Age of Adepts

Inside the secret room.

A strange human shape suddenly bulged on an empty floor.

Then, as the yellowish mist that covered the strange figure silently dispersed, a strange fellow who was even older than Domnall, with wrinkles stacked on his face and could barely see his original appearance, appeared.

He was rickety, leaning on a yellow witch staff that was a head taller than himself, his hair was untidy, and his two eyes were so white that no pupil could be seen. He was wearing an old witch robe that hadn't been cleaned in countless years, and the folds and stains on it had covered its original color, making it impossible to tell its texture at a glance.

At first glance, this was simply a poor wandering sorcerer who had fallen into a shameful state, unable to ascend to the great hall of elegance, and should not have appeared in this observation tower that represented the highest achievement of the Sorcerers Association.

Unfortunately, not only did he appear here, but he also accepted the proactive nod of acknowledgement from Domnall, the vice president of the association, without changing his face.

"Mastan, you are already one of the highest seers in our association's equation. What, even you can't see this Grim's future?"

"Domnall, as I have just said, someone has actively covered this young man's fate..."

"Doesn't that mean you can't see it?" Domnall couldn't help but frown, "Mastan, the Association has not treated you badly over the years. Every year, the funds allocated to you prophets are the highest among all branches, and you were also given the topmost floor of the Overlook Gauntlet. Are you going to get rid of me with just that one sentence?"

"I can feel a powerful force of destiny rising in the north. And she is always watching out for this young fire witch. If we prophets interfere, I'm afraid... we'll start an invisible war of fate!"

"War?" Domnall sneered, "Since when have we sorcerers been afraid of war! We've been raising you for so long, we want you to be useful when it matters, don't we? What, you want to refuse my orders?"

"Domnall, we've been getting along very well for centuries. What's wrong with you today?" That Mastan raised his head, his milky white cloudy eyes staring at this 'old friend' for an instant, and hissed, "What is there in this young man that is worth all this fuss?"

"Danger...I perceive danger in him!" Domnall gaped, "It's just that I've been unable to locate the source of the danger, and that's why I want to use your power to find out why!"

"Understood, then I'll... do my best! I'm going back, and with the power of the tower, maybe I can see a little more..."

With that said, Mastan gave a witching wand and his entire body disappeared without a trace in a rising pale yellow smoke.

When Mastan's breath completely disappeared, Domnall couldn't help but mutter to himself once again, "The Central Region... it is the most resourceful and densely populated region in the entire Wizard Continent. We, the Sorcerer's Association, can't get it, and won't allow other forces to interfere, nor will we allow it to grow there... Hmph, Grim, you better have no ambition to unify the central part of the country, or else..."

....................

View of the tower.

Seven hundred and seventy-seventh floor.

Looking down from here, layers and layers of soft, white wisp-like clouds floated just halfway up the tower, blocking most of the visual space. Only an occasional glimpse of the deep and vibrant colors of the earth could be seen through the gaps in the layers of white clouds.

Within the Noble Witchcraft Hall, as a burst of yellow smoke dispersed, Mastan's rickety and tiny figure appeared.

As soon as he appeared, he leaned on his wooden staff and marched straight to the back of the hall.

The hollow muffled sound caused by the wooden staff hitting the floor lingered in the empty witchcraft hall for a long time.

As the only 4th rank seer inside the association, Mastan possessed an endlessly 'lofty' status. Although every 4th rank sorcerer was able to occupy a floor, he was the only one who could occupy the top floor of the Overlook Tower like Mastan.

This... was both an honor and a burden!

Whenever the Association had reached a certain critical moment in its journey, a chief seer like him became the guiding light to clear the fog and show all the witches the way forward.

However, only Mastan himself, who had practiced the art of fate, understood how powerful a force it took to help such a huge ship as the Sorcerer's Association correct its course and always travel in the sunny seas.

During the thousand years of Domnall's reign, the Sorcerer's Association had been stable and peaceful, but it had also experienced several unknown and terrible calamities. It was thanks to the prophetic wisdom of the Chief Seer, coupled with the enormous power of the Association's Sorcerer, that the Sorcerer's Association had been pulled out of one terrible vortex after another.

The Chief Seer's position wasn't that easy to hold!

At least, before Mastan, as far as he knew, three chief seers had died in terrible reversals of fortune.

The position of Chief Seer was not a fixed one.

Whoever could become the Association's only 4th rank prophet would be able to securely sit in this position, give orders, and enjoy the top-tier resources equipped with them. But these resources weren't so easy to enjoy, and often times they needed to pay back with their lives!

At each moment, there could only be one 4th-rank prophet within the association. Only when this prophet fell under the reversal of fate would the Association select the best performing and most powerful of the many 3rd rank prophets and re-train them into 4th rank.

And until this new prophet died, the rest of the prophets were always just a reserve and an insurance policy!

So there is no kinship between the prophets within the Association, but rather a bare knuckle competition. Those below desperately want to climb up, while those already occupying the top positions tremble in fear that one day they will become stepping stones and victims of the Society's efforts to turn around its destiny.

He may be able to control the destinies of thousands of witches, but he is the only one who cannot control his own destiny.

From this aspect, Mastan was actually quite envious of his colleague who could command the wind and rain in the North!

Perhaps that was what a messenger of fate should look like.

He is nothing more than a poor servant crawling before his fate!

There was only Mastan on the entire seventy-seventh floor of the Overlook Tower, and this was the rule he had set and the only pride he had left.

At least until his death, he would never allow any outsider to set foot on his 'territory'.

As the Association's Chief Seer, Mastan naturally possessed the topmost authority to look out over the tower, and his control over Tallinn Lafatus was second only to that Domnall.

This also allowed him to mobilize the tower's energy reserves at will, maximizing the use of sorcerous energy to replace the power of fate needed to be consumed in the Ritual of Fate.

Looking out over the Gauntlet...looking out over the Gauntlet....

The reason why this tower had such a name was because it was the tallest witch tower in the entire Wizard World. Standing on top of this tower, if one's vision was good enough, one could even look out at the strange deep blue at the end of the sky.

It was the color of the Endless Sea!

Across an empty and lonely corridor, Mastan came before a spiral metal escalator and spiraled up it, eventually ascending the astrological platform.

The arrangement of the astrological platform was very simple, a small space placed under the spire of the dome of the tower.

A ten-meter-long metal spike towered over the tower's spire, overflowing with frightening and terrifying sorcerous energy. The four walls of the astrolabe are hollowed out, and the cold wind that blows from all directions at high altitude pierces through the patterns of the metal walls with a whistle that sounds like the cry of a ghost.

In the center of the small space stood a one-meter tall circular stone pillar, with a strange crystal the size of a man's head embedded in the top of it.

At this moment, the crystal was filled with dense clouds and fog, a complete chaos and confusion.

Mastan walked down the escalator into this small space.

As soon as he stepped foot here, he pulled his witch robe tight, but still couldn't shield himself from the bitterly cold wind that entered from all corners of his robe and wrapped away what little warmth was left on his body.

This was the House of Fate, rejecting any power other than the power of Fate.

Therefore, Mastan did not bestow any warming or protective sorcery on himself, and the witching robe he was wearing was the most ordinary fabric with no special witching effects attached.

If it wasn't for the fact that the physique of a rank 4 sorcerer was still fine, he would be in danger of freezing to death if he stayed here for a moment or so with his feeble body.

An 11 point physique was undoubtedly too low for other 4th stage witches. But for Mastan, it was enough.

Because of their profession, their vitality was always in a state of severe deficit. Even if they raised their health and physique even higher, a large Fate Ceremony would hold and their life force would be sucked out of them.

To get a glimpse of destiny, there was a price to pay!

The Association Seers do not have as high an affinity for fate as the Fate Witches, and they need to sacrifice their lives if they want to see where fate is headed. The worst drain would be the physical cap!

The moment Mastan's physique cap cleared zero, that was the moment he would fall completely.

Before that, he still had 11 points left in his physique limit, enough to do a lot of things.

Mastan trembled and walked to the front of the stone pillar, stretching out his right hand to cover the crystal and slowly fought with it.

The huge tower of energy spread up along the tower, lighting up all the patterns and symbols on the four walls of the astrological platform, even the stone pillar was brightening up inch by inch.

Eventually, as the sorcerous energy poured into the strange crystal, the entire spire of the overlooking tower had become dazzlingly blind, making it impossible to look directly at it.

The wind had strangely stopped!

The mists and clouds within the crystal were also slowly dispersing, revealing a magnificent and bizarre picture of the world within....