Chapter 176: You Reach The Ninth Floor

Elias looked at the scene he had created; everything pointed to a figure who was obsessed with justice and made sure that these guards were not just punished, but evidence of their misdeeds could clearly be traced.

There were still many details that could be added to enhance the scene, but the foreign Lumina that purged the minds of these guards spoke of a power that could be troublesome to deal with.

The presence of an Alchemistry Device here suggested that there was a Siphon that must be at least at the Amber Exile Stage, who was behind these men.

Fighting a Mist Phantom was dangerous, but Elias was not afraid of a challenge like this because some of his Attributes were at the level of Mist Phantom, not even adding his numerous abilities and talent, he felt he could hold his own, and even if he could not win, he should be able to escape.

But Elias did not believe he could win against an Amber Exile. For a Siphon to reach the level of Amber Exile meant they had incredible talent; no one mediocre could reach that level, and that was what made Siphons very powerful as they grew stronger, because without the needed talent, packing resources into the body of an average Siphon would not lead to anything tangible.

Elias looked around the basement for one last time, and he nodded with satisfaction. When the investigators arrived, they would read the statement he was making clearly:

These men were judged. These men were found guilty. These men were executed.

The law would never know who had done it. But they would know why. And Liana would know the truth about the man she had married.

That was enough.

The hunger of the Passenger had been sated, and now it was time for him to return to his training, to not only complete the forging of his flesh but to reach the peak of the Fury Forge level and, in a month, take the qualification test to become an Alchemist.

Elias smiled as he left the basement. With a punch, he blasted the door of the basement into pieces, causing a loud commotion before he quietly left. In a place like this, it would not be long before attention is drawn here.

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The walk back to the Asylum was quiet, the wooden box tucked under his arm feeling heavier now than it had when Chen first gave it to him.

Not physically, his Strength made such concerns meaningless, but in the weight of what it represented, which was a path forward, a way to grow that didn’t require blood and battle.

The money pouch at his belt, one hundred twenty-three Gold Marks, he had counted them twice, clinked softly with each step, a sound that would have drawn every cutpurse in the lower districts if any could hear it, and it was odd that none did.

Elias had noted something odd as he was returning, but he could not confirm unless he walked the street again. The number of beggars and thieves seemed to be reduced; there should be more of them, especially at this time of the night, but he could hardly see any of them.

This could mean nothing, or it could signify a great trouble that was brewing, before a wildfire, the vermin ran first.

Shaking his head to push aside these random thoughts, Elias moved faster, and soon the Asylum loomed before him as always, that massive black bird perched on its cliff, watching the city with patient stone eyes.

But tonight, something felt different. Perhaps it was simply that he was returning with purpose rather than confusion, or perhaps it was the figure waiting for him at the small side gate.

Elias was used to following the small gate, and he was not surprised that someone might have anticipated his movements and was waiting for him.

It was Brother Valerius who stood with his back against the stone wall, his one eye fixed on the path as if he had been waiting for hours.

The red of his hair caught what little light the moons provided, making it seem almost like a warning fire in the darkness.

“You’re late,” he said. No greeting. No question about where Elias had been or what he carried. Just that flat statement.

Elias inclined his head. “I didn’t know I had a curfew.”

“You don’t.” Valerius pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him as Elias passed through the gate. “But the Commander has been… anticipating your return.”

That phrasing told Elias everything he needed to know. Not waiting. Anticipating. As if his movements had been predicted, his choices already accounted for in whatever grand design Yseult was weaving.

“Did she send you to fetch me?”

“No.” Valerius’s good eye crinkled slightly, the closest he came to a smile. “I volunteered. There are things we need to discuss before tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Elias had almost forgotten. His week of grace was ending, and the training the Commander had promised would begin in earnest.

The thought should have been daunting. Instead, it felt almost… welcome. Action was easier than thought. Movement simpler than planning.

They walked through the lower passages in silence, past the small door that led to Elias’s current quarters, past the staircase that would take them up into the main body of the Asylum. Valerius did not slow, and Elias did not ask where they were going. He had learned long ago that the Order’s members moved with purpose, and questions would be answered when they chose to answer them.

The Asylum’s interior was a maze of stone corridors and spiral staircases, and they began to climb, each level different from the last. The first five floors were the oldest, their walls rough-hewn and unadorned, bearing the marks of the original builders who had carved this place from the mountain itself.

Floors six through eight showed signs of later expansion, smoother stone, more deliberate architecture, and the addition of windows where once there had been only arrow slits.

Valerius led him past the armory on the sixth floor, and past the empty barracks on the seventh that were filled with rows of bunks that could sleep hundreds, now gathering dust, past the libraries and scriptoriums on the eighth, where Silas spent his days among decaying scrolls.

And then they reached a door Elias had only seen at a glance as they reached the ninth floor.

The door was iron-bound oak, easily twelve feet tall, its surface covered in runes that pulsed with a slow, steady light. It almost reminded him of a Lumen Mark, but the glow was soft and welcoming. He changed his mind; instead of Lumen Marks, this reminded him of the residual Lumina he had sensed in the ancient stones of the city’s roads.

Valerius stopped before the door and turned to face him.

“The ninth floor of the Stoneward Asylum has been unoccupied for nearly six hundred years,” he said. “Before that, it served as the personal quarters of the Order’s Second Blade, the Commander’s right hand in times of war. When the Second Blade fell performing his duties to the Order, the floor was sealed, waiting for a worthy successor.”

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