A hired carriage? Not a chance.
A handcrafted luxury carriage from the Valente family was their standard arrangement.
Looking at the carriage, Lynch was reminded of his former self—how embarrassed he had felt taking the Valente carriage time after time, how ashamed he had been receiving that tailored suit from the count's daughter. Even if I, Lynch Levive, freeze or starve to death with no clothes on, I'm not going to be a freeloading moocher taking advantage of a woman.
Yet how much time had passed since then? How had he gotten so shamelessly comfortable with it now? Truly strange.
Driving the carriage was once again the white-haired, white-bearded old steward, Mr. Louis. For an octogenarian, he remained remarkably energetic. Lynch wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but ever since he was knighted, the old man's attitude toward him had become even more terrifying, casting glances at him from time to time as if guarding against a thief.
Before, he had merely been vigilant; now, it was full-scale lockdown defense. Why on earth had he raised the stakes?
Oh well. Better not argue with an old man.
Heading east along Eagle Avenue and passing through the prime real estate of the Valley District and the Mill District, one would reach another suburb of Rhine City: the Black Forest District.
This had once been a dense primeval forest. Over the past few centuries, however, continuous logging had shipped a steady stream of timber to the industrial districts to support production, shrinking the forest considerably. Though the city had gradually encroached upon its outer fringes, the deep interior thankfully retained its original wilderness.
The area saw few visitors year-round, with only loggers and transport workers operating along the forest's perimeter. The Arcane Tower was situated precisely in this quiet, deserted suburb, far from the city's hustle and bustle, where scholars could quietly study forgotten arcana.
The long carriage ride of over an hour made all three of them drowsy. By the time the carriage finally stopped, they had napped several times over. Upon waking, Lynch inexplicably noticed faint scents of perfume lingering on his shoulder and leg. The two fragrances were distinct, though how they got there remained a mystery. Glancing left and right at the two ladies, who both acted completely nonchalant, Lynch bravely swallowed his questions.
Yes, sometimes giving up was a form of courage—especially when one's life safety was on the line.
In short, the three of them stepped down from the carriage with flushed faces, looking up at the high tower before them in awe.
A thirty-to-forty-meter tower wasn't exceptionally tall by the standards of his past life—it couldn't even match the Tower of Justice inside the Hall of Order. The strange thing, however, was that the tower rose straight up, with a top that flared out like an inverted umbrella, remarkably reminiscent of a water tower from his previous world. In the Age of Steam, such a design was practically an architectural marvel.
Just as they reached the tower entrance, they saw the president of the Arcane Research Society—the rank seven Soul Severer and Great Arcanist, Mr. Gulman—standing by the doors. Seeing the three of them, he immediately walked over in person to greet them.
Lynch felt a touch of quiet pride. This respect shown through everyday gestures was the intangible reward for his actions, giving him the feeling that everything had been worthwhile. Naturally, he didn't show any of this on his face, merely bowing with composure.
President Gulman was around sixty years old, with a long, greying beard. Wearing a purple robe and a pointed, round hat, he had a frail build, refined manners, and a scholarly air—looking every bit like a weak academic.
However, remembering Gulman's status as a rank seven expert, and recalling how President Olei—another high-ranking figure—had remotely slain a rank six expert with a single word that night, Lynch promptly shook his head and crossed the word “weak” out of his mind.
“Welcome, welcome! You're right on time.” President Gulman put on no airs whatsoever, stroking his beard with a face full of smiles. “It'll take a little while for everyone else to arrive. Come with me first.”
Lynch knew Gulman wouldn't be the only one present today, but looking at Gulman's appearance, he suddenly had an ill premonition. “There isn't a whole crowd of occultists waiting for us, is there?”
“How could that be? You're overthinking it, Sir Lynch,” Gulman replied. “There are also ancient text experts, history experts, linguistics experts, folklore experts, archaeology experts, relic experts...”
“I just remembered I have something to take care of at home. I'll be going now.”
Each of those professions sounded more dangerous than the last. Lynch felt that if all those people gathered together, they wouldn't even need to do anything to summon an evil god's descent.
And probably more than one.
“Hahaha! Everyone has taken proper precautions, so don't worry.” President Gulman was clearly in high spirits, grabbing Lynch just as he was about to slip away. “Even if an evil god does show up, there's no need to panic. We all have ways to escape on our own.”
“Leaving us behind, you mean? Yeah, I'm definitely heading back.”
Amid their lighthearted banter, Gulman enthusiastically ushered the three of them into the tower. A wave of refreshing coolness washed over them, instantly blowing away the sweltering heat of July.
Right upon entering, they saw a sculpture of a man. According to Gulman, he was Nicholas, the founder of the Lande Arcane Research Society. During the Dawn Age of the Fourth Age, he had been the pioneer who became an arcanist without being a Soul Severer to combat the mystery. He had spent his life excavating numerous ancient, forgotten arcana—until he eventually went mad.
Gulman recounted this final tragic outcome in an unnaturally calm tone, which left Lynch feeling a lingering sigh of sympathy.
The atmosphere inside the tower felt somewhat like a library from his past life. The air was filled with the scent of paper and ink, and the marble floor was polished to a mirror-like shine. The cavernous hall was quiet and solemn, with only the soft tapping of their soles echoing through the space, causing them to unconsciously lighten their steps.
Occasionally, people passed by them, each walking in a hurry with eyes fixed straight ahead, as though every single person was pressed for urgent business.
“Life is finite, but the exploration of the unknown is infinite. Everyone's time is precious, and no one wishes to waste it on irrelevant matters.” Explaining as he walked, Gulman stopped a passing member, gave a few instructions, and watched the member hurry off. Turning back, President Gulman asked, “While we wait for everyone to arrive, I can take you to meet... Ah, forgive me for asking abruptly, but are you familiar with a tribe called Iths?”
“Huh?” The three looked at each other and shook their heads. “Never heard of them.”
“That's strange then.” President Gulman frowned in thought for a moment before asking further, “Do you know Hector?”
“Who's that?”
“The Archbishop of the Church of Wealth. An unfeeling miser.”
“Nope. Out of the Four Major Churches, the Church of Wealth is the only one I don't know anyone from. Maybe my interests just don't align with wealth.” Lynch sighed. “I... Hm? Wait, the Archbishop of Wealth? A tribe?”
Lynch suddenly remembered that just a few days ago, he had been contemplating how to use leverage to pressure the Archbishop of Wealth into revealing information about that mysterious tribe to him. He only refrained from acting because the relic had informed him that they would seek him out on their own.
So “Iths” was the name of this tribe? Were they... coming directly to his door?
“I'm fairly well-acquainted with that old miser. He mentioned needing to arrange a meeting between you and a representative of that tribe, but since he doesn't know you personally, it wasn't convenient for him to pay a direct visit. Hearing that you were coming here today for an academic exchange, he brought the representative straight over,” Gulman explained. “If you don't mind, while we still have time, I can arrange for you to meet them first.”
An unexpected harvest. Lynch muttered under his breath, exchanged glances with the two ladies, and nodded in agreement. Following President Gulman, he turned into a small reception room beside the main hall, where the member from earlier had already led two people inside.
The moment he laid eyes on the pair, Lynch felt a wave of numbness crawl across his scalp, a chill running down his spine, and a sharp, throbbing pain right between his eyebrows.
Behind one of the figures, Lynch once again saw a bizarre, eerie phantom silhouette.
Rate on N.U.
