Chương 177

Their landing was precise, demonstrating that the past week's intense riding had further sharpened the already coordinated flight, but Orion couldn't enjoy the spectacle. His entire attention was fixed on the structure looming above them, the twisting spire that seemed to actively distort his sense of perspective. That really messes with my mind. I can't look at it for too long, but my curiosity is just too strong to ignore.

The wind here was bitter, carrying the salt spray of the churning sea below and slamming it into their faces like grit. And it wasn't just the cold that made the place miserable: the air felt thin, stripped of its vitality by the massive dark spear against the sky that was the Tower of Ambition. Orion's boots hit the black stone of the promontory with a solid thud.

He tried to push [Hypotheticism] onto the surrounding area, avoiding the Tower itself, but frowned as the data stream flickered with static interference. The local density is fluctuating, he noted, forcing himself to look away from the vertigo-inducing spire and toward the people waiting for them. They spread out ahead of them, and it was clear their approach hadn't gone unnoticed. Luckily, they weren't an army like the Sanctum's witches, so they probably didn't have aggressive plans.

There were no uniforms or official ranks, and they formed a ragged line of about fifty people, standing with the relaxed confidence of veterans who knew exactly how dangerous they were. Their gear was a chaotic mix of monster parts and enchanted steel, with wyrm-scale pauldrons paired with leather jerkins, staves made from blackened bone, and greatswords heavy enough to split a horse in two. Asteria stopped them before they could get too close and cause trouble.

In that moment, she was regal and formidable, the perfect Veil Priestess.

"We seek audience with the Grandmaster," she announced over the howling wind.

"The Lunar Sanctum has questions regarding the draconic host that passed through Belt." A man stepped out from the Guild's line. He was a mountain of scars and muscle, holding a glaive that hummed with mana. He didn't bow at her approach. Really, he didn't even blink.

"The Guild is neutral ground, Priestess," he barked, his voice rough like gravel grinding together.

"We don't involve ourselves in the Magocracy's political matters, and no matter who comes, their armies will have to wait outside. That is the law. It has been the law since before your coven was born." Asteria didn't retreat, even though this was a much more aggressive approach than the other factions had taken, despite claiming to be a neutral group.

"I am not here to invade you, good man. But I will not be sidelined while monsters roam free because of your negligence. We must have an audience with the Grandmaster." The tension spiked instantly. The adventurers clearly weren't opposed to a fight, even if their numbers were much smaller than the witches', who, for their part, had been through enough to not show any sign of intimidation. Orion activated his glasses, ignoring the headache caused by the Tower, and focused on the man leading the adventurers.

[Goran, Guild Warden - The Trusted Lieutenant] Class: [Bastion Breaker] [B-rank] Level: 141 Mind: 240 Body: 911 Attunement: 610 Traits: [Magic Resistance] [B-rank], [Unstoppable Force] [B-rank], [Veteran's Instinct] [B-rank], Internal Mana Manipulation [B-rank] Orion wasn't especially worried. While the man deserved recognition for his Body stat, which had obviously been developed over many years, and his numerous high-ranking Traits, he still did not match his mother, let alone Elder Candra.

If I were here alone, it would be a completely different assessment, of course. I'm pretty sure that guy could break me with a sneeze.

"One step closer," the Lieutenant warned, lowering his glaive, "and our neutrality ends."

"Try it," a witch behind Orion hissed, the tip of her wand glowing red.

"We need to stop them," he whispered to Pauline.

"We can win, but we would earn the Guildmaster's enmity." And if the rumors had anything to them, they didn't want to do that.

"Hold it," Pauline murmured to the witches, staring at the door behind the guards, which slowly opened. No loud sound or oppressive magic followed. Only the faint click of a latch, followed by a man stepping into the wind. The Lieutenant, who had looked ready to charge a dragon just moments ago, immediately stepped back, lowering his head in respect. The rowdy adventurers straightened up, the aggression leaving them, replaced by wariness. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

Orion squinted. The newcomer didn't look like a warrior. He was of average height, maybe even a little shorter than him. He wore simple, worn leather and a cloak made from some grey pelt that had seen better days. His hair and beard were white, neatly trimmed, framing a face that looked more like a grandfather's than a general's. In his hand, he held a simple wooden spear with an iron tip. It looked like a tool a militia conscript would carry.

But it was what Orion didn't see that caused his breath to catch in his throat. To [Hypotheticism], the world was a tapestry of flowing energy. The witches were bonfires, the Tower was a confusing hurricane, and the Veil Priestesses were tiny stars. The Grandmaster was a void. There was no mana around him. None. The ambient magic of the world simply didn't flow through him. He was a dead zone, a hole in the fabric of the magical field. Could it be that he's actively resisting the Field?

No, I don't see any ripple or resistance. Orion pushed his trait to its limit, dedicating all his focus to understanding the old man and even daring to activate his glasses, despite repeatedly failing to gain insight into people of similar power. The Grandmaster looked up. Across the hundred yards of black stone, his eyes met Orion's. For a split second, the grandfatherly warmth vanished. His eyes were a vivid blue, like a glacier that had eroded mountains for ages, and infinitely deep.

Orion felt an unreal pressure on his chest and fought the urge to hold it, knowing that would only make the tension worse. [Error] [Target Analysis Failed] [Connection to the Field not Established] [Level:???][Class:???][S-Rank] He inhaled, taking a stumbling step back and dismissing the weird message. S-Rank. He had never seen an S-Rank. Asteria was powerful, Yue was a monster, Behenien was a disaster, but they were quantifiable. They fit on the scale.

This man was on a higher level, just like Seraphina and Antares. A tier five being.

"That's enough, Goran," the Grandmaster said calmly.

"We shouldn't pick a fight with guests, even uninvited ones." He walked past his Lieutenant with a strange gait. He didn't seem fast, yet he reached Asteria in three steps when it should have taken thirty. Space compression? Orion thought frantically, but he couldn't find any sign of it, and he'd gotten pretty good at that.

"Veil Priestess," the Grandmaster said, nodding politely.

"It has been a long time. You look well." Asteria kept her eyes raised, but Orion noticed her knuckles were white.

"Grandmaster Halian. You look the same as when I last saw you."

"Stone weathers slowly," he replied with a faint smile. He glanced at the army of witches, and his gaze lingered on him for a second longer than was comfortable. Orion felt examined, weighed, and categorized in the span of a moment.

"I understand your anger. The Dragon Matriarch's passage is not something to sweep under the rug."

"Then why was she allowed to pass?" Asteria asked coldly.

"Allowed is a strong word," Halian said.

"But we can discuss semantics inside. Your army, however, stays here. My halls are not built to host legions, no matter how spacious." Asteria hesitated. She looked at the Lieutenant, then back at Halian. She knew, just as Orion knew, that if a fight broke out now, with this man on the field, it wouldn't be a battle. It would be a massacre.

"Candra," Asteria called out without turning around.

"You have command. We'll be back in two hours." It was implied what she would have to do if they didn't come back. Of course, it was a bluff, and everyone knew it, but it saved face, and the Grandmaster was forced to leave his men outside, effectively sacrificing their lives if anything happened to those who went in.

"Come," Halian said, unfazed, gesturing toward the open gate.

"I have tea, and the only people in this godforsaken delta who actually saw what happened." Asteria gestured for Orion and two more Magistrae to follow. He walked past the Lieutenant, who watched him with eyes like flint, stepping into the Grandmaster's shadow, and the pressure on his mind intensified. Being this close to Halian felt like standing next to a reactor core wrapped in lead; safe, certainly, but he could feel the hum of the power waiting to be unleashed.

Is this what the peak of pure physical cultivation looks like? Orion wondered. All the other factions, even the more martial ones like the Radiant Vigil, used magic of some kind. Halian didn't seem to need it. As they crossed the Tower's threshold, the transition disturbed his thoughts. One moment, the wind was howling, and the smell of the sea was intense. The next, complete silence welcomed him. The doors weren't even fully closed, but the world outside was just gone. Orion looked back.

The doorway revealed the courtyard, but it looked like a painting, flat and distant.

"A spatial disconnect," he whispered, his mind racing through how much power would be needed to keep such a thing open indefinitely.

"We're in a pocket dimension."

"Something a little less crude than that," Halian corrected, walking ahead of them down a hallway made of pale stone that seemed to stretch beyond the building's exterior width.

"The Tower is a living thing, young mage, not a simple artifact."

"What is it?" Orion asked, unable to hold back since he'd been given an opening.

"It's not a natural formation that was just molded into shape, I can tell, but I can't see how people could have built it." Halian glanced back, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"It is a relic from an age before the petty kingdom that preceded the Magocracy. A leftover from when the world was younger and the rules of magic were less defined. Don't think about it too hard; it even gave Archmage Mallon a migraine." They walked past corridors that twisted upside down, staircases that led into solid ceilings, and windows that showed views of landscapes that definitely weren't the Cyril Delta, from a burning desert, a frozen tundra, up to a void of stars.

I wonder if this is where Yue drew inspiration for the Sanctum's embassy in Valderun. The spatial magic there is definitely less violent and more practical, but the basic principle is the same. Finally, Halian stopped at a heavy wooden door that seemed out of place in the alien architecture. He pushed it open, revealing a spacious, cozy room with a roaring fire in the hearth. The smell of roasted fish and pipe tobacco filled the air, dispelling the sterile atmosphere of the hallway.

At a round table in the center, three men sat playing cards. They looked rough, with weather-beaten skin and calloused hands from hauling nets, and they wore wool sweaters and oilskin trousers. They froze as the delegation entered, their cards hovering in the air. Orion blinked. He had expected spies, rogue mages, or maybe a captured dragon.

"Fishermen?" Pauline asked, voicing Orion's confusion.

"The best in the delta," Halian said, walking over to the table. The three men scrambled to stand, bowing awkwardly to the Grandmaster.

"Sit, lads. Sit." He turned to Asteria.

"The Guild didn't see signs of the dragon's passage," Halian admitted, leaning his spear against the wall.

"She bypassed our wards, our scouts, and our watchtowers. We didn't know she was here until she was already gone." The admission seemed to cause him pain, but he gestured, with some amusement, to the three stiff fishermen, "But these three were checking eel traps in the Fog Bank three nights ago," Halian said.

"They didn't just see her, Priestess. They saw who was riding her." Orion froze. Riding her? Behenien was a dragon matriarch, a Tier Four apex predator. She was a sovereign power in her own right. Nothing rode a dragon unless the dragon submitted. Asteria's face went pale.

"Explain." The oldest fisherman, a man with missing teeth and trembling hands, looked to the Grandmaster for reassurance. Halian nodded.

"It... it weren't through a saddle, m'lady," the fisherman stammered, twisting his cap in his hands.

"It were tentacles. Great ropes of 'em. Tied around her neck like a leash." Orion felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Aye," another fisherman whispered.

"And the thing holdin' it… It looked like a man. But he was not. I traveled around on boats, and I know he was nothing like the races of Cyril."