Aisviel followed the mage into the high tower.
The mage seemed eager to explain the current state of the Prism Tower, but Aisviel shook his head and interrupted him.
“Don’t waste time.”
Left with no choice, the mage silently led Aisviel all the way to the top of the tower.
“The Tower Master is already waiting in the study.”
“Thank you. You may leave now.”
After dismissing the mage, Aisviel pushed open the doors to Herun’s study without hesitation.
“Herun…”
“Calm down, my old friend.”
The room was crammed with towering bookshelves and stacks of books, leaving only a carefully cleared space in the center for a desk—a cozy spot reserved for reading.
Herun sat precisely in that space, holding a yellowed book in hand.
Compared to Aisviel, he looked more like an aging gentleman than a typical mage, with a monocle perched on his nose, neatly combed hair, and a meticulously kept suit—far from the chaotic image usually associated with magic users.
“No matter how urgent your matter is, you should still sit down and explain it slowly, shouldn’t you, dear Keeper of Secrets?”
Aisviel was all too familiar with this old friend’s temperament.
He was just about to speak when he noticed someone else in the room.
It was a young man, with features that seemed to blend those of the Sea Folk and the Canaanites.
He sat not far from Herun, and upon catching Aisviel’s gaze, nodded back with calm composure.
What mattered most, however, was that Aisviel could sense no trace of magical power from him.
He was a complete ordinary human.
“Who is he?”
Aisviel frowned.
“A new apprentice?”
“That’s irrelevant… but feel free to think of him that way,” Herun replied, setting the book aside.
“Now speak, Aisviel. You clearly didn’t come just to have tea with me.”
“It’s still about Osmond Bernier… According to Lacy’s prophecy, he’s already dead.”
“And not in any land of this plane. He died silently, in a lonely, isolated world. Do you know what that means?”
Herun simply shook his head and sipped his strong brewed tea.
“You know, Aisviel, I left the Inner Court because I was tired of matters like this.”
“I built this mage tower in this barren, empty land just to focus on my research in peace.”
“I understand you’re here seeking my help, but as I’ve said before, I’ll listen to all your requests—but I won’t provide any practical assistance, aside from words of encouragement.”
Aisviel nearly burst out cursing the old bastard.
He glared at Herun, only holding back out of consideration for the third person present.
“Herun, do you understand how serious this is?”
“That student—Osmond Bernier—stole the key to the upper labyrinth.”
“If he so much as makes a misstep, it could trigger a catastrophic event that even Deep Dawn couldn’t dream of pulling off!”
“It could be the end of all mages!”
“And what does that have to do with me, the Master of the Prism Tower?”
Herun shrugged.
“You were the ones researching the key.”
“You were the ones who admitted him into the Inner Court.”
“You were the ones who ignored what he was going through.”
“And you were the ones who watched as he stole the key.”
“Why is it that you people always try to push your responsibilities onto someone else?”
“This was no accident—no, it couldn’t have been an accident.”
Aisviel’s voice steadied, cold and sharp.
“Osmond wouldn’t have stolen the key for no reason.”
“Someone must have guided him.”
“Taught him how to evade the Inner Court’s intricate wards, how to steal the key in plain sight, how to use the Eye of the Transcendent to activate a long-abandoned long-range teleportation array, how to shield himself from all divination and foresight spells.”
“Even the Eye of the Transcendent itself—there’s a strong chance it came from them.”
“It’s all too convenient.”
“The centennial symposium of the arcane societies had just ended—Siswell, Haley, and Yerevin had barely left—and then this disaster erupts in the Inner Court.”
“If someone isn’t orchestrating things from behind the scenes, I’d never believe it.”
“And now, the key thief Osmond is dead, and the key may already be in the hands of his puppet master.”
“Herun, old friend—whether for the Inner Court or for the entire mage community, you must lend your strength.”
Aisviel delivered this impassioned plea in a single breath, his eyes cold as he stared at his old friend, awaiting a reply.
No matter how Herun responded, at least Aisviel would know he had done everything he could.
“I refuse,” Herun said, without a moment’s hesitation.
Aisviel seemed to age ten years in an instant.
He glanced at Herun, then at the books lining the walls—many of which had nothing to do with magic at all, but covered general knowledge and obscure topics.
“Then I’ll take my leave.”
“Wait, Aivi.”
Herun called out using Aisviel’s long-forgotten nickname.
“Since you’re so convinced someone’s pulling strings behind the scenes, why not tell me who you think it is?”
Aisviel wasn’t sure why Herun asked, but because of their long-standing friendship, he answered honestly.
“The Society of Truth. They’re the only ones who also covet the key—and who have the means to carry out such a plan.”
“There it is!”
Herun burst out laughing, then pointed at the young man beside him.
“Then you two must have a lot to talk about. Lin Li, go ahead and introduce yourself.”
The young man rose, gave a polite bow to the older mage, and turned to Aisviel.
“I’ve long admired you, Lord Aisviel, Keeper of Secrets.”
“I grew up hearing your legendary tales—especially the one where you slew a lich in Bellenport and saved tens of thousands of lives. That story always stirred my blood.”
“Please allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Lin Li, liaison for the Society of Truth.”
Aisviel stared at the two of them, stunned.
After a long pause, he finally said, “That wasn’t a lich. It was a Deathlord.”
“Oh? Perhaps I remembered it wrong,” Lin Li said without a hint of embarrassment.
“To me, whether lich or Deathlord, they’re all the same sort—remnants of the Decay Lineage.”
“I hope you won’t take my earlier remarks to heart. After all, they were just baseless speculation,” Aisviel said, though his eyes were fixed on Herun.
This old fox—he must have known all along.
“Of course not.”
Not “won’t.”
“Don’t dare,” was the actual phrase.
Aisviel’s gaze turned ice-cold.
How dare this runt from the Society of Truth—this powerless ordinary man—speak to me like that?
He looked toward Herun, silently demanding an explanation.
“I’m sorry, old friend. Please don’t be angry,” Herun said gently.
“I didn’t want to get involved in this, but I couldn’t just ignore your plight either.”
“So I reached out, in secret, to the Society of Truth—who, as it happens, are also quite interested in the key.”
“Exactly, Professor,” Lin Li added.
“The search for the key can be fully entrusted to us.”
“In fact, we’ve already tracked Osmond Bernier’s final movement—it was in the Black Dragon Territory.”
“There must be clues there.”
“I will not let the key fall into your hands,” Aisviel said sharply.
“That’s alright.”
Lin Li’s gaze remained as calm as a still lake, deep and unreadable.
“We have our own goals.”
Tftc!