Chapter 305: Chapter 275: Interlude - Three Stories

Suddenly, the light imploded, condensing at the center of the altar into a deep, spinning vortex of ice.

Space groaned as if under an unbearable weight. Fine, black fissures, like cracks in ice, spread from the vortex’s edge.

An indescribable will—cold, vast, and imbued with an ancient chill capable of crushing mountains—pierced through the fragile conduit and descended upon this place.

It had no voice, yet it branded a clear decree directly onto the souls of the three Priests, more imperious than any thunderous roar.

’The power... of the sacrifice... is weak...’

’Activate... the hidden pawns...’

’Find... a replacement... a new vessel...’

’The blasphemer... must be... purged...’

’Failure... and your existence... will be erased... returned to silence...’

The ice vortex abruptly exploded, dissolving into a sky full of fine Ice Crystals that vanished into nothingness.

The terrifying will receded like a tide, leaving behind only the fading Runes on the altar and the three stiffly standing figures of the Priests.

The cavern fell deathly still. Even the sound of the howling blizzard outside seemed to have been frozen and sealed away. Only the hollow eye sockets of the Sub-dragon’s corpse on the ground still reflected a faint, ghostly blue light.

After a long while, the Priest closest to the altar slowly straightened up.

He brushed the frost particles from his sleeves with a movement that carried a bone-deep chill.

Beneath his hood, two clusters of blue light, like phantom flames, flared to life and swept over his two companions.

"Our Master’s decree has arrived."

"The blasphemer, Jon Apollonia, has been marked for death by Our Master. Midia’s failure has already proven his threat is far greater than anticipated."

The Priest to his left snapped his head up. Beneath the shadow of his hood, a face twisted with fanaticism was briefly visible, his lips moving silently, as if repeating the words "purged" and "replacement."

His claw-like fingers twitched erratically, as if he couldn’t wait to tear his target to shreds.

The Priest on the right was the most silent of the three, his figure the most hunched.

He merely traced the edge of the altar with a fingertip coated in a thin layer of ice, brushing against a residual Ice Crystal that still seemed to hold the wail of the dragon’s soul.

"Move out immediately. Awaken ’Shadow Thorn,’ activate ’Cold Crow,’ and contact ’Ice Throat.’"

"Our Master demands a replacement... so go dredge the filthiest mire of the Empire!"

"Nobles, Mercenaries, death row inmates... any vessel with the potential to bear Our Master’s gift is worth our attention."

"As for Jon Apollonia..."

Deep within his lifeless eyes, the killing intent was so thick it felt tangible.

"Find him. Watch his every move. Whether we succeed with the replacement or not... his blasphemous blood must water the sacred path of our return to the frozen lands!"

Once the words were spoken, there was no further discussion.

The three dark-blue figures melted into the background like phantoms, turning silently toward the cavern’s only exit, which opened into the raging blizzard.

The heavy, cold-iron door slowly swung open, its frozen hinges shrieking. A violent gust of snow and wind surged in, whipping at the cold corners of their robes like funereal banners.

The three figures stepped resolutely into the pure white storm, a tempest capable of freezing the very soul. Their ghostly blue robes were instantly swallowed by the blizzard, leaving behind only the empty, blood-and-chill-scented altar, and the unending howl of the storm outside.

—

Interlude III

At the Imperial Mage Academy, towering white spires cast sharp shadows in the morning light.

Deep within the academy, the principal’s office was filled with the tranquil scent characteristic of aged parchment and magical dust.

Light streamed through the massive, arched window frame, flowing across the polished oak desk and illuminating a slowly rotating astrolabe.

"Principal."

Anato, a young Mage in a black robe, bowed slightly, his brown eyes gleaming with irrepressible brilliance and excitement.

"I’ve received a formal invitation from the Yadlin Mage Federation. It was handwritten by my mentor, Master Elendil, inviting me to a two-year academic exchange for the ’Primal Resonance of Elemental Tides’ project."

Principal Frost, his hair streaked with white, was bent over a stack of ancient books. He looked up upon hearing Anato’s words.

He had a pair of gray eyes steeped in wisdom, now filled with a gentle smile, like warm sunlight on a winter’s day.

He set down the book, and a hand etched with the ravines of time gently stroked his neatly trimmed, snow-white beard as he let out a soft sigh.

"Ah, Yadlin... an ocean of magical knowledge, a beacon of wisdom."

"Hasn’t that old coot Elendil blown himself up with his experiment table yet?"

A flash of fond remembrance for his old friend crossed his eyes, which then settled benevolently on Anato, filled with undisguised admiration.

"This is a rare opportunity, Anato."

"Your research over the past few years, that paper on ’Reverse-Tracking Sub-Planar Magic Power Ripples,’ even the old fossils on the academy’s review council couldn’t stop praising it... Gold must always be tempered under a wider sky."

"Go. A young man should get out and explore, witness different torrents of Magic, and create new sparks."

He clapped Anato on the shoulder. The gesture was light, but it carried the heavy weight of his expectations.

"It’s good to be young!"

Anato’s tense shoulders relaxed at the principal’s encouragement. A faint, almost imperceptible blush rose to his cheeks, born from the thrill of having his scholarly passion validated.

He bowed solemnly once more.

"Thank you for your support and understanding, Principal. I will cherish this opportunity and bring honor to the academy’s name."

"Mm."

Frost gave a slight nod, his gaze returning to the astrolabe on his desk.

"Go now, my boy. May the Magic Goddess protect you on your journey."

Anato respectfully exited the principal’s office. The heavy, carved wooden door closed silently behind him, shutting out the quiet warmth within.

Inside the study, Frost stood alone before the window, gazing at the students practicing the Transformation Skill in the courtyard outside.

The afternoon sun flowed quietly through the courtyard, imbuing even the ancient stone pathways with a gentle warmth.

His age-spotted fingers tapped lightly on the window frame, his thoughts seeming to drift to the distant Yadlin Federation.

However, this tranquility did not last long.

The air seemed to freeze for an instant.

"BANG—!"

The door to the principal’s office was violently thrown open by a brutish force. The heavy oak slammed against the stone wall with a dull THUD, shaking several thick Magic Books on the shelves.

Three figures clad in pitch-black cloaks burst in.

The fabric of their cloaks had an ominous, matte sheen. Their hoods were pulled low, obscuring most of their faces and leaving only their hard-lined jaws visible.

The leader was exceptionally burly. The outline of his knotted muscles was visible even under his wide robe, and every step he took on the floor carried a heavy, oppressive weight, as if he were a moving Fortress.

A chill, smelling of rust and cold sweat, instantly dispelled the room’s warmth. The tranquility of the flowing sunlight was brutally torn apart.

Principal Frost slowly turned around, the benevolent smile gone from his face.

His gray eyes narrowed, his gaze as sharp as a falcon’s as it swept over the intruders. There was not a trace of panic in him, only a calm and dignified authority cultivated over many years.

"Who are you? Has my name, Frost, already been forgotten?"

A fluctuation of Mana, nearing its critical point, began to rise from his withered body. The pressure of a Grand Mage Level was completely undisguised!

However, the leader in black suddenly raised his hand, revealing a small metal token that made the old principal pause.

His voice was like two rough stones grinding together, flat and imbued with an unquestionable coldness:

"Ministry of Internal Affairs, [Shadow]. We act under the authority of the Imperial Prime Minister."

"Your school’s Associate Professor of the Small-Planar Research Department, Anato Villander, is implicated in treason. The evidence is conclusive. Principal Frost, surrender his whereabouts immediately."

The air seemed to freeze.

The sounds of laughter from the students practicing in the courtyard seemed to instantly fade away, leaving only the eerie purple glow of the token dancing in the principal’s deep gray pupils.

After several breaths of silence, the old man spoke slowly, his voice strained.

"Anato... he left for the Central Airport twenty minutes ago."

His gray eyes stared directly into the shadow of the leader’s hood, as if trying to see through the darkness to the face behind it.

"He was invited to the Yadlin Mage Federation for an academic exchange."

"Yadlin?!"

The leader’s pupils contracted sharply. The tensed muscles beneath his cloak revealed the violent shock he felt inside.

’The target actually stepped outside the Empire’s Territory just one step ahead of us!’

This sudden turn of events had thrown all their plans into disarray.

A burst of uncontrollable frustration and cold hostility erupted from him, a tangible chill that instantly flooded the entire room.

He whipped his head around, two sharp, icicle-like glares shooting from under his hood to sweep across his two subordinates.

The meaning in his eyes needed no words.

"After him!"

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