Translator: AnubisTL
The next day, Jieming met with Mentor Clark, Viola, Anker, and his son Kors as scheduled.
Without a word, the group moved in perfect unison, channeling the elements to transform into streaks of light. They soared toward a majestic high tower nestled deep within the academy.
The domain of Noren Academy No. 1 was vast beyond imagination. More than just an academy, it was a complete, miniature world. Within its borders lay not only meticulously planned building complexes but also rolling hills, deep basins, ceaseless rivers, and jagged peaks that pierced the heavens.
Their destination—Mentor Clark's own mentor—dwelt atop one of the steepest peaks, secluded within a black high tower that stabbed through the clouds like a sword.
Even before they reached the tower, an ancient aura washed over them.
The first things to catch their eyes were the colossal beasts, some lying down and others standing, scattered across the open ground around the tower. Their forms were diverse: some were clad in heavy rocky shells, while others were wreathed in destructive lightning. Each one radiated a terrifying energy fluctuation that reached the sixth tier.
These beings, capable of causing cataclysmic disasters on any plane and known as "Calamities," now roamed the foothills as leisurely as domesticated pets. They merely lifted their eyelids lazily as Jieming and his companions passed by.
Passing through the Tower Base Gate, which was guarded by an invisible force field, the sight before Jieming made him daze for a moment, almost thinking he had triggered some random teleportation formation.
Inside the gate was not the expected interior structure of a tower, but a vast, endless grassland!
A gentle breeze brushed past, causing waves of grass to roll and bringing the fragrance of earth and green grass. In the sky, a real sun, emitting light and heat, hung high, illuminating the land.
"An entire plane nested inside... Truly a grand gesture," Jieming quickly realized, his heart filled with shock.
The High Tower itself was a super-giant spatial container, housing a complete small-scale plane within!
On the grassland, giant beasts—even larger and more terrifyingly powerful than the "pets" outside—were everywhere. They either strolled leisurely or lay prostrate in deep sleep, clearly the masters of this realm.
Without a doubt, this was the back garden of the Grandmentor they had never met, used to raise his "cannon fodder units" and "research materials."
The group followed Mentor Clark, flying low over this Grassland Plane.
They soared over mountains and rivers, finally arriving at a vast, open plain.
In the center of the plain stood a magnificent megalithic palace.
At the palace entrance, two humanoid beings with restrained auras and nearly perfect forms already waited. Upon seeing Mentor Clark, they bowed respectfully, then silently guided the group into the depths of the palace.
Passing through a long, colonnaded corridor, the party reached an exquisitely ornate hall with a soaring dome. The hall was bathed in soft light, its walls embedded with countless runes that spun autonomously, weaving the mysteries of the laws.
Jieming's gaze was immediately drawn to the single throne at the hall's highest point.
A slender hand gripped a simple, silver-shaped wand. The hand's owner wore a plain black wizard's robe that clung to his small, even frail-looking frame.
When Jieming saw the figure seated on the high throne clearly, his eyes widened in disbelief.
Before coming, he had already learned the Grandmentor's name—Anton Buchanan.
Yet, he could not reconcile the image of this figure, who appeared to be a child of barely ten with a youthful face, with the titles "Mentor Clark's mentor" and "a peak-stage Great Wizard on the verge of advancing to the eighth tier."
But the next moment, Jieming realized his own shallowness.
In the silent hall, a low, rhythmic thump-thump echoed, like the beating of war drums. It possessed a strange piercing power, as if striking directly upon the soul.
Jieming subconsciously searched for the source of the sound, only to discover in horror that it... actually originated from the heartbeat of the "child" Grandmentor seated on the high platform!
What kind of terrifying physique was this?!
The mere sound of an unconscious heartbeat could create such a clear echo in this vast space.
The life energy contained within his body was unimaginably immense!
Below the high platform, several rows of seats were already occupied by many people, their auras varying in strength.
The "child" on the high platform—Grandmentor Anton Buchanan—looked at Clark's group as they entered. A satisfied smile, utterly at odds with his youthful appearance, curved his lips, and he let out a low laugh that clashed sharply with his image: "Jie jie jie jie... It seems everyone has arrived."
His gaze swept over them, and when his seemingly ordinary eyes fell upon Jieming, Jieming instantly felt his breath catch.
The moment he was stared at by those deep pupils, he felt as if he were being scorched at close range by two invisible suns, his very soul trembling slightly.
Fortunately, the other party clearly harbored no ill will and was well aware of the pressure caused by the disparity in their strengths. His gaze merely swept over Jieming and the other third- and fourth-generation juniors before being immediately withdrawn.
Under Mentor Clark's lead, Jieming and the others bowed respectfully toward the high seats. "It has been a long time, Mentor."
Grandmentor Anton Buchanan waved his small hand, his voice childish yet carrying an unquestionable majesty. "It has been a long time for all of you. There is no need to be so formal. Find a seat and sit down. A few more will be arriving shortly."
Following his instructions, Mentor Clark found an empty seat in the very first row. Jieming, Viola, Anker, and Kors quietly followed behind their mentor, taking their places in the area designated for Clark's lineage.
Jieming took the opportunity to survey the hall.
Counting Grandmentor Anton Buchanan as the first generation, there were only five second-generation wizards present, including Mentor Clark. Wizard Augusta, whom they had met before, was also among them, seated not far from Clark.
Behind each of these five second-generation wizards sat a varying number of third-generation disciples. There were even a few third-generation wizards with young people who appeared to be fourth-generation disciples following behind them.
As his gaze swept across the second-generation seats, Jieming spotted another familiar face!
The man seemed to notice Jieming's gaze and turned, revealing a gentle and elegant face. He nodded with a smile at Jieming.
Jieming's heart skipped a beat. He immediately leaned forward slightly in his seat, showing his respect.
Viola, noticing his subtle movement, asked curiously in a low voice, "You know him?"
Jieming replied softly, "I met him before in a planar war. Wizard Dionysius Spencer. I never expected him to be from the same lineage as us."
He remembered that Wizard Spencer specialized in fate-related abilities, his methods mysterious and unpredictable.
Now it seemed the man also possessed a profound mastery of alchemy.
At this thought, Jieming fell into a deep reverie.
If that's the case, then the combination of 'alchemy' and 'fate-related knowledge' might be one of the core characteristics of our lineage.
Jieming recalled that Wizard Dionysius Spencer was a legitimate seventh-tier wizard. Glancing at the man's seat, Jieming understood.
This Wizard Dionysius Spencer was likely the eldest senior brother of their lineage—his Eldest Martial Uncle.
Jieming's eyes instinctively swept across the room again.
Following this martial uncle were seven wizards. Judging by their seating, six of them were third-generation disciples. Apart from one who seemed to have just advanced to a first-tier wizard, the remaining five were all fifth-tier wizards.
One of these fifth-tier wizards was followed by a wizard with the aura of a third-tier, who appeared to be a fourth-generation disciple.
As Jieming sized them up, these wizards also instinctively studied him, their attention drawn by his earlier actions.
Except for the first-tier third-generation disciple and the third-tier fourth-generation disciple, the remaining five wizards' expressions turned grave the moment they saw Jieming.
Seeing this, Jieming gave them a friendly smile, knowing they had sensed the danger he posed—his portable grotto-heaven contained a research team of Black Giant Priests. If a fight were to break out, fifteen Black Giant Priests, each as powerful as a sixth-tier creature, could easily swarm and kill any one of them.
After they took their seats, the space within the hall soon rippled faintly.
Several incomparably powerful auras, none of which were any weaker than Grandmentor Anton Buchanan's—and one of which was even more terrifying—descended rapidly from the distance.
Sensing these auras, Grandmentor Anton Buchanan, seated on his high throne, revealed a genuine smile on his youthful face.
To everyone's astonishment, he actually leaped down from the throne—the very symbol of supreme authority—and scurried toward the palace entrance on his short legs.
At Grandmentor Anton Buchanan's unprecedented gesture, every wizard in the hall, regardless of rank or seniority, rose as one. They followed him toward the entrance, forming a procession to show the highest respect to the newcomer.
Before the figure appeared, his voice arrived.
A steady, gentle voice, seemingly imbued with endless wisdom and the weight of ages, drifted in, tinged with a faint, imperceptible warmth. "Hey, Anton! I never expected you to be the first to knock on the door of the Eighth Tier!"
Immediately after, Grandmentor Anton Buchanan's voice rang out: "Mentor... It has been a long time."
Hearing the exchange between Grandmentor Anton Buchanan and the leader of the visiting party, Jieming couldn't resist looking up. He wanted to see who this divine being was—someone so revered that the Grandmentor would personally greet them and address them as "Mentor."
However, when he finally saw the middle-aged man standing at the front of the group, the one Anton Buchanan called "Mentor," Jieming's pupils constricted, and his heart nearly skipped a beat.
He had met this man twice before. He had even worked with him for a time.
The man was none other than the founder of the Noren Workshop, the top-tier alchemist, the living legend—the Eighth-Tier Wizard, Wizard Noren!
(End of the Chapter)
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