In the Astrologer's era, this was the etiquette a student owed their teacher. The Grand Sage felt no respect. That golden eye fixed on him—his hand, hidden in his sleeve, clenched into a fist.
"Has time's baptism not been enough? Wait a few more years, and you'll turn completely to stone. Then it won't matter if this seal holds. I'll finally be free of this duty."
No helping it. This was Sellia's purpose. Sorcerers who touched the Primeval Current were hard to kill, but the Current itself marked the start of their end. Consciousness eroded. Knowledge dissolved. Master Lusat would become inert energy, mindless as a rock.
But the erosion stalled at eighty percent. Lusat wasn't stone yet. Edred couldn't afford even a moment's lapse.
"In your pursuit of impossible knowledge, may you petrify in silence, Teacher." He bowed once, flicked his sleeves, and left. Behind him, the seal held. The highest-ranking master crouched in the corner, waiting for fate's verdict.
---
At the mountain's base, Gowry dangled mid-air, legs thrashing. A wet, choked gurgle escaped his throat. The sage in blue gripped his neck like plucking a chick, eyes sharp with killing frost.
"Why warn the enemy? Why leave a survivor?"
"I—I don't know." If Gowry could weep, he would've. He swore on the rot he knew nothing. Where had that Academy sorcerer even come from? He'd never seen this so-called delegation.
"You expect me to believe that? Explain the dead Kindred of Rot." Campore's voice was ice.
Throne hadn't sprung from the ground. Every detail was verifiable, every thread laid bare—exploiting the logic of clever minds. The vise of Campore's arm tightened.
Gowry's fury went unseen. Drop the act. Drive the insect spear through his throat. Survival screamed in his skull, but he smothered the impulse. The reason was simple:
The man choking him was 'The Executioner' Campore. Even ambushed, Gowry stood no chance.
"Just kill him."
"How do I know he's not Edred's bait?"
"There's no time left—"
Campore's brow arched. Time meant nothing. He never believed Radahn would fall to Malenia. A missing sage would rouse Edred's suspicion—that alone could unravel their plans.
His grip loosened. Gowry crumpled, face purpling, hacking like his lungs might burst.
"Don't mistake this for mercy. You handle the insects. That's your only use." The sage produced a handkerchief, wiping his hands with fastidious care. Germs repelled him; sweat was filth.
Once his hands were dry, he bent to the wheezing Gowry. "Now. What else are you hiding?"
That scarlet flower will drown Caelid in grace—you included, you arrogant bastard.
Gowry sucked air, shaking his head. "Nothing. The Kindred are simple. They crave only the Goddess's return."
"Underestimating allies is a sin. That mushroom man isn't as dull as you claim."
---
Campore recalled the strange person he met during the talks; the latter was covered in mushrooms and wore a 'crown' made of a giant mushroom. It looked ridiculous, and also very eerie. "I will monitor it. Any movement will be reported to you." "You're sensible, then. And what about that survivor?"
Gowry, who had inexplicably been made a scapegoat, gritted his teeth and replied, "I will find a way to resolve it!" "Very good. Get lost." Campore waved his hand, not even bothering to look at the scrambling Gowry. This sage's value lay in the Kindred of Rot. To him, these insects were excellent tools. Once there was any disturbance, they could be thrown out as bait.
As for what the insects wanted to do, he did not care. Even if the Goddess of Rot returned, that would be a problem for the Erdtree to worry about; what did it have to do with him? "However, these idiots have given me a difficult problem. That old bastard Edred has long wanted to deal with me, and they have proactively handed him a knife."
The sage muttered to himself, looking at the spires within the town, where extinguished candlesticks lay inside, and finally cast his gaze toward the distant mine. If it really came to it, he would just have to take a risk.
In the early morning, Throne, dressed in cloth robes, paced in the small courtyard. Due to his special status, Sellia did not place any restrictions on him. To gain his trust, they simply opened up most of the area, allowing him to wander freely. However, to ensure safety, they specially arranged for the Redmane Knight Ella to follow him. But this knight didn't chat with Throne at all.
It wasn't that he was antisocial, but rather that this Glintstone Sorcerer was simply unlikable. He wasn't injured, yet he had actually fainted from fear; this was simply incomprehensible in Caelid, not to mention that this person was hugging an exquisite doll—he was either a sissy or a mental patient. Throne was quite happy with this. As the saying goes, loose lips sink ships.
The intelligence he had gathered was not yet enough to chat and laugh with the Sellians; if he revealed any flaws, he would be done for. "Are you really okay being so laid back?" Ranni observed everything and had to admire Throne's audacity. He actually dared to enter the heart of Sellia directly and toyed with a group of sages. "Your Highness, why don't you judge my performance?"
"Want me to praise you? You really are thick-skinned." Having been embarrassed so many times, the princess had become more casual. After pondering for a moment, she replied:
"It was quite thrilling. To be honest, I didn't expect you to dare to enter the heart of Sellia directly, but such exquisite acting always makes one uneasy." "That is just a means to an end.
There are no two suns in the sky; for you, Your Highness, I have only two words—" Throne clenched his fist, his face under the mask full of seriousness. "Loyal! Honest!" Pfft. Far away in the magic tower, Ranni couldn't help but laugh out loud, finding Throne quite interesting.
If one said he was ruthless, at times he showed some pity and innocence; if one said he was full of madness, he was quite humorous in daily life. "You didn't act like this last time in Summonwater Village." As expected, she had kept it in her heart. "That was a different situation; specific problems should be analyzed specifically."
"Alright, tell me, if you had to choose between me and her, which side would you stand on?" Why is this coming up again? Throne's scalp tingled. As an honest man, even if Sellen wasn't there, he wouldn't tell a lie. Fortunately, Ranni noticed this awkwardness and took the initiative to skip the topic. "Alright, alright, no need to try to stall. Your attitude isn't important to me.
Back to the present, time is limited; what do you plan to do?" Then why did you ask? Throne couldn't quite understand these women, so he turned his attention back to the plan. "Time is limited for me, and it's not abundant for them either. I already saw it yesterday; that Grand Sage is taking the opportunity to apply pressure."
He gestured toward the floor above the side of the courtyard, where a meeting of the sages was being held, and the topic needed no explanation. The Grand Sage wanted to use the attack on the Academy delegation as a pretext to pressure the various factions. Whoever dared not listen would be labeled a Primeval Sorcerer attacker; truthfully, no one dared to resist.
"But given the stance of the Primeval Sorcerers, they couldn't possibly let Radahn win. I'm actually curious why they dare to get mixed up with the Kindred of Rot; aren't they afraid of dying together?" "The ignorant are fearless; they always think everything is under control."
Ranni's voice was full of sarcasm, and then she asked with confusion, "So I'm very curious, why do you think the blooming of the Scarlet Flower can contaminate all of Caelid?" "I guessed." Throne answered decisively. Ranni certainly didn't believe him, but she had no better explanation, because even she could only guess at this outcome. "What do you plan to do next?" "Nothing needs to be done.
These people will be backed into a corner. Malenia will advance soon, and when Radahn returns, they will only serve as cannon fodder." Throne looked at the sages walking down the stairs, each with a different expression. Some were grave, some were happy, and Campore, who had advocated for non-participation, had a face so dark it looked like it could wring out water.
The battlefield is blind to weapons; just because I have a relationship with the Kindred of Rot doesn't mean the Haligtree Army will show mercy—or rather, that would make one die even faster. "So their plan has been completely disrupted. It's no longer possible to muddle through this war step-by-step, but before that, they still have to resolve a hidden danger before Radahn arrives."
"What hidden danger?" Throne gave a thumbs up, pointing at his own face. "Kill me, to prevent me from revealing clues that are unfavorable to them." No one knew what Throne knew, or rather, these smart people had already imagined countless possibilities, being jittery and suspicious of every move. If they weren't unable to command the Kindred of Rot, they would have already started retreating.
Ranni was not so 'optimistic', saying indifferently, "Don't underestimate these people; they have lurked for countless years, and they are not in such a hurry." "Therefore, I intend to push them a little more." Throne walked toward the approaching Grand Sage with a smile; the latter was also looking for him.
The two exchanged a sorcerer's greeting, and Edred revealed a kindly smile:
"The meeting of the sages has decided that Sellia will be under martial law starting today, and we will definitely dig out the culprit." He did not lower his voice, causing the passing sages to look over, and regardless of which side they were on, their eyes toward Throne were not very friendly.
According to the personality of the Starscourge, he had always emphasized voluntary participation, which meant that apart from Edred's faction, this war had no impact on most Night Sorcerers. Now, well, they were being forced onto the battlefield. "I thank you on behalf of the Academy. Presumably, Professor Oritis will also be gratified."
Throne shamelessly represented them directly, and then asked:
"Do you still want to know the clues?" "If possible, that would save a lot of time." Edred was certainly willing to listen; it would help the General clear away worries, as a Primeval Sorcerer with ulterior motives mixed in the ranks was a hidden danger.
Throne weighed the offer, then shook his head with deliberate slowness. "I know where the attacker is. But that information belongs to Lord Radahn alone—justice is his to dispense." The stubborn set of his jaw spoke volumes. Weren't all sorcerers like this? "Fine. The General returns after slaying the dragon. Tell him then."
Edred didn't press. His gaze swept across the gathered Night Sorcerers instead.
"Whoever harms Sellia's interests," his voice carried across the courtyard, "the General will erase them." The air thickened. Radahn's name carried weight—honorable in battle, merciless in execution.
"Your understanding is appreciated." Throne bowed again.
The pressure had served its purpose. He shifted tactics.
"Sellian magic intrigues me. Permission to study it?"
Edred's brow furrowed. The request bordered on impertinent. But this man's status was unusual, his talents seemingly mediocre. What harm could he do?
"Curious, are you?"
"Curiosity fuels discovery." Throne met his gaze. "I seek to integrate Night Sorcery theories into my work."
The difference between their schools was fundamental—one prized theory, the other practice. A man who fainted at the sight of pursuers hardly seemed capable of wielding Night Sorcery for harm.
The Grand Sage hesitated. Then, from his robes, he produced a golden key.
"Third floor library. Books don't leave. How much you retain depends on your aptitude."
"My thanks, Grand Sage. I'll begin immediately." Throne snatched the key. Let them underestimate him—few in Sellia could match his capacity for absorption.
Advancing his scheme while gathering spoils? A pleasant bonus.
"Truly the studious Academy type. Proceed. Await my summons." Edred chuckled, waving him off. The smile died as Throne turned away, leaving only glacial calculation in the sage's eyes.
The key burned in Throne's palm.
Night Sorcerers stepped aside as he climbed. The Redmane Knight remained below—no warriors permitted beyond this point.
Sunlight slanted through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the narrow corridor in stripes of gold. At its end loomed a three-meter oak door, Sellia's crest emblazoned across its surface. This place belonged to sages and their chosen.
The crisis had emptied the library. Two attendants dozed among shelves spanning a thousand square meters. A cathedral of knowledge.
Throne paused at the threshold, drinking in the endless rows of leather-bound tomes.
The Academy's archives paled in comparison. Only the Grand Library might rival this—a place he'd never seen as a lowly apprentice. The archives he'd known now lay in ashes by his own hand.
"Never thought I'd study honestly."
With a self-deprecating smile, he walked straight to the leftmost shelf and pulled a volume—Applied Night Sorcery: Theory and Praxis.
Hours bled away. Outside, the Redmane Knight's patience wore thin. That damned Glintstone Sorcerer was testing his limits.