Leylin stepped toward the secret plane's exit, a dazzling swirl of rainbow hues shimmering before him like a portal to another world.
The vibrant colors danced in the dim light, casting fleeting reflections across his face, and his smile widened, a rare glimmer of satisfaction softening his usually guarded expression.
'It was fun while it lasted.' he thought, his boots crunching against the scorched earth as he moved forward, a quiet thrill lingering from the bloodbath's chaos.
Outside, the scene was unchanged—a tense standoff etched into the wilderness. The three academies formed a triangular formation, their camps starkly divided. Sage Gotham's Hut and Whitewoods Castle stood shoulder to shoulder, their grey-robed acolytes and white-clad professors united in their enmity, facing Abyssal Bone Forest Academy with cold resolve.
The air buzzed with the murmur of returning acolytes streaming from the exit, each darting to their respective sides, their faces a mix of exhaustion, relief, and dread.
Leylin's gaze drifted to the black-robed figure towering ahead of the three chairmen, his presence a palpable weight.
'That's Anya, leader of The Lighthouse of the Night—a Rank 3 Magus.' he thought, awe and caution threading through his mind.
He stole a glance, catching the glint of those dark green eyes, but quickly averted his own, a shiver prickling down his spine.
Official Magi are shielded by force fields—some instant, some eternal. Higher ranks like Anya? Untouchable. He recalled Feng's near-fatal brush with Anya's gaze, how those eyes had snared him in hallucinations without effort, only Kroft's intervention sparing him.
'Eyes are the window of the soul.' Leylin mused, his hand brushing his hood where his own obsidian-shine eyes, marking his peak Level 3 status lay hidden beneath the Shapeshifting spell.
One wrong look at a high-ranking Magus, and an acolyte soul could shatter. What a pointless end that'd be.
"Alright now! Welcome back, son!" Kroft's voice broke through his reverie, warm and genuine, pulling Leylin's attention.
The professor's lined face split into a sincere smile, his eyes crinkling with a fatherly pride that softened the harsh edges of the moment.
"Thank you, sir," Leylin replied, his own smile mirroring Kroft's as he stepped into the embrace.

The hug was brief but solid, Kroft's arms firm around his shoulders, a rare comfort in the academy's brutal world. Leylin felt a flicker of gratitude, though it didn't soften his resolve.
The casualties of Abyssal Bone Forest Academy soon became starkly apparent. Behind the professors, only a handful of acolytes remained—scattered, battered figures with bandaged limbs and haunted eyes.
The war's toll, compounded by the bloodbath's two-against-one odds, had gutted their ranks. Leylin's gaze swept over them, noting the gloom that clung to their slumped shoulders like a second skin.
"Leylin!" A voice, bright with surprise, cut through the somber air. Bicky hurried toward him, her green eyes wide with relief, her grey robe slightly askew.
"Bicky," Leylin acknowledged with a nod, his tone neutral but not unkind. He hadn't crossed paths with her in the plane but, it seemed she was lucky, likely thanks to Fayle's protection.
Leylin and Bicky bond was shallow, a mere exchange of pleasantries over the years, and her tangled drama held no pull for him.
'She'll be swindled by Fayle for rainbow potion soon enough.' Leylin thought, a faint pity stirring, 'But he kept her alive in there, it can be called an exchange in a way.'
A Level 2 like her wouldn't have lasted otherwise.
After a few casual words, her chatter about survival, his brief replies, he turned back to the exit, watching enemy acolytes pour out in droves, far outnumbering the trickle of Abyssal Bone Forest survivors.
Peng! A figure stumbled through, grey robes tattered, blood staining the fabric. Jayden emerged, his body a map of wounds—one arm gone, his face pale and drawn.

He staggered forward, eyes locking onto Dorotte before a faint smile curved his lips, and he crumpled.
Shua! A white blur flashed—Dorotte, skeletal and wreathed in underworld flame, caught him mid-fall, his bony hands surprisingly gentle. Leylin's lips twitched. Jayden's mentor… and my key to the Branded Swordsman manual.
"Alright! No more survivors remain. Seal the exit!" Anya's voice boomed, authoritative and final, silencing the camps. Murmurs rose, then cries—grief and disbelief rippling through Sage Gotham's Hut and Whitewoods Castle as their losses sank in.
"Torash! He's still inside!" a blue-bearded Magus wailed, his voice raw with anguish.
"Silver-Claw Saurun—how could he fall?" another gasped, disbelief trembling in her tone.
Abyssal Bone Forest's professors, though, stood stoic, Kroft's soft sigh for Merlin the only crack in their armor.
"Torash! I marked him—he's here!" The blue-bearded Magus's cry turned feral as he chanted, a blue beam flaring above Jayden, revealing Torash's badge.
"No! My nephew!" he roared, anguish twisting into rage as a thunderstorm brewed overhead. Dorotte rose, silver beast claws glinting on his skeletal back, his voice a low growl: "The bloodbath's rules are clear, your vengeance is a slight to the agreement!"
"Enough!" Anya snapped, a giant dark green hand clawing the sky, shattering the storm.
Weng Weng! The blue-bearded Magus spat blood, collapsing in fear. "Forgive me, sir," he whimpered, "an old man's grief for his kin."
Anya's reply was ice: "Once only or I'll rip your soul to burn in the abyss for ten thousand years."
The Magus retreated, his venomous glare at Jayden a silent promise for revenge.
'Bingo, with that Jayden and Dorotte, both would be desperate to treat him quickly.' Leylin thought, his expression calm but a rush of relief flooding his chest.
'It's such a shame for Jayden, having a Magus on his tails, even with the contract in place it can't protect him forever. Dorotte for protecting him would most likely take more than half his contribution points, later Jayden would pay a huge sum to buy information about the Dylan Planes, but it's already wiped clean by me. I wonder what his future Magus path would be like? Grine Water? Most likely… Well, whatever.' A flicker of pity stirred, but it was fleeting, overshadowed by the satisfaction of his plan clicking into place.
....
Late that night, Leylin sprawled on his bed in the academy's austere quarters, the faint creak of the frame beneath him a familiar sound.
In his hands, he toyed with a faint yellow test tube, its Nitrogen Crystal surface cool and unyielding—immune to spells below 20 degrees, a vessel for millennia.
Inside, a translucent liquid swirled, refracting light into a rainbow glow that danced across the stone walls. "Grine Water," he muttered, a wry edge to his voice. Acolytes would raze nations for this, yet it's just a prop for me, analysis fodder.
On the trek back, the survivors had received their contribution points in hushed exchanges with an alchemy beast—a cold, impartial creation of Siley's. Leylin had claimed his share, the privacy a rare gift in this bloodthirsty academy.
They protect the strong well enough, later using his rights as a potential Magi, He'd raided the hidden library reserved for Level 3 talents, the A.I. Chip gorging on texts, manuals, some books.
Leylin also bought spell models, some professors' notes, resources are now dirt-cheap in the war's wake. What was usually available for hundreds of acolytes is now left for just a mere 50, the market was ridiculously down, it might take a decade before the academy regains its previous prestige.
Days later, he stood in Kroft's lab, the air thick with the tang of herbs and bubbling potions.
"Professor!" he called, bowing, his voice warm with deference.
Kroft turned, his grey hair catching the lamplight, but his eyes once sharp were dim, shadowed by loss.
"Leylin, my child!" Kroft's smile bloomed, a spark of life returning as he focused on his apprentice. "Have you considered my offer?" His tone was hopeful, tinged with a mentor's care.
"Yes, Professor," Leylin said, bowing again, his voice steady but resolute. "I'm grateful the Leslie family values me, but I want to break through alone."
Kroft's face fell, disappointment flickering, yet Leylin's Potioneering brilliance softened his rebuke. "The Leslie family's great, perfect for your talents," he urged, his voice gentle but firm. "Their terms beat the academy's."
Leylin met his gaze, eyes blazing with determination. "I know, Professor. But I've solved one piece—just one step left. I want to give myself a chance, If I fail I swear I'll prioritize the Leslie family." Kroft's expression shifted resignation, then a wistful recognition.
"You're young, Leylin, only seventeen! You have the time and enough talent to make mistakes." he said softly, nostalgia softening his tone.
"Thank you, Professor," Leylin replied, gratitude swelling in his chest. Kroft's kindness and care was a rarity amongst dark magus.
"I have a request…" His voice dipped, tentative yet eager, as he sought ancient potion formulas craving their insights, although his soulbound devourer is enough for his growth but he still wanted to stuy potineering.
At last Leylin voiced his intent to buy Dorotte's Branded Swordsman manual.
In the south coast, the information to become an official Magus was often controlled by large guilds, but there was always an exception—Information found within historical items and places!
In the expanse of the south coast, there were many traces of the Magi remnants. All of them were located in extremely perilous locations. Even official Magi had to risk their lives to search for a piece of them.
Moreover, even if they were remnants, one cannot be sure of their contents. However, once Magi discovered a trace of ancient remnants and obtain their inheritance or other precious resources, it would be the start of another legend!
Although searching for remnants had many unforeseeable dangers, it still drove many Magi to seek them.This was the reason for the birth of a few guildless official Magi!
Dorotte has gained such a remnant which is rumored to help in his progression as well. Although Dorotte kept this manual very strictly hidden, his apprentice Jayden had knowledge of it, and he shared it with Leylin as to why he did that? Not because he wanted a fellow acolyte to succeed but rather because Leylin let it 'slip' that he had Flourishing Flower, a potent magical herb capable of healing his lost hand.
....
Three days had passed since Leylin's request to Professor Kroft, and now, in the quiet solitude of his room, he sat bathed in the dim flicker of a single oil lamp.
The chamber was a spartan affair stone walls worn smooth by time, a narrow bed with a threadbare blanket, and a scarred wooden desk that bore the marks of countless late nights.
The air hung heavy with the musty scent of old parchment and the faint, acrid tang of ink, a familiar comfort that wrapped around him like a second skin.
In his hands, he cradled the prize he'd fought for, bargained for, and schemed to claim: the Branded Swordsman manual, its leather cover cracked and weathered, its pages brittle beneath his fingertips.
"Branded Swordsman?" Leylin's voice broke the silence, soft and reverent, a smile tugging at his lips as he traced the faded title embossed on the spine. "I can now finally complete my research on the Grand Knight Path?"
The question lingered in the air, tinged with a quiet triumph that swelled in his chest, warm and electric. His fingers tightened around the tome, the rough texture grounding him as he savored the moment—months of planning, of blood and shadow in the secret plane, all distilled into this single, precious victory.
He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking faintly under his weight, and opened the manual with care, as if unveiling a sacred relic. The pages rustled, releasing a faint puff of dust that danced in the lamplight, and his eyes shone with azure hue of A. I. Chip as he scanned the ancient script, drinking in the words with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

"Magi are people who possess mysterious powers!" he read aloud, his voice low and steady, each syllable laced with awe. "In ancient times, those with great power were often labelled as magicians! As for Branded Swordsman, through the alchemical runes, a magic spell formation would be branded on their body, allowing them to gain power. It is a small division of the ancient Magi!"
His gaze lingered on the next passage, his breath catching slightly as he spoke it into the stillness. "Branded Swordsman emphasize more of physical strength training. Through the regular practice and branding, nature's strength would be stored inside their body. In crucial moments, the energy would erupt explosively…"
The words painted vivid images in his mind muscles rippling beneath rune-scarred skin, a sudden burst of power shattering steel and bone.
Leylin's fingers traced the faded ink, his voice dropping to a murmur as he continued. "Along the years, part of the information regarding the inheritance of ancient Branded Swordsman was widely spread. After some modifications, it was suited more towards regular humans. This turned into the creation of Knights and Grand Knights!"
A faint chuckle escaped him, dry and tinged with amusement, as he leaned closer to the page, the lamplight casting sharp shadows across his face.
"Which is to say, a Branded Swordsman is an advanced version of a Knight!"
He flipped to another page, the parchment crinkling softly, and his brow furrowed as he read on. "Even though it has more than 60% of the information is missing. Especially the part about branding and spell formation settings, it is almost all gone. With my research so far on Grand Knight and formation rune crafting from the books in the Inheritance land, it's not a big deal…" His tone shifted, confidence threading through the words, a spark of defiance lighting his dark eyes.
The gaps in the text were a challenge, not a barrier his mind already raced with fragments of knowledge gleaned from Dylan Gardens, the rune books he'd pored over in his villa, their cryptic symbols etched into his memory by the A.I. Chip. He could fill those voids, weave the missing threads into something whole, something his.
"In ancient times, the combination of Branded Swordsman and Magi were a nightmare to enemies of many other worlds…" Leylin's voice grew hushed, almost feverish, as his eyes gleamed with a crazed intensity, the lamplight reflecting like twin flames in his obsidian gaze.
He pictured it vividly armies trembling before the onslaught, worlds falling to the synergy of spell and blade, the air thick with the screams of the vanquished.
His heart pounded, a wild rhythm against his ribs, as ambition surged through him, hot and unrelenting.
This wasn't just power—it was legacy, a path to etch his name into the annals of the Magus world.
He set the manual down with deliberate care, its weight a tangible anchor, and leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk as he clasped his hands.
"A.I. Chip," he said, his voice firm, edged with excitement, "copy the contents and start to optimize the advanced form of Grand Knight path, and show me the estimated time."
The command hung in the air, a spark of anticipation igniting as he awaited the response, his fingers drumming faintly against the wood.
[Beep! Task Established! Serpent Blood Refinement Grand Knight Technique analyzing and optimizing...Defragmenting Branded Swordsman data....Beep! Task Progress: 1%. Estimated time till completion: 16 Days 21 Hours..]
The Chip's voice intoned in his mind, crisp and mechanical, yet it sent a jolt of satisfaction through him.
Leylin exhaled slowly, a grin spreading across his face as he tilted his head back, staring at the cracked stone ceiling.
Sixteen days—a bit more than two weeks—and the path would be his, refined and perfected, a fusion of ancient might and his own relentless ingenuity. The room seemed to pulse with his quiet elation, the flickering lamp casting long shadows that danced like specters of the Branded Swordsmen he'd soon emulate, their power within his grasp at last.
'I would carve a new future for Knights, Grand Knight would no longer be the end of this path.'