Chapter 89: The Upper Floors of The Tower
The apostles followed the Vice Tower Master through the halls towards the common area, their footsteps echoing faintly in the otherwise silent corridors. The air was dense with energy as they moved, each step bringing a subtle shift in the atmosphere, thick with an ancient magic that seemed to live within the very walls. As they moved, the weight of history pressed upon them, as though they were intruding on a sacred space meant only for the few who had proven worthy.
When they reached the common area of the seventh floor, Abel felt his heart quicken. The common area was an architectural marvel; vast, open, and bathed in a soft, enchanted glow that illuminated its grandeur. The walls were enchanted to display vivid landscapes of the region surrounding the Tower. The enchantment was so realistic that it appeared as if the walls had melted away, leaving only an unbroken view of sky, forest, and distant mountains. It was breathtakingly beautiful, yet hauntingly silent, an invitation to look beyond the stone walls and imagine the world they were now bound to protect.
Abel’s eyes fell upon the statues that stood vigilantly in each corner of the room. Carved from smooth, cold stone, the knights' statues loomed tall, their expressions a stoic reminder of duty and sacrifice. Each held a different weapon, and the stonework was so fine that the apostles could almost see the shimmer of ghostly armor reflected in the dim light. The shadows cast by the statues stretched across the floor, intertwining in intricate patterns, almost as if they, too, were watching—judging—each apostle as they entered.
Abel leaned toward Ronald, speaking softly, “There’s no one here.” His voice was barely a whisper, yet it seemed to carry through the room. Ronald’s gaze flickered to Abel’s, his nod subdued yet in agreement. They were alone in this grand space, a reminder of the solitary journey each apostle faced, no matter how many allies surrounded them.
The Vice Tower Master broke the silence, his voice steady, imbued with an almost fatherly warmth that contrasted with the Tower Master’s otherworldly tone. “This space is yours to find peace, to reflect,” he said, glancing around as if to appreciate the beauty of the room himself. “The Tower will demand much from each of you. Remember, here you can return to the quiet.”
As they descended to the sixth and fifth floors, the atmosphere shifted tangibly. Where the seventh floor had radiated a solemn tranquility, these floors pulsed with an electric intensity, almost as if the walls themselves buzzed with the residual energy of countless past experiments. Abel noticed faint scorch marks along the walls, barely visible cracks, and the slight scent of burning herbs and metal—a testament to the potent magic that had been harnessed here. These floors were designed to push the apostles beyond what they thought possible.
The Vice Tower Master led them through, his tone becoming stern. “These laboratories are vital to your growth,” he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of countless lessons learned and challenges overcome. “Here, you’ll deepen your understanding of your affinity, conduct research, and—if fate permits—delve into the study of runes capable of evolving your mana pool.”
The word “runes” sparked an immediate reaction among the apostles. The mention brought both excitement and unease to their faces. Abel’s mind raced with questions and ambitions, but alongside them came uncertainty. He exchanged a glance with Tina, catching the flash of apprehension mirrored in her expression. Runes were a powerful tool in an apostle’s journey, and yet their mysterious nature made the prospect of wielding them intimidating.
As they passed by a series of intricately locked chambers, Abel could feel the faint energies radiating from within. The chamber walls seemed to pulse slightly, as though containing forces straining to escape. Inside each laboratory, strange shapes and art were etched into stone tables, and shelves brimming with rare and strange monster body parts lined the walls, as well as some ancient tools. These tools hummed with dormant energy, their designs intricate, delicate, each one a potential breakthrough waiting to happen—or a dangerous misstep.
One chamber was aglow with blue light emanating from a series of magical crystals, another filled with plants with shifting, luminescent leaves. A faint trace of magical spores floated from them, filling the air with an earthy, almost intoxicating scent. Other apostles, already further along in their research, could be seen hunched over their workbenches in their own laboratories, lost in concentration as they ran delicate fingertips over their tools and experiments, causing sparks of energy to flicker and crackle like miniature lightning bolts.
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The Vice Tower Master gestured to the chambers. “You will need focus, patience, and above all, discipline to harness the power you seek here,” he warned. “You may be apostles now, but power without knowledge is dangerous. Mastery takes time, so remember to respect the limits of what you can handle.”
Abel took in the enormity of it all. The path ahead was daunting, the prospect of expanding his mana pool exciting, but he couldn’t help the flicker of anxiety that stirred within him. He understood, perhaps more deeply than ever, that these floors held both the key to his growth and the peril of his ambitions. But it was in these chambers, he realized, that he would push the boundaries of what he could become.
The apostles continued their descent, and soon the grandeur of the Tower’s upper floors gave way to the more grounded atmosphere of the fourth floor. Their footsteps echoed in the dimly lit corridors, the soft hum of magic from the laboratories above now faint, barely perceptible. The faint scents of old wood and parchment filled the air, a reminder that this floor was more practical compared to the mystical chambers above.
“Why do you call these quarters ‘temporary?’” Tobias—a tall, dark-haired man with sharp features asked, breaking the quiet tension. His tone was casual, but there was a hint of curiosity and challenge, as though testing the response.
The Vice Tower Master stopped and turned, his intense blue eyes fixed on the young apostle with a calm authority. “Because you won’t always reside here,” he replied, voice resonating with a subtle strength. “In time, you will establish your own quarters outside the Tower. But your residence must remain within the Bask region. You will be protectors, both here and among the villages and towns that rely on us for stability. It will be your role to balance the worlds of magic and the mundane, ensuring the safety and harmony of both.”
Abel’s heartbeat quickened at the mention of the villages. Thoughts flooded his mind, vivid memories of his own village nestled on the region’s edge. The small, familiar streets, the humble homes, his family. He wondered if his village already had a protector—a thought that stirred both hope and anxiety within him. If he were allowed to return as an apostle, what would that mean for him and his family? Would he be able to truly safeguard them from the strange, hidden threats he had only just begun to understand?
The words rang in his ears, settling into a mix of inspiration and trepidation. The apostles around him seemed to share in this collective anticipation, each of them likely thinking of a place or a person that felt like home. The possibilities now stretched out before them, both promising and uncertain.
The Vice Tower Master’s tone shifted, his words filling the dim hallway with an ominous weight. “Dungeons are not our only threat. Throughout the Bask region, there have been reports of strange gatherings, magical disturbances, and peculiar forces disrupting the balance. You’ll face these threats head-on, investigating and restoring stability where it’s been compromised. This duty is not to be taken lightly. Your skills, your endurance, and even your loyalty will be tested in ways you have yet to imagine.”
The gravity of his words wrapped around the apostles like a dense fog, each of them standing a bit more still, listening intently. Abel felt his heart pound, his gaze drifting to the surrounding walls as if they, too, were absorbing the Vice Tower Master’s message. This wasn’t just a fight against creatures in forgotten places; they were guardians against an undercurrent of mysteries and dangers woven into their everyday world. As he looked around at his comrades, he sensed that each of them understood this responsibility with fresh intensity.
The Vice Tower Master shifted his gaze among them, his piercing blue eyes seeming to see through each apostle. “For now, prepare yourselves. In time, each of you will be called to meet with me through your new badges. Then, you’ll be told of your personal quarters outside the Tower,” he continued, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “These quarters will be a reflection of your commitment to serve and protect this land. Think carefully about the path you now walk and the dangers that lie ahead.”
The apostles nodded in silent agreement, though a palpable sense of tension flickered across their faces. One by one, they began to make their way down the hall, murmuring in low tones, and sharing glances of anticipation and apprehension. As they passed Abel, he caught a glimpse of their expressions—some determined, others nervous, all carrying an awareness of the gravity of what lay ahead.
Abel lingered for a moment, watching as the others slowly dispersed. Unsurprisingly, the members of Room Eighty began to congregate as if they were ready to discuss something very important. With a quick agreement, they decided to head back upstairs towards the seventh floor to resume their conversation.