Chapter 42

Our Discord Server: https://discord.gg/PazjBDkTmW

Chapter 42: Title

“Who’s to say it isn’t?” Xu Li shrugged, checking the time before gathering his belongings.

“Another class to attend? Honestly, your studies should come first—no need to clock in here daily,” Yang Xingyu remarked with a resigned sigh as he watched the younger man zip his backpack. “It’s been slow lately. I can handle things alone.”

“Can’t do that. It’s my responsibility,” Xu Li grinned, hoisting his bag onto one shoulder. “See you later, Brother Yang!”

The Awakening of Spiritual Energy had so far brought more spectacle than peril, at least to public knowledge.

Within the Special Bureau, operations hummed along steadily. Field teams specialized in vetting extraordinary individuals and curbing supernatural crimes, while analysts and researchers maintained data archives, studied emerging patterns, and monitored public sentiment.

At the World Tree’s summit:

“The demon web’s resonance grows louder,” Ye Linlang mused, though the pulsating network remained disconnected from the ancient trunk. “No matter. Greater disturbances mean more Fantasy Points—excellent for my designs.”

She leaned back, reassessing her timeline. Let the world settle from recent upheavals first. A calmer stage would better suit her next act.

[Master, visitors.]

“Takeout?”

[Negative. Identity scan confirms field agents from Special Bureau’s Comprehensive Section 5, Action Team 3.]

[Profile data attached.]

Zhu Xin and Chu Fei’s dossiers materialized in her vision.

“The Bureau? I’ve kept my abilities hidden,” she muttered, abandoning her office for the residential wing. Had they traced the world’s unraveling to her? Unlikely—real suspicion would bring armed units, not paper-pushers.

At the intercom, she feigned drowsy irritation:

“Yes?”

“Miss Ye Linlang? We’re from the Special Bureau.” Zhu Xin angled her badge toward the camera, credentials crisp: *Comprehensive Section 5, Action Team 3.*

“One moment—clothes,” Ye Linlang blurted, releasing the intercom. She scrambled into presentable layers, mentally rehearsing her role: harmless shut-in novelist, nothing more. If these agents saw through the act… well, the system could always edit their memories.

She unlatched the garden gate with nervous hesitation.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” Zhu Xin smiled, cataloguing every detail of the woman matching their files—the reclusive writer who had groceries hauled up via basket pulley rather than descend two flights.

Both agents wore civilian casualness, blending into the rural backdrop better than any suit.

Seated in her sunlit parlor:

“How can I help?” Ye Linlang offered glasses of water, fingers fidgeting. “I haven’t… done anything wrong, have I?”

"Or am I actually an extraordinary individual? But I never applied," she feigned astonishment.

"We came precisely because of your writings," Zhu Xin cleared her throat, retrieving pre-collected documents from her backpack to lay before her.

"Chief Lin from Division 2 has shown particular interest in your analytical work and wishes you to join his analysis team. We’ve even prepared an employment contract…"

Ye Linlang’s cheek twitched involuntarily. Never had she imagined her novel would draw the Special Bureau’s attention.

Could she refuse? Between serving the world consciousness, maintaining her web serialization, and now this Bureau business… Even transcending ordinary people’s limitations didn’t mean she wanted such exhausting commitments.

"Those were just fictional ramblings. Surely you can’t be serious?"

"We aren’t qualified to judge that," Zhu Xin countered. "Chief Lin simply hopes for your cooperation."

Ye Linlang adopted an expression of tortured deliberation before finally asking, "Would acceptance require relocation to Capital City?"

The irony of recruiting a mastermind into their analysis team amused her. Just how cunning was this Lin Jing? Would this become mutual plagiarism between analysts?

Sensing her tentative interest, Zhu Xin inquired after a thoughtful pause, "Are you reluctant to leave your current residence?"

"Exactly. My present lifestyle suits me well. While joining the Special Bureau sounds appealing, relocation seems…" Ye Linlang gestured vaguely, "Complicated."

"Let me consult Chief Lin."

"And if I decline… consequences?" she ventured hesitantly.

"None whatsoever," Zhu Xin reassured with an understanding smile. "This remains entirely voluntary. Meanwhile, you might review the Special Bureau’s resource benefits package."

Accepting the sugar-coated offer, Ye Linlang began examining the documents while Zhu Xin withdrew to make her call. Chu Fei remained statue-like on the sofa – an unnecessary companion for this errand, yet protocol demanded partners accompany each other.

The clauses revealed surprisingly generous terms: cultivation techniques, priority resource allocation, benefits surpassing civil service packages. Though governmental research remained ongoing, even paper promises from the state held weight these days.

She contemplated the offer. With her current capabilities, monitoring state affairs required no official position. Yet bureau credentials might prove convenient. Analysis work seemed manageable – her system could automate reports, or illusions could substitute during inspections.

Her name undoubtedly already graced their watchlist. Refusal now would only delay the inevitable unless she embraced permanent "ordinary people" status.

"Chief Lin permits remote work," Zhu Xin announced returning, "though Capital City onboarding training remains mandatory."

Lin Jing’s actual message had been pragmatic: analytical work required only computers, and Zhejiang Province’s new Special Bureau branch needed Analysis Department staff. A deputy position awaited her acceptance.

"…Does the Special Bureau always operate this casually?" Ye Linlang arched an eyebrow, recalling rumors of grueling entrance exams.

"Analytical roles follow different protocols," Zhu Xin chuckled. Entire Bureau knew Analysis Department personnel needed more than intellect – their work demanded visionary thinking to interpret reality-defying phenomena. Internet slang labeled it "brainstorming superpowers".

"With your expertise, Miss Ye, you’ll undoubtedly excel."

"What professional ethics? The kind that lets you fabricate nonsense?" Ye Linlang barely restrained the urge to roll her eyes. Her plans had never involved operating under her true identity.

Yet circumstances now demanded she secure an official position within the government system.

"How challenging is the onboarding training?" she inquired, already resolved to accept. While offering no particular advantages, this arrangement posed no drawbacks either.

The singular appeal lay in gaining direct access to the Special Bureau’s inner workings. Through sufficiently "reasonable" analyses, she could subtly influence their decision-making processes – that alone sufficed.

Involving herself as Analyst Ye Linlang shouldn’t technically violate her self-imposed rules, should it?

A smile bloomed on Zhu Xin’s face at her agreement. "Standard procedure really. Someone of your caliber will breeze through it effortlessly."

The subsequent paperwork avalanche – forms, dossiers, applications, confidentiality pledges, employment contracts – effectively sealed Ye Linlang’s partial induction into the Special Bureau.

"When would you prefer to depart?" Zhu Xin’s question hung in the air.

"My schedule’s flexible," came the nonchalant shrug, accompanied by the universal gesture of laptop-wielding professionals.

"Join our return trip tomorrow then," Zhu Xin proposed. "Simplifies logistics considerably."

So precipitous? The mental protest contrasted sharply with her outward nod.

"Agreed." She’d made her bed – no use complaining now.

The many-faced trickster who once dismissed all constraints now transformed into a dutiful public servant. By dawn’s light, Ye Linlang boarded the flight to Capital City alongside her new colleagues.

*

Rewind to the Jiuzhou barrier’s destabilization.

While Zhongxia remained spellbound by the First Emperor’s reawakening, Europe convulsed under the apocalyptic spectacle of nine radiant pillars spearing heavenward. Their ephemeral brilliance birthed an immense celestial net, eerily reminiscent of the Awakening of Spiritual Energy’s harbinger web – yet exponentially grander, perfected, and pulsating with latent aggression.

At a French château, scorching energies erupting from an activated magic circle carbonized the lawn, branding intricate black patterns into the earth. Eight identical scenes unfolded across other pillar sites.

"My heavens… inconceivable," breathed Mrs. Nolan, lace-gloved hand pressed to her mouth. Nearby, a black-robed figure chuckled darkly, triumph resonating through the muffled sound.

"The demon web’s resurrection justifies our millennia of patience."

"Our contract concludes, Carlyle." The hooded speaker turned.

"Atalans," entreated the deep-blue-robed figure, "the path to enlightenment remains open."

"Darkness claimed us centuries past," came the icy retort. "This was mere transactional cooperation."

Atalans swept away, silver-black buttons glinting on two followers’ identical black robes as they melted into the shadows.

"Atalans…" Carlyle instinctively stepped forward, reaching out to stop him.

The witch beside him seized his arm urgently, her brow furrowed. "Carlyle, release them. The Atalans we knew is gone."

Fres and Donald stood frozen nearby, exchanging uncertain glances as they processed the shocking events. A lingering tension vibrated between them.

"Martha, there must be a way to mend this…" Carlyle murmured, his steel-blue eyes clouded with sorrow.

"Not now," Martha replied softly, observing her friend’s despondent posture. Turning to the others with renewed composure, she continued, "Your assistance proved invaluable. Without that recovered key, reconnecting the demon web would’ve taken months."

Her emerald hair shifted to reveal distinctive pointed ears – a sight that sparked recognition in Donald. The elven features mirrored those of Merlinka, his former co-host from the England demon web’s promotional program. Could this witch also carry elven bloodline?

"Greetings, uh… Witch Lady," Donald fumbled awkwardly.

"Martha suffices," she smiled, extending a palm bearing an ancient coin. "Join our circle?"

The invitation hung suspended like cobweb silk. Donald’s breath caught as Fres nudged him sharply from behind.

"Me?"

"Naturally." Martha’s smile deepened. "Let’s continue elsewhere." Her glance flickered to Carlyle, still staring at the empty space where Atalans had stood.

"Pay him no mind," she advised. "Atalans’ shadow always unravels him."

Nearby, Mrs. Nolan observed keenly. The socialite who navigated elite circles with ease recognized opportunity. "My parlor stands ready," she interposed smoothly, "with Darjeeling and warm scones to accompany your discussion."

Her gracious manner erased any memory of their earlier intrusion.

"Gratitude," Martha acknowledged, tucking a jade lock behind her ear. "Carlyle – attend us."

The revived castle hall buzzed with new energy as maids served steaming porcelain. "Our earlier abrupt entry was uncalled for," Carlyle apologized properly, his demeanor restored. "I’m Carlyle, and this is Martha."

"Think nothing of it," Mrs. Nolan demurred behind her fan. "Such noble bearing suggests honorable intent."

As introductions concluded, Martha inclined her head toward Carlyle. "The floor is yours. Our new candidate awaits."

Donald shifted uneasily, a feeling he hadn’t experienced since his university interview.

"Let’s begin by addressing your questions," Carlyle proposed after contemplation. "I’ll provide whatever explanations you require."

Martha reclined nearby, serenely sipping her black tea. Having entrusted matters to Carlyle, she maintained her composed silence.

The offer reinvigorated Donald’s group, their minds swirling with unanswered queries from recent events.

"Truly, we may inquire?"

"Without restriction," Carlyle affirmed with a smile.

"Those individuals earlier… were they your allies?" Donald ventured cautiously.

"Companions of former days," Carlyle answered, transient shadows crossing his features before his demeanor brightened. "To properly answer, I must elucidate our shared history."

"In ancient times, a primordial force called magical energy permeated our world."

"Magical beings wielded this power effortlessly. Through unions between these beings and humans, those bearing magical lineage emerged among mankind – though never matching their progenitors’ numbers."

"We named these gifted individuals wizards. They dedicated themselves to studying magical energy, mastering diverse spells through rigorous scholarship."

"Martha here qualifies as wizard-kind, though we customarily address her as witch or sorceress."

"The scarcity of magic-wielders drove certain humans to seek alternative paths – ways to harness magic without ancestral heritage."

"This pursuit attracted many wizards as collaborators. After centuries of research, we discovered magic accessible to those without lineage – through an intermediary."

"We named this conduit the demon web."

"Demon web," Donald echoed, instinctively distinguishing it from mundane websites.

"The Magic Web," Carlyle clarified, "that celestial net you witnessed. Those wielding magic through this medium, despite lacking lineage, we call sorcerers."

Snapping his fingers, Carlyle conjured an azure sphere above his palm. "Behold the first-tier spell: water ball technique."

"Could ordinary people cast spells through this web?" Donald’s mind raced with implications for their world.

"The web enables spell model construction," Carlyle corrected. "This sphere appeared instantly because I mentally designed its model. An ordinary practitioner would require three years to achieve this."

"Fundamentally, sorcerers develop these models, optionally sharing them through the demon web. Those with formidable mental power may learn them, channeling ambient magic through the web."

"In the demon web’s golden age, sorcerers rivaled wizards numerically. Any dedicated learner could earn the web’s endorsement."

"But thousands of years past, magic’s ebb left the web unsustained. Fissures appeared in its fabric."

"This decline birthed schism. The scholarly Council of Truth faced opposition from the dark council, obsessed with spell potency at any cost."

"Those you encountered were once brethren, now pledged to shadow."

"Yet you still collaborate?" Fres interjected impulsively.

"Whatever path we choose," Carlyle stated solemnly, "the demon web remains our magical mother. No sorcerer abandons their mother."

"Martha, hand me the coin," Carlyle requested, palm upturned.

Martha flipped a bronze disc into his waiting hand.

"This coin serves as the academy’s key," he explained, rotating it between his fingers. "Each face corresponds to a branch college. The obverse bears the visage revered by magical beings—the Earth God, creator of elves, known also as Mother Earth Gaia."

"The reverse symbolizes wizards and the demon web," he continued, tracing the engraved pattern. "This primal spell matrix formed the foundation when first weaving the demon web."

"It mirrors Merlinka’s," Donald blurted, then froze.

"Merlinka?" Martha’s leaf-green eyes sharpened.

"A witch," Donald hurried to explain. "With elven features like yours."

Carlyle’s gesture silenced them. "Martha, consult the demon web’s registry."

As Martha’s gaze turned inward, Donald shifted uneasily. "Have I endangered her?"

"Peace," Carlyle soothed. "We verify candidates. The web dispatches coins with acceptance letters when detecting awakened potential." His voice warmed with approval. "For one to spontaneously manifest magical lineage… this Merlinka possesses rare gifts."

Light bloomed in Martha’s grasp, coalescing into translucent parchment. "Merlinka Endor," she announced, moonlight dancing in her irises. "Moon Elf lineage confirmed."

Carlyle’s breath caught. "Millennia since new elf-blood emerged…"

"These proceedings bore me." Martha’s form began dissolving into dappled sunlight. "Attend to bureaucracy, brother. I’ll greet our sapling."

Donald’s protest died as Carlyle raised a forestalling hand. "Martha’s been solitary since the Last Sprouting. Let her relish this."

"But the location—"

"The web guides." Carlyle pressed the coin into Donald’s palm. "When ready, trace this matrix upon the token. We’ll know." His form shimmered like mist through sunbeams. "Farewell—and do entertain our steel-clad guests."

Boots thundered in the hall. Donald squared his shoulders as soldiers breached the chamber. "This situation isn’t what—"

*Meanwhile, Kingdom of England*

Martha materialized before a cottage wreathed in honeysuckle. Through timber walls, she sensed the nascent glow—moonlight trapped in mortal veins.

Her fingertips brushed ivy-clad stone. *Born of Yggdrasil’s echo,* she mused, *yet rooted in human soil.* The dwelling exhaled whispers of parchment and dried herbs.

Within, Merlinka scowled at crumbling folios. Ink-stained fingers twisted moon-pale hair. "Fusang’s archives, Celtic scrolls…" She slammed a tome. "Why won’t you ANSWER?"

Unseen, Martha smiled. The web’s newest thread glimmered before her.

Waylin couldn’t assist her in this matter; the magic from her own era had nearly vanished, otherwise that coin wouldn’t have endured for over six hundred years.

An elven body differs from a human’s—lighter in form. When Merlinka closed her eyes to meditate, she sensed motes of light drifting around her like fireflies.

Legends spoke of elves as archery masters attuned to nature. Merlinka once tried a simple wooden bow.

Though she’d never practiced archery, the instant she nocked the arrow and drew the string, an instinctive familiarity surged through her. Her fingers released effortlessly, and the arrow pierced the bullseye.

Regarding nature’s affinity, plants truly seemed drawn to her. Visitors often remarked how her garden’s flora bloomed more radiantly than elsewhere.

“Still useless. This book offers nothing.” Merlinka shoved aside the ancient tome whose pages held no answers.

“Don’t lose heart, Merlinka. Success will come,” murmured Waylin, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder as she noted the girl’s despondence.

“Is anyone home?” echoed an unexpected call from outside.

“Who’d visit at this hour?” Rising, Merlinka opened the door to find a green-haired elf with tapered ears—and froze.

Had Merlinka not refused protection, guards would’ve trained firearms on Martha the moment she approached. Now they stood face-to-face, unguarded.

“Greetings, kinswoman.” Martha smiled, performing the elven race’s traditional salute. “Martha, pureblood wood elf.”

“A wraith?” Martha’s eyes widened at Waylin’s translucent form. “How remarkable—such spirits are rare in this age.”

“You say ‘kinswoman’… You’re an elf?” The question felt redundant as Merlinka stared at those unmistakable ears, flushing at her own hesitation.

“Might I enter? We’ve much to discuss.” Martha’s gaze brushed past Waylin, her attention anchoring on Merlinka.

The wood elf’s presence thrummed with unspoken familiarity. “Please,” Merlinka gestured inward, curiosity overriding caution.

In the parlor,

Waylin hovered near the wall while Martha settled on the couch.

“Only water, I’m afraid,” Merlinka offered, emerging from the kitchen.

“Perfect.”

Seated opposite, Merlinka studied her visitor. Martha’s arrival bristled with unanswered questions—and perhaps solutions. Could this stranger hold the key to awakening her magic?

Cradling her chin, Martha regarded Merlinka with matriarchal warmth. “Let me begin, child. My tale will answer what your tongue hesitates to ask.”

“I hail from the magic world…”

When magic dwindled, wizards and magical beings forged a sanctuary, transplanting their entire civilization into this refuge.

After thousands of years, the Magic Return heralded their exodus from that small world. Wizards spearheaded the return to rebuild the demon web, reentering a realm untouched for millennia.

Their initial struggles in the modern era—linguistic barriers, cultural missteps—melted before wizardly ingenuity. Adept at last in contemporary tongues, they sought the keystone’s locus… only to collide with Donald, himself pursuing the artifact’s secrets.

…Upon hearing Merlinka’s name from Donald, Martha came without delay.

“So that’s the truth,” Merlinka breathed, pieces clicking into place.

“Will you accompany me to the Elven Forest? Our elders would rejoice to welcome you.”

“Elven Forest? An elf homeland?”

“You’ve never heard of it?” Martha’s brows arched in genuine astonishment.

"Don’t you receive the inherited memories when awakening the lineage like all elves should?"

"I don’t have those inherited memories…" Merlinka shook her head.

"How could this be?" Martha frowned, then brightened. "Perhaps your awakening circumstances matter – proper rituals require elder guidance."

"You must return with me to the Elven Forest. The answers lie there." Though inexperienced with such cases, Martha’s conviction rang clear.

"But…"

"Miss Martha speaks wisdom," Waylin interrupted gently. "You should go, Merlinka."

"You truly agree?"

"Yes."

"How long?" Resolve firming, Merlinka turned to Martha. "I should inform Myers."

"Claim a month. If unresolved then, I’ll return you." Martha offered, showing no interest in inquiring about "Myers" beyond the half-elf before her.

"Could Waylin come?"

Silence.

"Stay. I’ll be fine." Waylin’s laugh tinkled as she squeezed Merlinka’s shoulder. "Worried I’ll forget to water myself?"

Myers nearly dropped his phone. "Don’t move – I’m coming!" he barked, already sprinting to his car.

The elf’s jade-green hair nearly disarmed Myers when he burst in fifteen minutes later. "This Martha?" he managed, throat dry.

At Merlinka’s nod, he thrust his hand forward. "Myers, MI5 Special Departments director for the Kingdom of England."

Martha ignored the gesture. "Do you impede us?"

"Merely seek understanding," Myers countered smoothly. This elf-shaped intelligence trove wouldn’t slip away.

"Her home calls. Interrogate the specter for details." Martha seized Merlinka’s wrist. The gem between her brows flared.

"Waylin—!"

They vanished mid-cry, leaving Myers clutching empty air. Rage darkened his face – no one dismissed him thus.

"Allow me, Mr. Myers." Waylin sighed. Martha’s human aversion had been obvious.

"Your second option it is." He sat stiffly, extracting every clue for thirty minutes before rising. "Need lodging?"

Waylin gestured to the garden. "These blossoms would mourn their keeper’s absence."

"Contact me." Myers departed, already dialing Donald – that other elf encounter required urgent comparison.

The black mist coalesced ninety minutes later, humanoid shadows stretching across Waylin’s flowerbeds.