Chapter 521 - 2: Nightmare Body
"What!" In the observation chamber, Astartes shot up from the Meditation Platform, a look of utter disbelief on his face for the first time. "This level of power... It’s Grand Wizard Level! How could the Abandoned Land..."
His tall frame stood frozen in place, his gray eyes wavering wildly. After a good ten seconds, he finally let out a slow breath.
Astartes took one last look to the west, where the crimson sword radiance had vanished.
"Forget it," he muttered to himself. "Chasing that Necromancy School seed... It’s not even clear if I could catch it. And even if I did, the money I’d have to spend would probably far exceed the seed’s value. If the reward doesn’t even cover the taxes, it’s better not to go at all."
He shook his head, completely abandoning the thought of pursuit.
"Tower Spirit, file the report."
"Command confirmed. Report sent to the Imperial ’Immigration Affairs Management Department.’"
...
The East Coast of the Endless Sea. A massive, silvery-white cubic structure floated above a sea of clouds.
Inside a room marked "Office 37."
A sharp-featured, middle-aged man in the standard dark gray attire of an Imperial civil servant was quickly browsing an encrypted message he had just received from Observation Station 73.
His fingers swiped through the air, pulling up key data like energy signature analyses and video logs.
When he saw the assessment—"Suspected Grand Wizard Level energy reaction" and "Displays characteristics of a highly active Necromancy School Withered Seed"—his brow furrowed deeply.
He lifted his head and looked across the console, where his direct superior was sitting.
An old man with salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in a more refined, deep purple civil servant’s robe.
The old man’s eyes were closed in rest, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest as if listening to some silent melody.
"Supervisor," the middle-aged official began, his voice tinged with hesitation. "We have an urgent report from Observation Station 73. It concerns an individual who just successfully crossed over from the Abandoned Land. Their energy signature is abnormal, with a preliminary assessment of Grand Wizard Level strength. Furthermore, their energy core is suspected of carrying a highly active Withered Seed. The station’s capture attempt failed, and the target has fled inland. The report recommends activating the ’High-Value Individual Tracking and Assessment Protocol.’"
The old man’s fingers stopped tapping the armrest, and he slowly opened his eyes.
They were a pair of preternaturally calm, almost indifferent, eyes.
"Grand Wizard Level? From the Abandoned Land? That Astartes kid, has he been staring at the sea for so long he’s starting to mistake storm clouds for Wizard Towers? A place where the Laws are twisted and Origin is depleted—how could it possibly produce a Grand Wizard?"
"The data is clear, Supervisor." The middle-aged official projected the key analysis charts into the air between them. "The tier of the energy burst, and the characteristic withering fluctuations of that seed—they both match records in the database. It’s hard to believe, I know, but the possibility is real."
The old man didn’t even look at the charts. He simply closed his eyes again.
"And even if it is true, so what?" he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Activate the protocol? Do you have any idea how many resources that would require? Cross-regional tracking, assessment, contact, potential risk management... Which one of those doesn’t burn through money? The new King of Wizards up top is desperate for more talent to flow into the Imperial capital. He’s pushing a new immigration bill to relax restrictions, simplify procedures, and even provide initial subsidies. In his eyes, a department like ours—which handles interception, screening, and tracking—is nothing but a stumbling block to Imperial development! Our budget has been slashed the hardest. Just maintaining basic coastal observation is already pushing our limits. Where are we going to find the spare cash and manpower to chase after a supposed Grand Wizard of unknown authenticity, hiding in who knows what corner?"
The middle-aged official fell silent for a moment. He knew his supervisor was telling the truth.
The new King of Wizards was keen on reform, viewing immigrants as a vital source for replenishing the Imperial capital’s vitality and talent pool.
Under this new policy direction, the Immigration Affairs Management Department’s original control functions had been significantly weakened, and its budget was naturally stretched thin.
Proactively tracking a potentially threatening, unregistered individual would not only be a thankless task but could also go against the "open and inclusive" new spirit of the higher-ups.
"But, Supervisor," he tried to argue, "a complete, highly active Withered Seed... its research value is immeasurable. Besides, if that individual truly possesses the power of a Grand Wizard, should we really just let them slip into the Imperial heartland...?"
"Power is just power," the old man cut him off, a trace of impatience in his voice. "Are there no police in the various territories? No Sheriffs and Lords? The Imperial domain is vast. Is there any shortage of Wizard Apprentices, or even Official Wizards, who disappear or die for all sorts of reasons every day? An unidentified fellow from the Abandoned Land will naturally be ’greeted’ by the local powers and their rules."
"If he behaves himself, he can contribute to the Imperial cause. If he stirs up trouble, he can still contribute to the Imperial cause."
"Does our Immigration Department need to moonlight as Imperial police, running all over the world arresting people? We should just mind our own business. Our primary task right now, in the spirit of the new law, is to optimize the intake process, not create more trouble for ourselves."
He paused, his fingers resuming their steady tapping on the armrest. "Remember, the current climate is one of ’welcome,’ not ’vigilance.’ The less we do, the better."
"Then, this report..." the middle-aged official asked.
"Erase it," the old man said succinctly. "Pretend we never received it. In the station’s routine report, just log it as ’Spatial disturbance, no valuable target captured.’ As for Astartes... he knows the drill."