At the center of the Astral Requiem headquarters, situated strategically near the primary entrance of the secret plane, stood a structure of breathtaking arrogance.
It was a magnificent edifice designed in the style of a western Royal Palace, its spires piercing the thick elemental mists of the Eternal River Plains.
The building was not merely a palace but a fortress, littered with high-grade killing defensive formations that hummed with a lethal, rhythmic energy. Inside, rows of imposing guards stood like statues, their armor reflecting the dim light of the secret plane.
A hooded man moved through the outer corridors, his face hidden in shadow. As he reached the threshold of the inner sanctum, two soldiers clad in heavy, runic knight armor stepped forward, their halberds crossing to bar his path.
Without a word, the man reached into his cloak and produced a sigil—a Serpent Skull with Three Wings.
The guards instantly stiffened into a crisp salute.
"Lord Magus," they intoned in unison, stepping aside to allow him passage into the heart of the palace.
In the hierarchy of the Rebel Hearts and the broader Astral Requiem organization, status was a tangible thing, etched into the wings of the Serpent Skull. The ranking correlated strictly to strength, duty, contribution, and worth:
One Wing: Acolytes of average aptitude.
Two Wings: Direct disciples or genius-level Acolytes with significant backing.
Three Wings: Official Magi, researchers, and master alchemists.
Four Wings: Department Heads and battle commanders.
Five Wings: The Elders, peak Rank 1 Magi who hold maximum power and take direct orders from the Master.
Six Wings (The Dragon Guards): The personal squad of Leylin's closest circle—Greem, Dexter, Faisal, Anna, and Lancey.
The Magus walked into the throne room, and his breath hitched. The chamber was cavernous, decorated with opulence that bordered on the divine. At the far end, atop an elevated stage, sat a gigantic snake-themed throne.
Behind it hung a massive flag: a winged serpent worshipped by an astral army of warriors.
Leylin Farlier sat upon that throne, staring into the air at something only he could see.
[Beep! Astral Castle Defensive Schematic Analysis...]
[Primary Formation: Abyssal Serpent's Coil — Status: Active. Efficiency: 98.4%]
[Secondary Formation: Seven-Star Soul-Lock — Status: Active.]
[Structural Report: Energy nodes in West Wing require 2% calibration. Overall Castle integrity: Optimal.]
Leylin reviewed the technical reports of the castle's arrays, his eyes tracing the holographic lines of the A.I. Chip's interface.
As the Magus approached, Leylin swiped his hand through the air, and the interface vanished into the void.
From the Magus's point of view, the figure on the throne was terrifying. Even sitting still, Leylin emitted an unconscious undulation of power, a Rank 2 pressure that made the his skin crawl with the instinctual urge to cower.
Leylin sat with his hands resting languidly on the armrests. His ruby-red, sunset-colored eyes looked down with an expression of weary apathy.
His umbra-black hair flowed like a dark waterfall around a pale, chiseled face that possessed a beauty so sharp it could invoke envy in any woman. His skin looked delicate, but the Elder knew better, to treat Leylin as fragile would be the last mistake any enemy made.
The Magus knelt, pulling back his hood to reveal the face of a man recruited from the wandering Magi circles.
[Target Scan: Elder Cyril. Rank 1 Magus. Strength: 7.8. Agility: 5.9. Vitality: 11.2. Spiritual Force: 41.2. Elemental Essence Conversion (Fire): 52%.]
Even before Leylin had plundered the sect ruins, his strength had rivaled a Rank 2. Now, as a true Rank 2 Warlock, he had used his unique resources to build a powerhouse.
He had used the formulas for Grine Water he reverse engineered from the Grine Water potion he got from Abyssal Bone Forest, and various spiritual force potions to lure level 3 acolytes, granting them the resources to break through in exchange for a contract.
Unlike other organizations, Leylin's contracts were lax in their demands but absolute in their enforcement. A small, ethereal snake resided in the consciousness of every member; betrayal didn't just mean a breach of contract, it meant a death so agonizing that the void would seem a mercy.
"My Lord," Cyril spoke, his voice echoing. "The plan is in motion. We have successfully planted our spies within the major Light and Dark organizations."
Leylin nodded, his voice cold. "Tell them to lay low. The Astral Requiem does not require them to take unnecessary risks without proper reward."
These spies were unaware that they carried downgraded versions of the A.I. Chip. The chips served as one-way information relays, feeding their hosts' discoveries directly into Leylin's library.
Should their identities be compromised, the chips were programmed to detonate, erasing the spy and their knowledge before they could be interrogated.
"Magus Cyril," Leylin commanded. "Continue sending the rogue Magi and enemies we captured to the prison blocks. Also, Lancey is about to enter the secret plane. Send two Bloodline Knights to serve as her attendants and create the smuggling channels for the Magi she captures during her posting. Finally, keep an eye on the Botelli Family."
Leylin leaned forward, his ruby eyes narrowing. "Their Sacred Flame Art is a rare prophetic meditation technique. Although I have shielded this organization from common prophecy, stay mindful. They are difficult to predict."
"Yes, My Lord."
"You are dismissed. Collect your rewards and operational funds from Steward Anna."
As the Elder retreated, Leylin brought the A.I. Chip interface back to life.
[Beep! Task Completed! 5 new volumes successful added to database: 'Ancient Runes of the South Coast', 'Principles of Spatial Anchoring'... Recalculating Array Modifications...]
[Analysis: Ancient rune scrolls suggest a 12% increase in defensive output if nodes are customized. Projected completion: 32 days.]
Leylin began to study the new layouts, his mind already weaving the next layer of the Astral Requiem's web.
....
Marat Canyon sat at the desolate terminus of Pome Alley, a barren expanse of jagged stone and dust where the only residents had once been the wretchedly poor.
But the discovery of the seventh entrance to the Eternal River Plains' secret plane had transformed this wasteland into a theater of war.
After a series of brutal skirmishes, the Battle and Hunting teams of the Four Seasons Garden, bolstered by the collective might of the White Magi domain had successfully repulsed the Dark Magi, claiming the canyon as their sovereign territory.
Now, a small town had sprouted around the entrance like a stubborn weed. Unaffiliated Magi and acolytes had established a frantic market for magical items, which the Garden's higher-ups quickly co-opted as the center of their local power.
As Lancey walked through the gates of this makeshift town, she was struck by the suffocatingly lively atmosphere.
"Looking for members! Level 3 acolytes only! We have a healer!"
"Latest map of the secret plane! Five hundred magic crystals!"
"Walking Dragon Flower! Freshly plucked and discounted at six thousand crystals!"
The air was thick with the scent of ozone and unwashed bodies. Stall-keepers, desperate adventurers, and official Magi argued until they were red in the face, haggling over the price of survival.
In this town, there were no regular humans; every soul present possessed at least a spark of magical power. It was a chaotic food market where the currency was blood and potential.
Lancey pushed through the crowds until she reached the Garden's administrative area in the heart of the town. The transition was jarring. The chaos of the market was replaced by a heavy, pressurized silence, maintained by the presence of official Magi from the Hunting and Battle teams who stood guard like golems.
She approached the primary counter, where a harried staff member was processing arrivals with the mechanical efficiency of a ticket seller.
"Welcome. Are you here for entrance procedures?" the women spoke without looking up. "Provide proof of non-dark affiliation and five hundred magic crystals. That grants you a one-time entry permit."
The Four Seasons Garden had turned the war into a business. By selling entry permits to non-affiliated Magi, they had essentially created a massive force of free laborers. These independent magicians flocked to the canyon, paying exorbitant fees and agreeing to surrender fifty percent of their earnings to the Garden just for a chance at the resources within.
"I am not an outsider," Lancey said, her voice cool as she placed her identification token on the counter. "I belong to the Potioneering team. I have been transferred here on official orders."
The staff member's eyes widened as she saw the vine-etched sigil. "My apologies, Lady Lancey!" she stammered, bowing low.
Lancey glanced at the long queues at the other counters. The Garden was earning a fortune while hiding in the shadows. By letting the unaffiliated die by the dozen to map the topography and ecosystems of the plane, the Garden had already secured a detailed map of nearly a 6500 kilometres. To an organization of their stature, the immediate resources were just bait; what they truly coveted was the permanent production capacity and the ancient inheritances that could birth a Rank 3 or even a Rank 4 Morning Star Magus.
"I had servants who were meant to arrive before me," Lancey noted. She knew that according to the Astral Requiem's plan, her Master had dispatched two Bloodline Knights to act as her hidden muscle.
The staff member flipped through a thick ledger. "Ah, yes. Yesterday, two of your Grand Knight servants arrived with your mount and luggage. After verifying your token, they were allocated to District D9, Number 17." She bowed again. "I will report your arrival immediately. Your task allocation will be sent to you by a commanding officer shortly."
"Very well."
Lancey exited through the back of the hall. Behind the administrative center stood rows of simple, rough-hewn wooden houses built in a frantic rush. But looming over these humble structures was the true titan of the canyon: a Platinum Gate, tens of meters tall, standing as proudly as an ancient mountain.
The gate frame was thick with writhing runes that seemed to possess a life of their own, pulsing with a golden light. The sheer pressure radiating from the portal made it difficult for Lancey to breathe.
"Is this it?" she whispered, tilting her head back to view the towering structure. "The entrance to the Eternal River Plains."
The preciousness of the secret plane was evident in that gate. It was a continental treasure, a prize so great that no single organization in the South Coast dared claim it alone.
'If anyone is destined to take the whole of it, it can only be my Master,' Lancey thought privately.
At the base of the gate, twenty seasoned Magi warriors from the Four Seasons Garden patrolled the area. Each released a deliberate undulation of elemental power, signaling essence conversions of at least 50%.
Her Mini-Chip flickered, highlighting the superficial defensive and detection arrays surrounding the portal, but she knew better.
"A Rank 2 Magus must be holding fort here," she mused. The Garden would never leave such a vital artery without a guardian of true power. With a final look at the celestial gate, Lancey turned toward District D9 to meet her new "attendants."