"Forgive me for keeping such esteemed guests waiting. As you may have heard, the war has only just settled into a fragile ceasefire thanks entirely to the timely intervention of the Lighthouse of the Night. But let us not burden you with the troubles of the South Coast. Instead… do tell me what brings you all the way to these 'barren lands' as you so politely called them."
Marcus smiled pleasantly, his gaze resting lightly on Timmy. The younger warlock stiffened visibly, shoulders twitching involuntarily. Though blessed with the Black Horall Snake bloodline, Timmy had yet to unlock its full potential and stood only at Rank 2. Yet beneath that calm, curious gaze, he felt as if a great serpent had coiled about his spine, watching him with hungry interest.
Elder Jeffrey's brows twitched with quiet irritation. He shot a sharp sidelong glance at Timmy 'the blabbermouth' and silently cursed his own judgment in bringing him along on this delicate, perilous mission.
"Please pay him no mind," Jeffrey said smoothly, turning back to Marcus with a diplomatic smile. "He is young, and has rarely ventured beyond the clan grounds. His words carry little weight."
"Oh, not at all, Elder, you misunderstand me entirely," Marcus replied, his tone warm, thoughtful, and bright with genuine curiosity. "I am actually quite intrigued. Why does the South Coast deserve such a description? Just how vast is the difference in mana saturation between these lands and the Central Continent? And more importantly… why does such a disparity exist?" He leaned forward slightly, his smile kind and earnest. "Questions such as these, curiosity without pretenses are what make the pursuit of truth worthwhile. Do you not agree, Elder Jeffrey?"
Jeffrey paused, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He hesitated, then answered carefully.
"Those are questions even our scholars debate with no certain answer. I cannot speak with absolute confidence. But I can say that the ratio of ambient mana particles between the Central Continent and here stands at nearly one hundred to one. Sometimes even greater. Words cannot truly convey the difference, you would have to feel it for yourself in order to understand."
He straightened, his expression turning solemn and formal.
"And it is precisely because of this… that we come with a formal request. Allow us to escort Your Highness back to the Central Continent. There, amidst the clan's protection and abundant resources, your bloodline may awaken and grow safely, unhindered by this land's limitations. In truth… we would not have pressed this so soon, were it not for the prophecy."
Jeffrey's voice lowered, carrying weight.
"Word has spread across the Central Continent. A Bloodline Monarch shall rise from these shores. Our rivals, the Eight Arms Radiant Moon, and others have already taken notice. They will send their own people. Some will come to recruit you. Others… will come to snuff out the threat before it can bloom. You are in danger here. And so… we offer you sanctuary."
"A prophecy, is it?" Marcus sighed, shoulders slumping with exaggerated weariness. "What a dreadful nuisance! I already have so much to do and barely enough hours in the day and now this? Tell me… is this prophecy truly so reliable? From what little I know, such divination belongs to an obscure branch, does it not? Where the cost of even a single glimpse is agony no mortal could long endure. Can anything so dearly bought… be trusted?"
Elder Jeffrey shook his head gravely, helplessness in his tone.
"Whether it is true or not no longer matters. That is the cruel reality. The great powers care nothing for proof. If they believe a threat will one day rise from these lands… they will not hesitate to wipe out entire peoples just to be rid of it. I have done the same myself. None of us here are innocent of such choices."
Marcus looked up, feigning quiet apprehension. "And if I go with you… can you truly promise they will stop coming?"
"It stands to reason," Jeffrey replied earnestly. "Once you are within the Central Continent, here will no longer hold interest. Who would cross the Death Sea for nothing? There, you shall be placed directly under the protection and tutelage of a Rank 4 Warlock. That is the Ouroboros Clan's solemn pledge. You shall grow, protected and nurtured, until your bloodline awakens in full."
"May I bring others?" Marcus asked simply.
Jeffrey's expression turned apologetic, firm yet kind. "I fear that would endanger us all, and complicate this mission beyond measure. The journey between continents is no leisurely stroll. We must cross deadly zones, mana‑scourged wastes, and hostile territories. Ambush awaits us at every turn. Bringing extra souls would only burden us all. Please… reconsider. Perhaps when matters stabilize and the clan breathes easier under the pressure of rivals like the Eight Arms Radiant Moon… then your loved ones may join you. But not now."
Marcus nodded slowly, appearing to accept the weight of it all.
[Processing — Delay Tactic Accepted. Await Further Orders.]
"I… need time to think," Marcus said aloud, speaking every word as if he had rehearsed them. "Give me a few days."
"Very well," Elder Jeffrey said after a moment's consideration. "We shall return in two days' time."
*****
"Master… are you truly certain this will hold?" Marcus asked, his tone thoughtful with careful consideration. "My aura and bloodline resonance may mirror the Kemoyin Serpent because you deliberately modeled them after that legendary lineage. But the truth remains: I am no true bloodline warlock bound by heritage. I am something else entirely. A fragment of the Farlier Magi Network. A Techno‑Magus."
Leylin's expression remained steady, calm and reassuring as he rested a hand lightly on Marcus's shoulder.
"There is nothing to fear. I shall never force you to integrate the defective Kemoyin bloodline not when I know full well the chains and limitations it brings. The path of those shackled by blood inheritance… is not the path I walk. Nor is it one I would ever bind you to."
He continued with quiet certainty. "Rest assured. Without our level of technology to peer beneath the surface, the Ouroboros will simply believe you bear a rare, hitherto‑unknown variant of the Kemoyin lineage, one whose potential even their scholars cannot fully recognize. Carry these refined Kemoyin bloodline crystals with you as well, just to be absolutely certain. Their resonance will answer every test they devise."
Leylin gestured to the array of crates, scrolls, and gleaming devices waiting nearby.
"I have prepared everything you shall need: blueprints, materials, formation cores, and authority codes, everything required to establish a forward operating base and begin nurturing our forces the moment you set foot upon the Central Continent. Truth be told… I would gladly have gone in your place. But too much here still requires my personal hand."
Marcus nodded, understanding settling in his chest. He accepted the burden readily enough yet his thoughts turned unbidden to his brother. William… He pictured his solemn, stone‑faced twin already standing guard somewhere, silent and immovable as a mountain. Marcus sighed and shook his head, half‑irritated, half‑fond.
'That blockhead… I leave everything in your hands. Try not to get killed by anyone while I'm gone.'
*****
Two days passed swiftly.
Within the room where the Ouroboros members stayed, Elder Jeffrey moved among his kin, checking supplies, reviewing routes, and weighing every risk. His expression was grave, his movements deliberate and heavy with responsibility.
"Double‑check the wards and concealment arrays," he ordered, his voice low and firm. "We will travel through hostile lands once we depart these shores. Ambush may come at any moment."
Timmy hovered nearby, adjusting his robes nervously. "Elder… are we certain he will agree? What if he refuses?"
Jeffrey paused, glancing toward the horizon where the South Coast stretched wild and untamed. "He is young, and cautious, and rightly so. He knows full well what awaits him if he stays. The Eight Arms Radiant Moon will not hesitate to kill him. Other factions will come for him in force. Logic alone dictates he must choose us."
He turned back to his preparations, his tone grim yet resolute. "And if he still hesitates… then we must persuade him. Whether he agrees or not, we cannot leave him here to fall into enemy hands. The fate of the Clan rests in our hands."
He signaled to the others, and the small convoy began to assemble.
"Prepare yourselves," Jeffrey said, mounting his beast. "We return. Whatever the answer… well bring him back with us."
They arrived at the great central square of Extreme Night Castle to find Marcus standing alone, a single sturdy pack slung across his back, waiting calmly beneath the sky.
"Took you all long enough," Marcus called out with a bright, easy smile.
Elder Jeffrey breathed an inward sigh of profound relief. He had half‑feared they would find the place empty, or worse, guarded and unwelcoming. Instead, the heir stood ready.
Marcus's gaze drifted past them, settling on the great, shaggy wolves the Ouroboros party had ridden. He tilted his head, his tone polite but plainly unimpressed.
"Surely… you don't expect me to ride those all the way?"
Jeffrey opened his mouth, then closed it again. There was no graceful way to answer. They had intended to mount him upon a Seated Lupin Wolf—proud, loyal beasts, yet undeniably coarse compared to what a future Monarch might be accustomed to.
Seeing his hesitation, Marcus chuckled and gestured upward. "Worry not. I anticipated this. Come, we will ride my people's latest craft."
He pointed toward the empty sky.
[Cloaking Disengaged]
Silently, as if materializing from thin air itself, a massive delta‑winged craft descended. It hovered silently with only a faint, shimmering distortion of the air around it. Gravity‑neutralization thrusters hummed at frequencies beyond hearing, holding the vessel aloft with impossible stillness, pressing down upon the earth no heavier than a drifting leaf. It settled gently before them, sleek and menacing, plated in matte‑black alloy that drank the light, lined with cooling vents and rune‑etched stabilization arrays.
"This is the Aerial Hunter‑Killer, Model R2," Marcus said, patting its hull with obvious pride. "I could boast of its design, but I doubt you would grasp half of what makes it terrible. So let me simply say this: it carries our most advanced weaponry, railguns, focused mana‑lances, disruption fields and its core burns with the captured heart of an Official Rank 1 Magus, endlessly refined and cycled to power every system."
He glanced at Jeffrey, then upward toward the distant horizon.
"In straight flight… it can easily outrun even a Rank 4 Magus, so long as they do not resort to space‑folding or teleportation. And in a chase? If they cannot vanish from this world entirely… they shall never catch us."
The moment they stepped aboard, the Ouroboros warlocks fell silent, gazing around in undisguised awe. The interior was a study in sleek, unadorned perfection of polished alloy surfaces, glowing rune-lit panels, and comfortable, contour-molded seating arranged with clean, symmetrical precision. It was built for function first, yet the elegant, minimalist design struck a deep chord within them; order, symmetry, and hidden strength were values their own bloodlines had always revered.
"Is the route prepared?" Marcus asked, turning directly to Elder Jeffrey. "Hand it to me."
Jeffrey's hand moved of its own accord. He reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a carefully sealed leather map, handing it over without hesitation, before he even realized what he had done. A faint, invisible pressure radiated from Marcus, subtle and overwhelming. It was the innate authority of a higher bloodline, instinctively commanding the respect and obedience of those beneath it, seeping into their thoughts, clouding their judgment, and guiding their actions. His disguise was so flawlessly woven, the resonance so perfectly authentic, that even their ancient bloodline instincts bowed in reverence, utterly fooled.
Marcus ran a finger lightly over the parchment.
[Topography Scanned — Coastlines, Hazard Zones, and Mana-Storms Logged]
[Optimizing Trajectory — Stability vs. Speed Calculated]
[Course Plotted — Engaging Auto-Navigation]
He handed the map back casually. The craft hummed softly, its interior displays shifting to show their path laid out in glowing lines across a sweeping topographic projection.
"You may examine it yourselves," Marcus said, gesturing to the unfolding map of their journey.
He smiled inwardly, a quiet, triumphant thought settling in his mind.
Behold… the true might of magic and technology, woven together as one.