The third floor of the Sinux Magic Tower was as stark and utilitarian as the rest of the building. No gleaming crystal spires or elaborate arcane murals decorated its walls—just smooth stone and clean lines, built with function, not beauty, in mind. It was a place designed for purpose, not for show, a silent testament to the Tower's pragmatic priorities.
Neat rows of shelves stretched across the chamber, each laden with boxes of varying size. Some of these containers gave off faint, natural auras—whispers of elemental energy, the heat of captured fire, the cool hum of wind, or the heavy weight of earth. Every one of them held something valuable, and every one was accounted for.
At the heart of the floor stood a circular podium, a crystalline sphere embedded in its surface. To either side of the podium rested two lion-shaped statues, identical to those guarding the first floor. But there was one difference here: directly in front of the sphere stood a two-meter-tall metallic humanoid. Its entire frame was forged from dark steel, each plate etched with fine magical circuitry that pulsed faintly in the dim light.
The moment Zatiel stepped off the lift platform, his attention went immediately to that figure. He didn't need the chip to tell him it was dangerous.
With my current strength, I could still survive an encounter with a Rank 1 Magus if I had to, he thought, but against that… I doubt I could even escape intact. A security measure like this makes sense. The value of what's stored here would tempt even high-ranking mages.
He approached the podium. At once, the metallic guardian's eyes lit up with cold, mechanical light, and its voice—flat, without a trace of emotion—filled the chamber.
"Apprentice Zatiel. Place your hand upon the podium sphere to browse available materials. Current access: Rank 0 and Rank 1."
Its eyes dimmed again, returning to stillness.
Zatiel studied it for a heartbeat longer, then rested his hand on the sphere. A faint hum resonated in the air, and a list unfolded in his mind—five rows labeled from "Rank 0" at the top to "Rank 4" at the bottom.
Only the first two glowed with golden light. The rest were grayed out, locked beyond his reach. Curious, he tried to access the Rank 2 category, but a cold message formed in his mind:
[Access Denied. Rank and Accumulative Merit Points Insufficient.]
So that's how it works. He allowed himself a faint smile. Even if I could access them now, the cost would be far beyond my current resources.
No point wasting time scrolling through endless listings manually.
"Chip," he commanded silently, "scan the entire inventory. Flag all materials relevant to rune crafting, and locate available Rank 0 rune diagrams. Display results."
[Bip… scanning…] The chip's cool, mechanical voice filled his consciousness. [Search complete. Rune crafting equipment total cost: 740 magic crystals. Displaying Rank 0 rune diagrams now.]
A neat selection appeared before his inner vision. Zatiel ignored the few rare diagrams he already possessed from other sources—best to work entirely with Tower-issued patterns for now, avoiding suspicion. After a brief review, he picked two runes he already had the materials for.
The moment he finalized the purchase, the shelves shivered. Several boxes slid free, floating through the air before settling neatly at his feet.
Without lingering, he gathered them up and made his way to his residence on the second floor. The experiment chamber there would be perfect for what he intended.
Once inside, Zatiel set the boxes in order and withdrew several smaller pouches from his spatial sack. The first rune he planned to make was Secondary Consciousness—a Rank 0 design capable of forming a parallel, secondary awareness within the mind. It wasn't capable of deep reasoning, but it could perform simple, repetitive tasks with precision—like keeping constant watch for threats while the main mind focused elsewhere.
It was an incredibly practical ability for battle. And its most important component was one he had in abundance—the brain of a harpy.
He began with material preparation. Rune crafting demanded painstaking care; the slightest imperfection in a reagent could mean failure later. Most apprentices needed hours just to bring ingredients to the required purity. Zatiel, aided by the chip, moved like water—cutting, grinding, heating, and mixing without pause. The chip's sensory feedback ensured not a single gram was wasted, not a single ingredient overprocessed.
When the components were ready, he loaded them into his rune pencil—an elegant, silver-and-bone tool that channeled magical energy into precise etchings. He chose a supple square of magical beast hide as his medium.
Rank 0 runes didn't require the artistry of higher-level inscriptions, but they demanded flawless accuracy. Each line, each curve, had to be drawn in the exact order prescribed by the diagram. A single deviation would not only ruin the attempt but could also destroy the prepared materials entirely.
Zatiel closed his eyes for a moment, mentally running through the design. The chip had already imprinted the pattern perfectly into his memory, but focus was still key.
He began.
The pencil moved with unbroken precision, guided by hands that had mastered far more complex works in a previous life. Thin silver lines formed on the beast hide, curling into patterns that seemed to shift if viewed too long. Energy gathered at the tip of the pencil, seeping into each mark and binding it to the hide.
Minutes passed, the quiet of the chamber broken only by the scratch of tool on leather. Gradually, the work began to take its toll. Rune crafting wasn't only physically precise—it was mentally taxing, draining both magical reserves and cognitive focus. Even for him, the strain was real.
Finally, the last line connected, and a faint pulse rippled across the hide. The rune shimmered, releasing periodic waves of mental energy.
Zatiel examined it closely. "Excellent," he murmured. "Its effect exceeds the baseline in the diagram."
The Tower's provided diagrams set only the minimum requirements for functionality. The true strength of any rune depended on the skill—and in Zatiel's case, the perfection—of the inscriber.
Satisfied, he set his tools aside. Meditation could replenish energy, but nothing beat sleep for full recovery—and sleep, unlike meditation, restored both mind and body together.
Elsewhere, in his own quarters, Ezequiel sat cross-legged with a small, glowing crystal cupped in his hands. His brow furrowed as lines of text and diagrams floated before his inner vision.
The crystal had been issued during his first lesson in magical equipment crafting. The instructor, a Rank 1 Magus named Ruben, had distributed them to every apprentice in the class, instructing them to memorize the contents thoroughly. "If you don't know this material," Ruben had warned, "you're wasting my time by attending."
The contents were dense—an exhaustive overview of the basics: magical theory, forging techniques, enchantment layering, material compatibility, and the hazards of mana saturation.
Ezequiel absorbed it in silence, lips pressed into a thin line.
"Master was right," he said quietly to himself. "This is complicated… but it won't defeat me."
He leaned forward, determination blazing in his eyes, and returned to studying.