The luxurious carriage rolled steadily away from Zither Moon Town, its polished wood gleaming under the fading light of dusk, the creak of its iron-galvanized wheels a rhythmic hymn to Leylin's departure.
Inside, he reclined on plush velvet cushions, the gentle sway of the carriage a soothing sensation.
Leylin dark robes clung to his frame, their folds catching the golden glow of a single crystal lamp, casting his sharp features in a play of light and shadow.
His heart thrummed with a thrill to chase the opportunities that awaited in the central south coast.
Outside, his Knights rode in formation, their presence a formidable display of strength and mystery that drew wary glances from passersby.
Greem and Dexter manned the driver's seat, their broad frames steady as they guided the horses, their Grand Knight auras radiating quiet power. Faisal, Fred, Fraser, Mandal, and the seven young Knights flanked the carriage on horseback, their armor clinking softly, their faces set with unwavering loyalty.
To onlookers, they were an enigma a noble of unknown origin, cloaked in wealth and guarded by warriors of uncanny prowess.
In the Magus world, an official Magus could bind followers through soul contracts, a pact of mutual obligation, loyalty for knowledge and resources. Leylin had marked these Knights as his subordinates, a choice that's odd in a world where Knights and Grand Knights were often mere slaves, the title of follower reserved for Acolytes.
But Leylin saw a different worth in them, vessels for his experiments, perhaps even a new path to power. The Saint Knight technique could be their legacy, a future path of redemption and ascension for Knights.
The Poolfield Kingdom, under the Abyssal Bone Forest Academy's sway, lay behind them, its northern reaches fraught with unspeakable dangers. Leylin had chosen west, cutting through the Zither Moon Mountain Plains to enter the territory of the Sage Gotham Hut, a region still raw from a recent war with the Academy, their enmity as irreconcilable as fire and water.
The south coast's vastness dwarfed such conflicts of remote areas. The Academy and Gotham Hut were mere rural outposts compared to the central region, where the Light Magi reigned, their harmony with humans a stark contrast to the south's bloodshed.
Leylin's heart raced at the thought of the opportunities there—markets brimming with resources, a war between Light and Dark Magi looming in the future, the Twilight Zone and the chance to establish a laboratory to fuel his experiments.
The carriage passed through the Inlan Dukedom, controlled by the Sage Gotham Hut, and traversed the Great Canyon Margaret, a jagged scar of stone and shadow that tested the Knights' endurance.
Dozens of kingdoms fell behind them, each a blur of fields and spires, until they reached the south coast's central region, its air softer, its roads wider, its cities pulsing with the Light Magi's influence.
Leylin's plan was clear: to advance his research, secure a distribution center for magical ingredients, and navigate the coming war.
The Ennea Ivory Ring Tower, a magisterium of immense power, loomed in his thoughts, and with it, a memory of George, his old companion from the Academy days.
"George had fourth-grade aptitude," Leylin murmured, his voice tinged with nostalgia, a faint smile softening his features. "he's likely a Level 3 Acolyte by now."
On a broad road in the Inlan Dukedom, their noble carriage trailed a merchant's cart, its wooden wheels creaking loudly, the ride jarring for its motley passengers—a white-bearded old man with his granddaughter, wanton women, and merchants clutching their wares.
Leylin's carriage, equipped with shock-absorbing enchantments, glided smoothly, its comfort a stark contrast. He sat in the back, his pure black hair lustrous in the sunlight, his handsome face radiating a strange, magnetic charisma that drew eyes despite his reserved demeanor.
His gaze drifted to the merchant cart, landing on a child dressed in pink—Ivy, her sapphire-like eyes and milky skin unmistakable. Leylin's eyes had a quiet revelation when he looked at her, recognizing the faint trace of warlock bloodline within her.
He had nearly left her behind in the journey, but a spark of curiosity had changed his mind.
"Although her bloodline is too thin to become a Warlock," he murmured, his tone pragmatic but tinged with intrigue, "but perfect for my Saint Knight research." His heart quickened at the prospect of studying her bloodline, a key to unlocking bloodline integration for his Knights.
He smiled at her, a gentle gesture meant to reassure, and she beamed back, her innocence a fleeting warmth in his calculated world.
Her grandfather noticed, his white beard bristling as he pulled Ivy close, whispering urgently. His menacing glare met Leylin's, a clear warning, and Leylin's heart flickered with amusement, though his Knights reacted instantly, hands on their weapons, their auras flaring. Greem and Dexter's eyes narrowed, their Grand Knight strength a silent threat, while the others formed a wall of steel, ready to tear the old man apart at a word.
"Easy," Leylin said, his voice calm but rich with authority, a chuckle escaping as he waved them down, his heart light with the absurdity of the challenge.
"He's no threat," he added, his tone warm with dismissal, his smile unwavering.
Warlock strength stemmed from bloodlines, passed down through generations, but Ivy's was too dilute to wield power.
"She's no Acolyte," Leylin mused, his voice soft but analytical, "just a human with a trace of potential."
Warlocks revered bloodline purity, often marrying kin to preserve it, unlike Magi who welcomed fresh genes. Leylin, a first-generation Warlock, knew his descendants would carry the Giant Kemoyin Serpent's might, a legacy he could forge.
Ivy's bloodline, though weak, was a puzzle he could solve, a step toward elevating his understanding of different bloodline.
Hours later, the carriages halted by the roadside, weary passengers spilling out to gather around a bonfire, its crackling warmth a beacon in the gathering dusk. The travelers, bonded by days on the road, shed their reserve, a merchant played a lively flute tune, a beautiful woman danced with graceful abandon, her skirts swirling, while men offered wine, their laughter mingling with the night air.
The horse keeper, red-nosed from strong spirits, joined the revelry, the camp alive with song and dance.
Leylin reclined on a cushioned chair, a table before him laden with snacks and Anna's steaming tea, its chamomile aroma a quiet comfort. His heart eased, the simple joy of the scene a rare respite, his lips curving into a contented smile as he sipped, the warmth spreading through him.
Anna stood behind him, her presence steady, while Greem and Dexter flanked her, their eyes scanning the crowd. Faisal, Fred, Fraser, Mandal, and the seven young Knights formed a protective circle, their armor glinting, their gazes sharp, ensuring no one disturbed their lord.
The travelers cast envious, fearful glances, awed by Leylin's retinue, he said in a murmur, "They see power, and they wonder."
Anna's serious expression, clutching daggers he'd gifted her, drew a chuckle.
"You look fierce, little lady." he teased, his tone warm with affection, her blush a fleeting warmth.
The old man, still wary, urged the driver to press on, his voice sharp with insistence, but night travel was perilous, and the driver, backed by the passengers, refused. The old man's scowl was a spectacle, and Leylin's amusement deepened, his heart light with the man's futile defiance. Rumors swirled among the travelers, whispers of the old man and his granddaughter.
Leylin's gaze sharpened, his A.I. Chip detecting energy waves in the dark—Level 3 Acolytes, lurking in the shadows.
'They're here.' he thought, his voice a quiet thrill, anticipation curling in his gut.
Bang! A red arrow pierced the night, striking a dancing man through the skull, blood splattering a nearby woman. Her scream shattered the revelry, cries of "Bandits!" and "Help!" erupting as chaos gripped the camp. The driver donned leather armor and crouched, hugging his head, relying on a bandit pact to spare him.
Leylin's Knights drew their weapons, forming a tight ring around him, their loyalty unwavering but their intent clear, no aid for the others.
Anna gripped her daggers, her face set with determination, and Leylin continued to drink his tea leisurely, his expression remained calm.
"Help, please! My lord, save us!" a woman wailed, her voice desperate.