The Zither Moon Mountain Plains stretched like a fever dream, a labyrinth of peril where the air itself seemed to conspire against the living.
Miasma hung in thick, choking veils, its sickly green tendrils curling around gnarled trees, while hordes of poisonous insects glistening beetles with needle-like mandibles, moths trailing venomous dust swarmed in relentless waves.
The party of four—Leylin, Bosain, Shaya, and O'Brian pressed forward, their boots sinking into mud that reeked of rot, their breaths sharp with the sting of toxins.
O'Brian's potions, brewed with a precision born of desperation, burned the poison from their lungs, each vial a lifeline in the haze. Leylin's alchemy mastery wove seamlessly with O'Brian's craft, his knowledge of antidotes and countermeasures cutting through the dangers like a blade through flesh.
Together, they carved a path through the death-soaked plains, emerging unscathed, their faces grim but triumphant, the weight of survival a quiet fire in their eyes.
Two days of trekking over land and water through bogs that sucked at their boots, across streams that shimmered with unnatural hues brought them to the overhanging cliff marked on their tattered map. The air grew crisp, the scent of earth and stone mingling with something sweeter, heavier.
The cliff loomed, its edge a jagged scar against the sky, granite walls plunging into shadow below. Shaya halted, her breath catching, her voice a soft gasp of awe that broke the silence.
"So beautiful!" she said, her green eyes wide, her fiery red hair catching the wind like a banner of flame, her tone trembling with a reverence that felt almost out of place in this desolate place. (Image)
The cliff's edge was a riot of bright yellow flowers, their petals curling around cores of vivid red, each bloom the size of two fists clenched together, their heavy aroma saturating the air with a cloying sweetness that clung to the skin.
The entire mountaintop was a sea of these strange blossoms, swaying gently, their beauty a siren's call in the midst of danger.
O'Brian, his gaunt face etched with exhaustion, his black eyes sunken under dark circles, turned to Leylin, his voice rough with curiosity but laced with a grudging respect.
"Leylin, what is it?" he asked, his tone carrying a faint plea, as if leaning on Leylin's knowledge to anchor his own faltering expertise.
Along the journey, Leylin's encyclopedic grasp of plants and insects had stunned even O'Brian, a potion master, leaving him both awed and envious.
Leylin's gaze flicked to O'Brian, a hidden disdain curling beneath his calm, his lips twitching with a faint, mocking smile.
'This is your limit, potion master?' he thought, his mind sharp with the certainty that, with a fraction of his focus in potion crafting, he could eclipse O'Brian's mastery in potioneering. He bent, plucking a stalk of the flower, its petals soft and warm in his hand, and studied it, his brow furrowing as he sifted through his vast mental archive.
"Seems like Beta Daisy?" he said, his voice low and thoughtful, tinged with a trace of uncertainty that masked his confidence. "It's a useless plant." He tossed the stalk aside, his tone dismissive, but his eyes lingered on the field, a spark of calculation flickering within.
Bosain nodded, his golden hair glinting as he stepped forward, his voice steady but warmed by a nostalgic hum, as if the flowers stirred a memory long buried.
"This flower does indeed seem like the Beta Daisy," he said, his tone carrying the weight of conviction, his silver robes catching the light like liquid moonlight. "A common plant on the south coast. I attended a memorial as a kid my uncle presented it to the host. I think it represents nostalgia and respect…" His words trailed off, his gaze distant.
"It might be a clue from the Magus who left the inheritance," Shaya said, her voice bright with excitement, her hands gesturing animatedly, as if the flowers were a puzzle piece snapping into place. Her enthusiasm was infectious, but Leylin's eyes narrowed, his mind already racing ahead, dissecting the possibilities.
Bosain unfurled the damaged map, its edges frayed, ink smudged by time and travel. "From the map, the remnants should be located at the bottom of this cliff!" he said, his voice firm but edged with a hungry anticipation, his fingers tracing the faded lines as if willing them to reveal more.
"What are we waiting for?" Shaya's face lit up, her voice trembling with a feverish excitement that bordered on recklessness, her eyes gleaming with the dream of glory. To acolytes, an official Magus's remnant was a legend's spark—the chance to seize power, to carve their names into the annals of magic.
The thought sent a shiver through the group, their ambitions a silent drumbeat binding them.
The cliff was a monster, its height dizzying, its granite walls studded with razor-sharp protrusions that glinted like teeth in the fading light. For a regular human, descending was a death sentence, the stone promising only broken bones and blood. But for these four Level 3 acolytes—Leylin, Bosain, Shaya, O'Brian.
They cast a Floating Feather spell in unison, their voices a low chant that stirred the air, the magic lightening their bodies until they drifted like leaves on a breeze.
Leylin felt the spell's hum in his bones, a fleeting weightlessness that contrasted the fire in his veins, and they floated down, the wind whistling past, the cliff's shadow swallowing them whole.
Bang! The spell dissolved, and Leylin's boots hit the ground, the impact jarring but grounding, his rune-seared skin tingling faintly.
The group froze, their breaths catching as they took in the scene. The cliff's base was a graveyard of stone countless grey-white blades, double-edged and vicious, thrust upward like a forest of swords, covering half the area. (Image)
Corpses littered the ground, impaled on the spikes, their flesh torn and blood long dried. Some were beasts, their bones bleached by time, but others—too many looked human, their tattered robes hinting at acolytes who'd come before, chasing the same dream.
"It seems these were living creatures that fell from the cliff," Leylin said, his voice soft but heavy with a quiet realization, his eyes scanning the carnage with a clinical detachment.
A flicker of realization stirred in him, quickly smothered. "How could there be regular humans here?" he added, his tone sharpening, a spark of suspicion igniting. "Could it be acolytes who found leads before us?"
The thought hung in the air, a grim reminder of their own mortality.
He knelt, touching a grey-white blade, its surface cold and smooth, pulsing with faint energy waves. "The floor is littered with blades," he said, his voice low and measured, laced with a grudging awe. "These pointed edges have been made razor-sharp to last for eternity. And there's magic runes imbued in them only an official Magus could enchant on this scale." His fingers lingered, feeling the spell's weight, a testament to a power far beyond their grasp.
"So then, where's the remnant?" Shaya asked, her voice tight with frustration, her hands clenching as she scanned the desolate scene, her earlier excitement dimming.
Bosain held a silver ball, its surface slick and glowing, his voice heavy with dejection as he spoke. "I used my spell to detect earlier," he said, his tone flat but laced with a bitter edge, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"There's only rocks and mud below, no traces of remnants whatsoever." The ball pulsed faintly in his hand, a relic of his family's power, but its verdict was merciless.
"Let's search the area for clues," Leylin suggested, his voice calm but firm, carrying a quiet authority that cut through the group's malaise. Before anyone could respond, he strode off, his boots crunching against the stone, his eyes sharp as he scanned for answers, his mind a whirlwind of calculation.
Hours later, evening cloaked the plains, the sky a tapestry of orange glow above the cliff's edge. The group had retreated to the top, pitching tents in a tight cluster, their canvas walls flapping in the wind.
A bonfire crackled at the center, its flames casting flickering shadows, the aroma of simmering soup rising from a pot, earthy and warm, a fleeting comfort against the cold.
They sat in a loose circle, faces lit by the fire's glow, their expressions a mix of fatigue and determination.
"Everyone's back," Bosain said, his voice steady but tinged with a weary resolve, his golden hair glinting as he leaned forward. "Speak of your findings."
"There isn't any," O'Brian said, his voice rough with irritation, his gaunt face twisting as he gestured at the darkness beyond. "Apart from those damned inverted blades, there's nothing else." He kicked a pebble into the fire, his frustration a palpable weight.
"I thoroughly searched the bottom level," Shaya added, her voice soft but laced with a wry bitterness, a faint smile tugging at her lips that didn't reach her eyes. "It's all solid ground no underground construction, nothing." She twisted a strand of red hair, her earlier fire dimmed by the day's futility.
"An official Magus's remnant couldn't be found so easily," Leylin said, his voice low and smooth, carrying a quiet certainty that drew their gazes. "If it was, it'd have been looted long ago." His tone was pragmatic, but a spark of ambition burned beneath, his eyes glinting in the firelight like polished obsidian.
Bosain sighed, his shoulders sagging, his voice heavy with disappointment but softened by a reluctant hope. "I got nothing either," he said, his fingers tightening around the map's edge. "We're missing something, some clue we've overlooked."
"Show us the map again," Leylin said, his voice calm but insistent, a thread of excitement weaving through it as he leaned closer. "We've misinterpreted the clues before."
Bosain spread the map across a flat stone, its surface worn and stained, the upper right corner crawling with blurry, writhing characters like living snakes. (Image)
"As we discussed before we started," Bosain said, his voice steady but warmed by a flicker of pride, "this is Curagerian language. I cross-referenced it with some texts to translate." He pointed to the words, his tone growing fervent, as if the map itself held the key to their dreams.
"It says—'Only those who carry courage and respect will be able to see the Dylan Gardens!'"
"The remnant's name is Dylan Gardens," Shaya said, her voice puzzled, her brow furrowing as she scratched her head, her earlier excitement replaced by confusion. "But courage and respect, what does that mean?"
"We thought courage meant braving the Zither Moon Mountain Plains," Leylin said, his voice slow and deliberate, laced with a quiet realization that sharpened his gaze. "But after this journey, I don't think so. The plains are deadly to regular humans, but for a prepared group of Level 3 acolytes? It's a challenge, not a crucible."
"What do you suggest?" Bosain asked, his voice low but eager, his eyes locking onto Leylin's with a mix of respect and impatience, sensing a breakthrough.
Leylin's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile, his voice rich with a quiet confidence that drew them in. "These Beta Daisy plants must serve a purpose," he said, his tone warm with discovery. "I studied them all day, their arrangement isn't random. It's a sign, maybe a letter, etched into the earth."
"If someone can use a steady floating spell, fly up and look," he added, his voice rising slightly, a spark of excitement breaking through his calm. "We'll see it from above."
"I'll do it!" Bosain said, his voice brimming with determination, his hand already reaching for a silver metal ball that pulsed with faint energy waves a magic artifact, its power humming like a caged storm.
Leylin's eyes narrowed, a flicker of greed beneath his calm. 'Medium-grade artifact.' he thought, tamed for an acolyte, but only a family like the Lilytells could afford such extravagance. Bosain twirled the ball, and it melted into liquid, flowing to his back, forming two dazzling silver wings that shimmered like moonlight on water. (Image)
Chi la! The wings flapped, kicking up dust and pebbles, the force lifting Bosain into the air with a grace that belied the raw power beneath. O'Brian cupped his hands, his voice hoarse with urgency as he shouted, "How is it? Do you see anything?"
"Leylin guessed right!" Bosain called down, his voice vibrant with triumph, carried by the wind as he hovered above the field. "The Beta Daisies, they're arranged in a pattern.' He descended, wings retracting into his body, his face alight with revelation.
"They form a character in Curagerian," he said, his tone fervent, almost breathless. "It means 'jump.'"
"Jump?" Shaya echoed, her voice a mix of disbelief and dawning realization, her hands twisting her hair as she glanced at the cliff's edge.
"We have to jump off the cliff?" Her tone wavered, a flicker of fear beneath her bravado, the acolytes' earlier haste now tempered by the grim reality before them.
"Haven't we already jumped?" O'Brian said, his voice rough with frustration, his gaunt face tightening as he gestured at the blade-strewn ground below. "Nothing but those damned rocks!"
"No," Bosain interrupted, his voice sharp with certainty, his eyes blazing with a sudden clarity. "We used the Floating Feather spell to get down. The map demands we jump directly, without spells."
"Jump down directly?" Shaya's voice rose, her tone laced with incredulity, a nervous laugh bubbling up as she twisted her hair tighter.
"Are you crazy? That cliff, those rock blades if we don't use spells, our bodies will be crushed to paste!" Her fear was raw, her earlier excitement crumbling under the weight of the gamble.
"So, we need an experiment specimen," Leylin said, his voice cold and pragmatic, cutting through her panic like a blade, his eyes glinting with a ruthless resolve. "We should find some humans." His tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of hesitation, as if lives were mere tools to be spent.
The others nodded, their faces hardening, no trace of guilt in their eyes. To most Magi, regular humans were weeds cut them down, and more would sprout. To die for their cause was an honor, a sacrifice beneath notice.
"Time to make a journey back to the town," Bosain said, his voice firm but tinged with a grim anticipation, his hands already folding the map.
The next day, the cliff echoed with screams, raw and piercing, warped by the wind's cruel pressure.
Ahhhhh! A black dot plummeted from the top, growing larger until a human figure a townsman, face contorted in terror came into view, his arms flailing as he free-fell.
Bang! He smashed onto a rock blade, the impact a sickening crunch, his body splitting in two, blood and bone spraying across the stone. The halves collapsed into a pit, flesh and marrow mingling in a grotesque heap, unrecognizable as human.
"How is it?" Leylin called up, his voice steady but laced with a clinical curiosity, his arms crossed as he stood at the cliff's base, Shaya beside him, her face pale but resolute.
"Dead," Shaya said, her voice flat, a faint frustration betraying her calm expression as she glanced at the mangled corpse.
On the cliff's top, Bosain and O'Brian huddled around a green semicircle device, its surface pulsing faintly.
Bosain's face fell, his voice heavy with disappointment as he spoke into it. "From animals to this human nothing," he said, his tone bitter, his shoulders sagging. "We're missing conditions."
"Jumping represents courage, but we haven't fulfilled respect," Leylin said, his voice calm but sharp with realization, his eyes flicking to the Beta Daisies swaying above.
He turned to Bosain, a faint smile curling his lips, his tone warm with a teasing edge. "Didn't you say your uncle took Beta Daisies to show respect at that memorial?"
Bosain's eyes widened, a spark of understanding igniting, his voice rising with a renewed fire. "You're right," he said, his tone fervent, almost reverent. "The Daisies they're the key to respect. We need to carry them, maybe offer them, as we jump." His words hung in the air, a fragile hope against the cliff's grim promise.