[Initiating Anchoring Protocol — Phase One]
[Spatial Coordinates Locked — Dylan Gardens — Verified & Stable]
Months passed by in the blink of an eye.
The entire space of Dylan Gardens secret realm shuddered. Gardens, vaulted chambers, and stasis-lit laboratories all hummed in unison, their existence no longer fixed to one place in the world, it is now detached, drifting like a star being pulled from its orbit.
[Targeting Vessel — Rank 1 Innate Spell Slot — Leylin Farlier]
Deep within his sea of consciousness, that empty, waiting space that was once reserved for a spell finally lit up.
It opened, vast and receptive, shaped to hold the entire space permanently, designed to serve as Leylin's own storage space, internal world and mobile laboratory.
That's right. He is attempting what no one has ever done in this place. Creating his own portable storage space. Or more like binding one that's already in existence to himself.
[Dimensional Anchors Deployed — Link Established]
Invisible chains of force stretched across the boundary between the material and spiritual realms, shimmering with runes of binding and stabilization. They slowly connected the entirety of Dylan Gardens directly into the spell slot within his sea of consciousness.
[Transfer Commencing — Phase Two]
The realm began to fold, to shrink, to pull inward upon itself like a collapsing star, but slow and steady with each moment monitored and adjusted to perfection.
[Energy Flux — 90% Decline — Falling to Baseline]
[Energy Flux — Stabilized]
The immense power required to sustain the transposition of the secret realm independently vanished as it was slowly dragged into it's new place.
[Spatial Alignment — 76% — Adjusting Geometry]
[Alignment Complete — Initiating Convergence]
The last barrier fell.
Dylan Gardens slipped free of the world and flowed into him, sinking gently into the place meant for a single spell.
[Rune Formation — Locked — Reinforcing Soul-Bound Connection]
The boundary between the spell slot and the secret realm blurred. Runes flared, merged, and fused into something deeper and more absolute.
[Anchor Secured — Spell Model Complete — Formation Stable]
[Success!]
Dylan Gardens was his.
Wherever he stepped, whatever distance he crossed… his realm would travel with him.
[ANOMALY DETECTED — Boundary Dissolution in Progress— Unforeseen Fusion Detected]
Leylin's gaze snapped to the readings overlaying his sea of consciousness and paused.
[Monitoring...]
[Sea of Consciousness Stable...]
[Mana Gathering Stable...]
[Simulating Changes...]
[No Detrimental Effects Found]
What should have been contained within the spell slot… had spilled over. The vast, structured realm of Dylan Gardens had not merely settled into the empty space, it had merged with his consciousness entirely.
The walls between "spell" and "soul" had dissolved. His carefully designed inner world had become one with him. And the spell slot that had just been filled… was empty once more.
Leylin frowned, searching for logic, for cause, for error and found none. No one had ever walked this path before. There was no textbook, no precedent, and no master to ask.
'I wonder if I had placed something simpler… like a fireball, or a lightning bolt… would the same thing have happened?' Leylin mused in deep thought.
In the end, he could not say. The question hung in the silence of his mind, unanswered. He wouldn't risk using that spell slot for something like fireball. What if it became permanent and occupied the slot? Wouldn't that be a waste then?
'It would seem… that Project SKYNET must be implemented immediately even with a carefully controlled scale, he reasoned calmly.' To understand what just occurred, Leylin must repeat what he did onto others. Gather data. Compare results. Then make a conclusion.
Which meant… others would need to have the same Rank 1 Artificial Intelligence spell-model as their first innate spell, which is easy. And the said subjects would need to anchor realms of their own, which is the troublesome part. Although secret realms are not really rare, most are under the control of organizations that held power in this land.
Leylin's eyes gleamed.
He turned his gaze outward, toward the horizon.
'Very well. I have subjects. I have the method. All that's left is to find secret realms that can be anchored?'
Leylin thought seriously, if he could recover the techniques and materials used to establish an independent space like Dylan Gardens, it wouldn't be an impossibility for him to grow similar spaces by using the Garden as the template.
That, unfortunately, is a bit difficult due to the gap that prevalently exist in the amount of available knowledge and records within the South Coast.
From what little he could gather, a huge war between worlds happened a long long time ago causing cataclysmic events that plunged the whole Magus World into some sort of Dark Age.
Majority of the technology, techniques, spells, culture, amongst others things became lost in this 'Dark Age' and the world seemed to have entered some kind of reset.
Leylin then thought back to Marcus who has been sent to the Central Continent for a while now. He wondered how he's faring in that brave new world.
'That guy is probably in bed with some... Maybe I should've sent Will... nah...'
*****
Two months had passed since the Queen had come to Thornmarsh.
In that amount of time, her swarm had multiplied at a terrifying, exponential rate.
She had not conquered the principality by war, she had simply settled within it, establishing her nest deep within the wilderness while grooming special drones to bear eggs in her stead.
The hierarchy of her brood was clear and absolute.
The Drones were born from the common folk, they are the largest in terms of number, swift to mature, and possesses a spiritual force equal to that of a Rank 2 acolyte at maturity.
Though they stood lowest in the chain, they were in truth far more dangerous than even Rank 3 apprentices. Their exoskeletons were nearly impervious to Rank 0 spells; they could fade into perfect invisibility, walk upon vertical walls as if gravity meant nothing, and regenerate grievous wounds with frightening speed.
From their hands extended curved, serrated blades; from their tails, barbed stingers. And most terrible of all is a poisoned tongue capable of shooting outward with the speed, force, and penetration effect of a rank 0 spell, capable of striking before the victim even knew what they had seen.
Above the Drones stood the Soldiers, spawned from stronger stock like apprentices and large magical beasts alike.
They were larger, heavier, draped in thicker, darker chitin. They inherited not just the strength, but the knowledge of their hosts, adapting, learning, and wielding the very spells and fighting styles of those they had replaced. Their spiritual force rivaled that of a Rank 3 acolyte, making every one of them a match for academy veterans.
And above them all… the Praetorians.
The Queen had encountered a traveling Rank 1 Magus, and with her own Rank 2 might, had overwhelmed him effortlessly. From his powerful flesh, she had forged six Praetorians.
Unlike the Soldiers, who grew larger as they grew stronger, the Praetorians stood tall and sleek, their power revealed not in size but in the intricate, glowing crests etched into their foreheads and the layered, flawless armor of their exoskeleton.
Their eerily human faces were pale and perfect like carved porcelain, beautiful, serene, and utterly inhuman. From their spines trailed long, spear‑shaped tails honed to a single, deadly point, capable of piercing wards and flesh or squirt their acidic blood through a specialized organ.
[Go North. It is time.]
The Queen threw back her head and shrieked with a sound of pure, wild joy.
At that signal, the entire swarm stirred. Thousands of chitinous limbs shifted in unison. A vast, silent tide turned toward the horizon… and began to march.
*****
Leylin scanned the report, a faint, amused glint touching his eyes.
This was no routine update from his South Coast projects, it came directly from Marcus who has been dispatched all the way from the Central Continent, it carries intelligence that even Serholm's diary and inheritance had never recorded.
Marcus wrote of discoveries that made the distance feel shorter and the parallels uncanny. In his report, he spoke of the existence of a distinct lineage of Warlocks in Central Continent who called themselves Blood Warlocks.
Their arts and lineage bore a striking resemblance to the vampire design Leylin himself had crafted into Marcus' very existence. They drank life like he did, extended their existence, and wielded blood as a weapon; so close to his own abilities that it felt less like coincidence and more like an echo of the same truth.
Behind these Blood Warlocks, Marcus reported whispers of shadowy patrons… powers rumored to stand at Rank 5. Existences with unimaginable power, ones Leylin wouldn't dare to offend with his current abilities.
Then there was the Wind Wolf Clan. Beast Warlocks who drew strength from wolves, they are capable of shifting forms and they stalked beneath the moon, virtually identical in nature to the werewolf strain Leylin had developed and given to William. And most remarkably… they stood as sworn allies and kin to the Ouroboros Clan.
Marcus had also found his own way to thrive. He had established a steady, substantial income by offering a discreet, highly valued service: a chance for noble ladies of ancient but thinning bloodlines to bear children of strength and potential, infusing new vigor into their own fading lineages.
The details were left tastefully vague, but Leylin understood perfectly. Marcus had made himself indispensable, beloved, and deeply embedded within the highest circles of warlock society.
And at the bottom of the report, beneath the logistics and observations is a humble request. Marcus had grown fond of certain Ouroboros Warlocks and sought Leylin's personal approval to take wives, to breed, to plant roots and heirs within the very heart of the clan.
Leylin shook his head, half‑smiling. 'This guy… I knew it. He never changes.' In truth Marcus is a capable man who contributed much to Leylin's growing power.
Personally, he's the laid-back type who would rather enjoy life instead of being involved in an endless pursuit of strength, knowledge, power, or truth. Still, he understands that he's being overly idealistic at that and is rather flexible in his arrangements.
Setting that aside, the broader picture was deeply promising. Marcus had successfully established hidden forward bases in every major city along his route, all now fully operational. Monthly reports carried by stealth‑drones would henceforth flow back across the Death Sea with regularity.
He also touched upon the broader truths of the Central Continent itself, lands there are far more vast, mana is super dense that even normal humans are reaping positive effects, and there are tons more of ancient sites than the South Coast could ever dream of.
Great rivers of mana crisscrossed the earth; towering mountain ranges sheltered powers that had slumbered since before recorded history; clans of ancient lineage stood as kingdoms unto themselves, bound by centuries‑old pacts and rivalries. Here, Rank 3 was merely the threshold of true power; Rank 4 elders walked openly.
Gaining true influence and power would take time, years, decades, perhaps longer. But the foothold was secured. The eyes of the Farlier had opened upon the Central Continent.
What they bring to these lands is yet to be seen but one thing is certain. They are coming.