Chapter 68
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Chapter 68: Title
The Spiritual Energy Awakening impacted the entire world. While Zhongxia faced turmoil, nations beyond its borders experienced equal unrest.
Strange phenomena erupted across the globe. In this age of instant information, the bizarre occurrences following the Spiritual Energy Awakening needed no active pursuit—news algorithms pushed them directly to everyone’s screens.
"Assistance requests? Our hands are tied," Tang Tong sighed, scanning the documents Lin Jing had slid across the table. Her gaze met Director Yan’s as she added, "Our Practitioner corps is stretched thin domestically. Maintaining our own stability is only possible because the spirit cultivators respect the dragon race’s authority."
"Not even a single available agent?" Yan Hua pressed.
"Only if we recall field operatives—which we can’t—or if you personally intervene," she countered. "The idle Practitioners might heed your request, given your position."
The Special Bureau’s forces were fully deployed against the ceaseless rain of Demonic Beasts. Those remaining either handled critical tasks or belonged to venerable lineages. These elders had already lent their disciples to safeguard the Nine Provinces—asking them to mobilize their seniors like Leng Xingwen’s mentors would be unreasonable.
Yan Hua abandoned the notion. Offending their ancient Practitioners over foreign troubles wasn’t worth the risk. These timeless guardians fought for the Nine Provinces’ survival, not bureaucratic agendas. Persuading them to venture beyond their sacred charge would prove near impossible.
"What of the fifteen recovered from Shennongjia?"
Lin Jing adjusted his glasses. "Their accounts align—unless it’s mass hallucination. The Mountain and Sea Realm exists. They were expelled by what those minor spirits call ‘demon lords’."
Nine demon lords ruled the Mountain and Sea Realm’s spirit cultivators, each more formidable than the last. Mythological beasts from legend, one currently resided in Eastern Sea City—the legendary dragon Ao Yuan, Dragon Lord of the Eastern Sea.
"Spirits favor true forms over human guise," Lin Jing continued. "All witnesses describe the demon lords in bestial shapes."
Liang An interjected, "How certain are we this Dragon Lord matches their Ao Yuan? If powerful demons could cross freely, chaos would reign!"
"Unconfirmed," Lin Jing admitted. "But the fallen spirits firmly believe he’s the same entity from their realm. This conviction… grants us leverage in managing them."
Kingdom of England
Myers gaped at the circling eagle. "What sorcery is this?"
"Our admission innovation," chuckled Carlyle of the Council of Truth. The white-robed wizard extended his arm as the raptor descended—a meter-wide wingspan casting shadows, golden-trimmed envelope gripped in talons.
"Adapted from your children’s tales," he explained, retrieving the letter. The bird’s curved beak glinted dangerously close to the bureaucrat’s face.
Myers suppressed a groan. Replace owls with eagles in that noseless-villain story? Though the crimson-waxed parchment did look regal. Generations of English children had dreamed of magic academy letters at eleven—none envisioned delivery by predators.
"The demon web’s long dissolution forced us to recruit manually," Carlyle continued, extracting a metallic disc from the envelope. Myers’ eyes darted to Merlinka—identical to her pendant coin.
"Admissions are your decision?" Myers probed, mind racing through protocol manuals.
“Not quite,” Carlyle shook his head.
“The Demon Web selects its own students. Consider this its inherent ability. It discerns who can wield magic, who can connect to its network for spellcasting, and whose veins flow with dormant bloodlines.”
“These metallic coins are manifestations of the Demon Web. When it identifies suitable candidates, a Magic Coin materializes autonomously, guiding us to compatible hosts.”
“What’s the scope of your selection?”
“Every soul beneath the Demon Web’s reach,” Carlyle replied with a faint smile.
Myers felt his breath catch. The Demon Web blanketed all of Europe – this meant the entire continent fell under its scrutiny.
“What about age restrictions?”
“Uncertain,” Carlyle paused thoughtfully. “I met my mentor at four winters old. Some companions were found as mewling infants, while others first touched magic in their silvering years.”
“Time’s flow binds not our choices.”
“Where lies this Magic Academy?” Myers asked, disappointment tinging his voice before he straightened.
“Within a Magic Space – beyond this world yet tethered to it.” Carlyle offered freely. Their month-long reconnaissance had revealed much about modern governance.
Cultivating rapport with these state envoys served their purposes. Within reason, transparency bred cooperation.
After measured silence, Myers ventured, “Forgive my presumption, but might we dispatch observers before you issue admissions? A preliminary visitation?”
“Tourists in our halls?” Carlyle’s brow arched before smoothing. “Agreed. Mutual understanding benefits all. But wander not from my guidance during your visit.”
“Naturally.” Myers’ agreement came swift, though future compliance remained nebulous.
“Merlinka, will you visit Martha? She frets over your prolonged absence.”
“Another time, Professor Carlyle.” The elf-blooded woman declined gently. “Unfinished business calls.”
Since her Elven Bloodline awakened, Merlinka’s pilgrimage to the Elven Forest under Martha’s guidance had revealed ancestral truths. The elder elf now schooled her in forgotten ways.
Her academic title for Carlyle stemmed from practicality – though awakened, she remained unversed in channeling her heritage. The Magic Academy’s tutelage awaited.
*
The boundless realm stretched endlessly – ancient spires mirrored in crystalline lakeshores, exotic flora painting rainbows across emerald meadows. Sunlight gilded seamless marble paths beneath cerulean skies.
From an ancient oak’s embrace, a lithe figure dropped gracefully. “You bargained with them? What of your vow before departing, Carlyle?” Martha’s leaf-green eyes narrowed.
“Martha, they could trace Atalans’ whereabouts! Since our… parting… have you no concern?”
“Concern?” The elf’s laugh chimed like broken glass. “He sits among the Dark Council’s seven thrones now. Seek not serpents lest you find venom.”
“But if we cross paths during his dark works…” Martha’s stare pierced him. “What then, oathkeeper?”
Carlyle’s silence spoke volumes.
“Precisely.” The elf yawned, wind-attuned magic swirling about her feet as she ascended. “Dally not – the council convenes.”
When Carlyle blinked from his reverie, Martha already glided mid-lake. With murmured incantation, his Flying Spell conjured azure wings, chasing her wake toward the ivory citadel.
Within the grand hall, robed figures clustered around an obsidian table. White Robes mingled with pointed ears and scaled visages – some bearing piscine traits, others dwarf-statured.
“Our apologies,” Carlyle bowed as they entered.
“Timely enough,” intoned the White Robe hierarch, his pentacle-embroidered sleeves rippling. Carlyle’s own robe bore arcane sigils, identical in material yet divergent in design.
Post-repast, the elder wizard steepled fingers. “Report your gains from the Human Realm, Carlyle.”
“They consent to student recruitment… conditionally. Demanding embassy access prior to enrollment.”
“Which you granted.”
As the hierarch pondered, Carlyle pressed, “Master, their burning curiosity must be quenched lest it kindle opposition. Cooperation demands… concessions.”
“And refusal breeds conflict,” the sage concluded grimly.
