Chapter 664: An Old Friend Arrives
Hearing Jenny’s words, Mark seemed momentarily stunned, as if he hadn’t quite processed the situation before him. Perhaps the sight of the fully armed Cecil soldiers made this timid young man so nervous that he forgot what to say. But Jenny didn’t get angry; instead, she patiently repeated, “Go tell the mentor that I’m back.”
This time, Mark finally snapped out of it. “Ah, ah, okay… but…”
He hesitated, carefully organizing his words before continuing, “But the mentor isn’t in a good state right now…”
“Just take me to see him.”
“Alright… Jenny.”
Mark glanced nervously at the soldiers behind her, then stepped aside to clear the way into the mage tower.
Jenny strode forward, the armored guards following closely behind. The crisp metallic clinks of their arcane-powered armor made the young man at the door shrink back slightly. He seemed about to say something else but swallowed the words.
Inside the mage tower, the classical and solemn decor was just as she remembered. A long-lasting illusion created a fireplace blazing in the main hall, but the flames were a pale, icy blue, evoking snow rather than fire. A constant temperature barrier circulated a cool breeze, dispelling the summer heat. Blackwood shelves stood quietly against the walls, dusted by two servants.
In the center of the hall sat an astrolabe, a delicate and expensive instrument powered by magic, automatically projecting countless stars invisible during the day within a small radius.
Opposite the hall was a curved staircase winding upward along the wall. Inside the curve floated a crescent-shaped platform with railings, moving back and forth under magical power.
“…The mentor finally finished the floating platform device?” Jenny glanced slightly at Mark, who had followed her in.
“Yes,” Mark seemed to have settled down, speaking more smoothly now. “It was completed last year, using a lot of precious materials.”
Jenny nodded but said no more.
She recalled that Rebecca was probably still leading her research team, trying to reconstruct anti-gravity spells based on elven technology—turning that expensive, intricate spell into a steel plate with a few kilograms of cheap copper and synthetic magic crystals, powered by a small energy source. Last time, Rebecca mentioned over the magic network that she accidentally embedded the test device into the ceiling, but they had managed to get it to fly.
Though it didn’t seem very stable…
Shaking her head, Jenny ignored the automatically operating lift and headed toward the familiar staircase.
Many familiar faces bowed respectfully as she passed.
These people might not know Jenny’s current status, or even recognize the once low-profile servant apprentice who had been casually sent on royal errands. But they certainly recognized the Cecil legion soldiers and their gear. Anyone with a bit of insight could tell that someone guarded by a full squad and allowed free access here must be a major figure in the empire.
Mark followed Jenny quietly. After reaching the third floor of the mage tower, the young man whispered, “The mentor is in the magic nexus…”
“Mm.” Jenny nodded slightly and headed toward the secret chamber housing the magic nexus.
Before the familiar black wooden door, she hesitated for a few seconds, then pushed it open with a firm hand.
Inside the spacious chamber, magical mist shimmered between the walls, coalescing into a tangible, flowing substance that filled the sunken magic pool at the center. A faintly glowing magic circle covered the entire floor, its dense, orderly runes extending from the edges up the walls and all the way to the ceiling. At the heart of the room, at the focal point of the circle, lay a withered body propped against the edge of the pool, half submerged in the water, half sprawled on the floor.
It was almost a corpse—thin skin stretched over a skeleton, pale hair disheveled, and a face completely unfamiliar to Jenny—except for the eyes, which were still somewhat recognizable.
Jenny slowly approached the shriveled figure.
Humans are truly complicated creatures.
Knights guarding the walls who routinely exploited serfs; counts and viscounts who fought to the death yet still squeezed the last grain and land from peasants; those who donated everything to support the front lines, sending all their children to the walls, dying exhausted at shield nodes…
They were also masters of the land, of serfs, of wealth, and… of servant apprentices.
William Bocken, member of the royal mage corps, guardian of the western wall’s shield node. On the fifth day of the siege, he had driven out all junior mages from the node hall and bound himself to the node crystal.
Now, he was dying.
Jenny stopped beside the body, slowly bent down, squatted, and sat on the floor—the floor of this mage tower had been her seat and bed for many years of her past life.
The withered head sensed her presence, moved slightly, and with a trembling effort, slowly opened his eyes, rasping in a low voice, “Ah… Jenny… you’ve come…”
Jenny looked at him quietly. “Mentor, long time no see.”
The hoarse voice responded more calmly than she expected, “Yes, long time… What are you doing now?”
“Chief Runemaster of the Empire.”
“…Ah, that sounds good.”
“You’re dying.” Jenny met the mentor’s eyes, speaking slowly and clearly.
The shriveled body shifted slightly on the floor, the head lifting briefly before drooping again. “Looks like it… So you came to witness this, huh?”
Jenny shook her head slightly, enunciating each word: “It was the magical equipment that broke through the Crystal Cluster Legion’s defenses. They’re all built on Ravencrest’s constants and runic logic.”
She had rehearsed this sentence countless times in her mind, ensuring not a single word was wrong. Such thoughts had been brewing for over a year. Yet when she finally spoke them aloud, she felt no satisfaction—only emptiness.
The old mage, his life force nearly spent, was silent for several seconds before whispering, “I knew… when I saw the ‘magic network’.”
“I didn’t come today to watch your end,” Jenny said, her tone low, “You owe us an apology—me and Mr. Ravencrest.”
Silence fell over the room. After a long minute, the old mage’s voice rasped, “Seems I was indeed wrong…”
Suddenly, he coughed violently. After half a minute, more life drained from his body, making his voice even hoarser and lower. “…But I will not apologize.”
Jenny looked at the dying man in surprise, her lips moving slightly. “You…”
“Superiors… don’t apologize to slaves…” the voice faltered. “It’s… principle…”
The surprise in Jenny’s eyes faded. She looked over her mentor once more, then the room sank into a long, heavy silence again.
Minutes later, the empire’s chief runemaster sighed softly, as if releasing a great burden. She braced herself on the floor and slowly stood up—
The floor was still as cool as she remembered.
She lowered her head and looked at William Bocken. “I understand.”
Then she turned, seemingly ready to leave.
“Won’t you act?” the hoarse voice came from behind. “It wouldn’t be difficult for you now.”
Jenny didn’t turn back. “You’re already dying.”
“But it might ease your mind.”
Jenny took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “That’s my principle.”
“…Ah, that sounds good.”
“Farewell, mentor. Thank you for the two bags of wheat back then.”
Jenny left the chamber. The soldiers assigned as her personal guards immediately stepped forward. “Mistress?”
“Let’s go. Report to Silverhold. Also, after William Bocken’s death, this mage tower is now state property.”
“Yes!”
The soldiers responded swiftly. Jenny glanced at Mark, who looked nervous and confused, and at several equally tense apprentices and assistants nearby.
After speaking with the soldiers, they finally understood the situation completely. Some seemed to be waiting for judgment, silently hoping Jenny would speak.
“Report to the administration office next. The era of classical mages is over—whether you survive the new age depends on your own skill.”
Jenny left the words hanging and turned to leave with the soldiers.
In the magic nexus chamber, the shimmering magical light gradually dimmed and calmed.
As the glow faded, the withered body in the pool twitched twice, then began to crack inch by inch, breaking into fragments.
When all the fragments sank into the water, the hoarse, distorted voice echoed in the empty room one last time: “I am… sorry…”
In Silverhold, Gawain met Jenny in his study. She had arrived from the southern territories.
“I thought you’d choose revenge,” he said, surprised after hearing the soldiers’ report. “Or at least… some kind of release.”
“I once considered it,” Jenny smiled faintly, shaking her head. “But I realized that’s not who I am. For Mr. Ravencrest, none of that matters anymore. Only those roaring magical machines and the formulas printed in textbooks are the best memorial to the departed.”
Gawain studied Jenny carefully. On this scarred, white-haired young woman’s face, he saw only calm and composure. Clearly, some shadow had lifted from her.
“If that’s your choice, then so be it. William Bocken was a lucky man—he died in the old era, which is far better than many stubborn nobles who survived the siege,” he shook his head. “Enough of that. Sit down. We have much to do in this city, and I need to explain things to you.”
Jenny took the high-backed chair by the desk, smiling. “I’m ready. Before I came, Rebecca told me to bring back as many books on classical spell models as possible.”
Gawain thought for a moment, recalling the magnificent sight of the royal library and the mage association’s archives, then smiled and spread his hands. “You’ll be well rewarded—this place is a treasure trove.”
…
Silverkeep truly was a treasure trove. In every sense, the Morn royal family’s centuries of accumulation had filled the castle with unimaginable riches—any one of its storage rooms could easily overwhelm a half-elf from the southern lands with dazzling jewels and artifacts.
But Amber, relying on her iron willpower (and, admittedly, the intimidating presence of Gawain helping her resist temptation), kept her focus firmly on the vast, weighty collection of royal court books piled high within the Morn archives.
Deep inside Silverkeep, in a quiet chamber, Amber sifted through stacks of books and scrolls. Several intelligence agents and court scholars busied themselves alongside her.
“This is the Morn royal family’s private archive,” an elderly court scholar with snow-white hair rambled as he followed her, “It contains secret royal dossiers and the personal collections of past kings. If what you’re looking for isn’t found elsewhere, it’s likely here. But if it’s not here either… then it probably doesn’t exist.”
“That just means this place’s collection isn’t complete,” Amber said impatiently, glancing up at the old scholar and waving him off. “At your age, you shouldn’t be running around like this. Find somewhere to rest—if you suddenly keel over, someone’s going to pin the blame on me.”
The scholar sighed and reluctantly stepped aside. Amber continued scanning the shelves, but less than half a minute later, she suddenly froze. She turned sharply, staring at an empty space between the shelves, and lifted her leg to deliver a swift kick—
Before her foot connected, a figure materialized out of thin air and scrambled to the side.
“If you’d dodged any later, I’d have kicked you,” Amber shot a sharp look at the shadowy figure. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to report,” Darkcrow said, stopping at a safe distance and saluting his new superior. “The roster of all Royal Shadows has been compiled, including each member’s specialties and service records.”
“Good. Just leave it in my office. I’ll study it when I get back. Both the Intelligence Bureau and the Iron Rangers are short on personnel. With proper retraining, you’ll all be put to good use.”
Darkcrow exhaled quietly and bowed his head. “Ready to obey orders.”
He glanced around at the busy scene and couldn’t help but ask, “Have you found what you’re looking for yet?”
“Of course not. Otherwise, why would I still be here?” Amber rolled her eyes. “There’s so much here—I have no idea how long this will take.”
Darkcrow thought for a moment. “What exactly are you looking for?”
“A surname with no records, a noble no one knows about… probably a noble,” Amber said casually. “His name is Saril Randolf. A supernatural, but there’s no mention of that name anywhere.”
She paused, stroking her chin, then fixed Darkcrow with a sharp gaze. “You haven’t heard of him, have you? You know how stories go—always dramatic and exaggerated…”
“Sorry, I’ve never heard that name or surname,” Darkcrow shook his head. But before Amber could roll her eyes again, he added, “However, if the person you’re looking for is a ‘Hidden Knight’… there might be clues in the secret dossiers of the Royal Shadows.”
(End of chapter)