Pillar of Yita

Clarison suddenly stopped writing and lifted his head, his sharp eyes staring at the blinds behind the desk. The room was a bit dim, and the flickering candlelight cast reflections on his dark pupils, between pale wrinkles.

A faint screeching sound seemed to travel from afar outside, gathering into a cacophony, making him frown as he wondered what was happening outside. He put away the quill and inserted it into the ink bottle, glancing at the half-finished record on the desk, which was subtly shaking—

As if there was an earthquake.

The thing had become increasingly restless, he thought.

A heavy footstep echoed from the hallway outside, the walker seemed to have a limp, one deep, one shallow. The footsteps paused outside the door, and there was a gentle knock, slow and rhythmic, three short and three long. ”Master, it’s ready.” An old voice responded from outside the door.

Only then did Clarison shift his gaze, with a cold expression on his face, and said toward the door: ”I understand, take the things to the carriage, I’ll come soon.”

”Understood, Master.” The old voice replied.

The one deep, one shallow footsteps slowly left in the direction they came from.

The shaking was intensifying.

The screams outside seemed to become clearer.

But Clarison dismissed them, as he pulled away his chair and turned around, picking up a dry parchment paper slip from the desk, walking towards the inner room—where a row of tall bookshelves stood, filled with all sorts of books—most of which had black covers, with blood-red pentagrams illustrated on the books and ancient runes carved in scarlet words.

Clarison’s gloomy gaze swept over the tall shelves, the old scrolls, the parchment documents one by one, stopping between the second and third layers. He counted from left to right to the seventh book, pulled out a large book with a black cover, opened it and inserted the parchment paper slip he held into it.

He paused for a moment, seemingly contemplating whether he had overlooked anything, but after a while, he closed the book again, placing it back in its original position.

The stay in the Southern Region this time was longer than ever before.

But he was accustomed to traveling between these two places, and had cautiously arranged everything meticulously using his identity; so far, no one seemed to have noticed his true identity.

However, Clarison knew it was only a matter of time—last year he did something special, for the first time, using his power to erase a small record from the Guild. He knew this would leave a loose end, yet he proceeded anyway.

This was the only time, and the employer was linked to Mawei’s daughter; with the current situation, it should be possible to cover it up.

He thought this way.

Besides, time was running out—

Waiting for the return to Golande this time, after arranging the last tasks, all plans in the Southern Region would be in operation; by then, no one would notice this detail, he could completely withdraw quietly—everything seemed perfect.

Yet the flaw of a perfect plan lay in each step fitting the prior expectations.

He was a cautious person, deeply understood the pitfalls within, the best way was to act swiftly and withdraw earlier—yet the arrangement by that powerful entity left no room for maneuver—forget it, he shook his head, thinking more was pointless, his thoughts becoming more deep and complex, as if a jumble of chaotic thoughts swirled around.

Suddenly he felt as if even the candlelight dimmed quite a bit.

But Clarison suddenly snapped back to his senses, frowning, as under his gloomy gaze—the other end of the candle wick only held a small flame, flickering unsteadily. It was not his illusion, but the candlelight indeed was gradually dimming.

Only then did he notice the shaking intensifying further.

Some books were shaking and falling off the shelves, and he had to hold on to the bookshelf to remain standing, ”What’s happening?” Clarison suddenly sensed, this wasn’t Koras’ Strength, why was the candlelight diminishing?

Dark Aura?

He was extremely sensitive to it, suddenly turning around, listening intently. The screams indeed were not coming from the Port District, but from the south.

What’s in the south?

Clarison only remembered it was another street, suddenly realizing something amiss. The bookshelves around him were shaking and falling, but his body somehow generated a burst of Strength, crashing through the shelves, running towards the southern room amidst the quakes.

The blinds there were only half drawn, yet still not closed, the afternoon sunlight shining through the gaps, illuminating the room.

Clarison ran to the desk, ready to open the drawer to fetch his Magic Guided Wand. But suddenly, he felt a darkness engulf the outside of the window, raising his head in shock, a massive shadow descended from the sky, enveloping him beneath it.

The tumultuous wind beneath the wings shattered the windows, blowing everything in the room into disarray.

...

”Brother Ade!”

Fang Hong suddenly heard someone calling his name.

Just hearing this voice, he was very familiar, looking towards that direction, indeed saw a little girl with blonde hair, wearing a tight corset and white shirt, toward him, excitedly waving her hand.