria explained to Tasha. "But for some powerful beings capable of altering the rules, they don't need a gate; they can leap into an unguarded mage tower, though they must bear some risks."
"So could these powerful beings leave?" Tasha asked again.
This time, no one answered immediately.
"It's hard to say," Miranda replied. "Archmage Reichel is the god of this mage tower. Even if he has left, as long as the mage tower hasn't collapsed, the laws of this realm won't vanish. No matter how great a being enters the mage tower, they'll still be bound by those laws."
Outside the tower, legendary practitioners are true legends, so they can teleport into the mage tower. But once inside, they'll be weakened, just as Abyssal demons are when they enter the Prime Material Plane—they might make it in but not out.
"It's not entirely hopeless," Gloria scratched her head, where her hair was braided into plaits. "The Tower Master's rules are the domain's rules; the mage is the god of this place—but even among gods, there are degrees of power. There are plenty of deities who have perished on the Prime Material Plane. How powerful are the strong ones who enter the tower? How powerful are the rules left behind by the Tower Master? We don't know, so we can't judge for now."
From the traces left on the wreckage, they could vaguely discern some of the spells that had caused this state of affairs. Seeing this pile of dismantled golems, they knew they weren't the first visitors, but that was all. The Mage's Tower preserved the scene of the battle; the flow of time here was highly peculiar, making it impossible to determine how long ago the predecessors had arrived. The defunct golems might have rotted away within a minute, or they might have quietly rusted for centuries.
There was only one thing they could be certain of.
The presence of those who came before them had provided them with immense convenience.
"Let's keep moving upward," said Tashan.
The Skeletal Sentinel ran in the lead, the Corpse Lantern followed behind, and the rest of the formation remained as it had been. As they pressed on, they encountered numerous fragments of golem wrecks along the way.
Teleportation spells were forbidden within the Mage's Tower, so even a Pathfinder capable of dispatching a group of spellcasting golems had to rely on their own two feet. That Pathfinder had cleared the path and marked their route using the remains of the garrison and the scattered bones.
This wasn't a maze; it was simply too vast.
Spiral staircases connected numerous smaller levels, while massive teleportation arrays linked the larger, separate tiers. Countless rooms and corridors intertwined—it wasn't a tower at all, but a city built vertically. Even with a guide leading the way, the journey was incredibly long.
This ancient mage tower, relatively well-preserved, was far less fascinating than the White Tower described in the records. There were no portraits hanging on the walls, the corridors looked monotonous, and there were scarcely any signs at the intersections—it was clearly not a place that welcomed visitors. The lower levels housed the apprentices' quarters, but as one ascended, there were no recreational or even basic living facilities to be found; it was hard to imagine how the apprentices of old managed to survive here. Standing there, Ta Sha could picture a group of figures in black robes, silent and hurrying along.
On the other hand, the facilities related to magic were exceptionally abundant… and lavish.
The apprentice library was a standard feature of any mage tower, and this tower's master had been quite generous to the apprentices in this regard. Even just standing at the entrance and peering inside, one could see that the library, occupying an entire floor, held an astonishing collection—far surpassing the scale of the White Tower's branch. The shelves had not been plundered by any outsiders; massive ancient tomes and thin handwritten manuscripts were neatly arranged side by side, protected by the Mage Tower and remaining intact despite the passage of centuries. Heavy magical fluctuations emanated from the shelves deep within, suggesting they held no shortage of astonishing spellbooks. The spellbooks crafted by ancient mages contained excerpts of their unique spells; each book represented a legacy, and each was a one-of-a-kind manuscript.
The mages all wore expressions of pain, as if they were parched travelers staring at a cup of water they knew to be poisoned. They understood just how valuable the ancient mages' spellbooks were, and naturally knew that such a sacred place would be protected by magical barriers—even if they couldn't detect them. There were no signs that anyone had entered the library; the pioneer had simply passed right by, as if completely uninterested.
"Do you think it's possible that the owner of this tower was simply too wealthy to care about the meager collection in the apprentice library?" Gloria said reluctantly. "Maybe this place is just a buffet now…"
No one answered; the other mages were taking deep breaths, like starving dieters pushing away a plate of braised pork.
"If that's the case, there must be something more important upstairs," Tasha reassured them.
Such scenes played out many times afterward.
The upper level of the library served as a storage room for experimental materials. The temperature on this floor fluctuated wildly—some areas felt like the depths of winter, while others were hotter than the height of summer—and they were still only outside most of the rooms. Many doors stood tightly shut, and no one intended to open them without good reason. Tasha peered inside through a rare, half-open door and saw shelves lined with various potions.
In that sweltering room, most of the bottles and jars had dried up—likely because this long-neglected pharmacy had fallen into disuse. But in the center stood a wide-mouthed bottle, one-third filled with a faintly bubbling crimson liquid, in which something vermilion was churning.
Gloria gasped sharply: "That can't be…"
"Don't say it," Bruno interrupted her with a sorrowful tone. "We won't go in. We can't get it. Don't say it."
Above lay a level of prison cells, nearly half of which were empty, while the other half held the corpses of prisoners. Tasa could distinguish human bones, some clearly belonging to orcs, dwarves, and giants, along with the bones of various beasts—though she couldn't identify the specific species. But the necromancers recognized them, and now it was their turn to beat their chests in anguish. A mage's apprentice who tried to get the skeletal sentinel to dig out a few bones was knocked to the ground by an unexplained backlash. Dolores sighed and had another soldier's corpse carry the reckless little greedy thing away.
Above the entire middle floor of cells lay several levels of identical rooms. The text on the nameplates at the door was clear, but unfortunately, Miranda wasn't yet proficient enough to fully decipher these ancient magical runes; she could only translate a few keywords, such as "Abyssal," "Celestial," "Elemental," and so on.
The spatial layout of the Mage Tower followed a rather rigorous logic. At first, they had been quite suspicious of the sudden appearance of the cells, but now, seeing these guest-room-like chambers, new confusion arose.
When the two questions were combined, they yielded the same answer.
What lay below were not cells, nor were the rooms above guest quarters; both shared the same nature—they were experimental subjects for ancient mages.
The "low-grade materials" from the Material Plane, which were easier to handle, were placed on the lower levels, relatively open areas where apprentices could feed and clean them. The "high-grade materials" from the Celestial and Abyssal planes, however, required more sophisticated storage methods, with their importance increasing from bottom to top—a distribution that aligned quite well with the functional zoning of the Mage Tower.
Expensive carpets covered the entire mage tower. The rooms storing various currencies and precious metals were situated just above the apprentices' living quarters. Countless gems—ranging in quality from those "affordable to the common folk through frugality" to those "capable of destabilizing a small nation"—were casually piled in the material storage levels. Ancient mages' spellbooks and other volumes were housed in the library, while the skeletons of various creatures were kept in the dungeons… Along the way, the treasures lining the corridors have already moved even the wealthiest of people and made mages, who usually have no interest in worldly possessions, salivate. By now, even Tashan felt a twinge of excitement.
In rooms that appear perfectly intact, there might be well-preserved creatures from the Abyss or the Celestial Realm.
The Mage Tower is like a piece of amber encasing ancient creatures; items and species from nearly a thousand years ago are preserved here. People from present-day Eryan arriving here feel as though they've discovered a massive freezer from before the apocalypse, one that has remained powered all this time, protecting its contents through the catastrophe.
Even what were once insignificant scraps now hold immense research value—let alone these powerful creatures that make one's heart race just to look at them. If Tashan were a conventional dungeon, what kind of army could the powerful creatures devouring these rooms have created? Even for an extraordinary dungeon like Tashan, just thinking about the materials that could be obtained from these things—dungeons are vast and powerful, with countless research institutions clamoring for resources—and the elements that could be extracted, was enough to make her heart race. She could fully understand the mages' earlier excitement.
If she could find the remains of a demon lord, her purpose for coming here might just be fulfilled.
But these rooms were locked.
It wasn't that there was absolutely no chance—if she made every preparation and played all her trump cards, she might just manage to open one room. But the fact that the rooms were locked meant that the pioneer had once again passed through in a hurry.
Whether it was ordinary people, mages, or even the dungeon itself… none of the treasures she had seen so far had moved the heart of that unknown pioneer. He or she pressed forward relentlessly, with no time for distractions, rarely even backtracking after taking a wrong turn. This person—or non-person—was incredibly resolute; ever since entering the tower, they had always known exactly what they wanted.
Tashan intuitively sensed that the view ahead must be more precious than anything they had encountered along the way.
"Let's go," she said.
Further up lay a massive laboratory.
In the other parts of the Mage's Tower, the lighting spells had already faded, forcing them to rely on their own black candles for guidance. This floor, however, was different. The ceiling was inlaid with some kind of treated luminous ore, arranged with such efficiency that it resembled an eternal white-hot lamp, illuminating the entire floor.
Tashan almost felt as if she were still on Earth. At night, when the lights were turned on, the office was clearly visible, and everything under the lights exuded a bright, clean, efficient, yet impersonal, elite aura. Laboratories on Earth were probably like this too, though not this large. Wouldn't a lab this big be inconvenient?
"Every large section of this floor is movable. While the Tower Master and his apprentice were still inside, the laboratory would rearrange itself according to their wishes, and magical barriers would rise at the edges of each experimental area to divide, protect, and isolate them. "Miranda murmured, "Look at them… I've only ever seen these devices in legends and records; they've long been lost to history, or were thought to be mere myths. I can't imagine how they were made, or how those spells function. They're right here, still emitting a faint magical glow, yet I can't even begin to understand them…"
Tasha had been keeping a close eye on the guards and the inexperienced mage apprentices all along, but now she found herself watching the mages instead. Their gazes were too fervent; they stared at the laboratory equipment as if beholding a rare and enchanting sight, utterly captivated and dazzled by it. Neither the uneducated soldiers nor Tasha—who possessed knowledge but lacked interest—could fathom such passion.
"By the God of Magic, they're actually still running," muttered the wild mage Rudolf, shaking his head in disbelief. "This defies the Law of Conservation of Magic…"
To an outsider, Tasha thought to herself, the difference between logically "reasonable" magic and baffling mysticism is so slight it's impossible to tell them apart.
"The answer must be right here, in some detail we've overlooked. The reason the Mage Tower has kept running all this time is right here," Miranda said, her eyes fixed straight ahead, her voice and expression both terrifying.
Tasha acted with lightning speed, grabbing the black-robed mage just as she burst out of the corridor, charging toward the depths of the laboratory. Miranda's struggle was surprisingly fierce; even more surprising was that she was actually using her hands and feet to wrestle with Tasha, as if she'd completely forgotten that she was a mage who made her living with her mind and her words.
"Let go! " Miranda screamed hysterically, "The answers are right here! Where did those ancient mages who moved mountains and parted seas obtain their knowledge and power? What kind of lineage did they follow? How did they cast spells? How did they conduct their experiments? What enabled them to build, step by step, the extraordinary mage towers in the sub-space, creating so many spells and masterpieces, while today's mages are nothing but a mass-produced lot of mediocre people who merely parrot their textbooks? We're right here! Rachel Cliff, the last and greatest of the ancient mages—we're right here in his tower, yet we can do nothing! What's the point of this?! Let me through! Even if I don't get the answers, I'm willing to die alongside the creations of ancient magic!"
Her voice trembled violently, a mix of fervor and helplessness, despair and hope—like a vessel so filled with contradictions it was on the verge of exploding. Miranda finally remembered to cast a spell, but Tash covered her mouth with her hand, feeling the dampness against her skin. To everyone's astonishment, this bad-tempered middle-aged mage was actually crying.
The most severely affected mage erupted, startling the others awake. The other mages looked at Miranda; regardless of their relationship with her, their eyes betrayed a hint of understanding and pity—to Tash, it seemed like the fox mourning the dead rabbit. It seemed as though someone wanted to say something, and Tash opened her mouth to offer some advice, but before their words could escape their lips, a voice from elsewhere sounded first.
The flapping of wings.
Like a giant moth, like a giant bat, like a bird… yet unlike anything at all—it sounded oddly out of place. Only when the shadow engulfed the group, and the creature appeared before them, did Tashada realize why the flapping had sounded so strange.
It was the sound of a single wing beating.
It was a huge raven, with slender talons and a beak; the tip of its upper beak was a sharp, curved hook, the tip tinged with dark red. Its body was jet-black and glossy, its feathers like flowing metal; it had only one wing, yet it flew with incredible stability, as if it didn't fundamentally need wings to fly at all. On the same side where the wing was missing, the bird's head appeared to have been whittled away by half; feathers and flesh were nowhere to be seen, and there was no blood, only a gleaming metallic skull exposed, leaving behind a single, constantly flickering red eye.
"...Teacher, I'm looking—looking for you," the strange bird said in a stuttering voice. "Teacher... I'm telling you—to go—up—"