Chapter 514 — Return to the Imperial Capital

The solemn black outer walls and many-tiered spires of the Royal Mages' Association rose in the mist. The austere, straight lines of those walls gave the impression of a stern and old-fashioned old mage—this "mage built of stone" stood robed at the end of an Aldernan street, and the spires upon the building were the old mage's magic hat—Daniel glanced up at the roof of the Association headquarters, then cast the pointless memories from his mind.

Mary was about to step forward and knock, but before she could move her mentor stopped her. The young female mage from the countryside watched in amazement as a faint radiance floated up across the surface of the dark wooden door, and from that radiance an aged face emerged: "Visitor, state your identity."

"Daniel. Daniel Fred," the old mage said, practiced and at ease. "The last clever man in this moldering old house of yours."

"Oh—truly familiar words, haha," the guardian spirit of the gate rasped with hoarse laughter. "Arrogant young man, middle-aged man, old man... self-exiled sorcerer, what have you come back for?"

Daniel's tone was cold and calm: "Windsor Mabel knows. Go ask her."

The black gate fell silent. A moment later the aged face stirred again: "President Windsor Mabel invites you to the East Tower—but the girl beside you cannot enter."

"Mary is my apprentice. She can enter—tell Windsor Mabel that I am as short of patience as I was in those days."

This time the gate was silent even longer, until Mary was beginning to feel uneasy, before she heard that incredible magic door respond: "You may come in."

The heavy magic door swung slowly open, and Mary, full of curiosity and a touch of nervousness, lifted her foot and followed in the old mage's steps.

The gate of the Royal Mages' Association headquarters closed behind them.

Following the route in his memory, Daniel made his way through the vast and labyrinthine building. The corridors and chambers were just as he recalled them: the long dark-red carpets, the magic-crystal lamps set into the walls, the intricate ornamental patterns on the columns, the reliefs on the ceilings... these luxurious and utterly pointless things proclaimed the deep foundations of the Mages' Association and the unchanging taste of the Transcendents—yet in these corridors that had not altered in years, the faces of those who came and went were wholly different from those of the past.

There were many people in the Mages' Association, but at least half the faces were unfamiliar. They wore sumptuous robes and tall pointed hats or precious magic rings and crowns, and they paced with heads held high and measured steps through the brightly lit classical corridors, bearing themselves with uncommon dignity. They maintained a certain aloofness that kept others at a distance, yet none of them could resist stealing glances at Daniel—clad in a black robe, leading an unremarkable young female apprentice, striding swaggeringly down the corridor.

Mary and Daniel's "shabby" appearance was indeed a rare sight in this solemn and magnificent building, but rarer still was Daniel's posture—utterly self-possessed, proud and confident. The old mage wore the same robe he had not changed in years; the artificial neural cords writhed within it, giving off a ghastly friction sound. This bizarre and frightful creation would have been extraordinary even on most eccentric mages, and it naturally drew everyone's attention—yet amid all that attention, the old mage simply strolled onward as though walking in his own back garden.

Mary had never seen her mentor display such a bearing.

The mages around them cast looks of curiosity, interest, doubt, and scrutiny in their direction, and those gazes left the young female mage somewhat nervous and uneasy. She knew who these people were: men and women of peerless talent in the magical arts, of exceedingly high standing among mages, representing the very pinnacle of Typhon's magical power—respected personages. And she herself was merely a low-ranking minor mage from a small backwater town; under ordinary circumstances, she would not even have been qualified to walk abreast with such great figures...

"Lift your head," her mentor's voice came suddenly into her ear, jolting Mary to full awareness. "If you walk with your head down again, I'll turn your neck to stone so you can never lower it for the rest of your life."

Mary swallowed, forced her head up, and saw that this long corridor had finally reached its end.

There stood a wooden door painted with gold-red patterns, runes flickering with radiance across its surface.

Daniel stopped before the door, and Mary stopped with him. The runes on the door lit up in response, and a small crystal drifted out from some aperture in the door, circled the two of them once, and then the door swung open of its own accord.

Beyond the door was a spacious, brightly lit room—utterly unlike the cramped, gloomy, oppressive mage laboratories in Mary's memory. In the center of this room, lit by magic-crystal lamps and ringed by bookshelves and large floor-to-ceiling windows, a semicircular desk faced the doorway, and behind it stood a middle-aged woman in a blue gown-style mage robe, who seemed to have been waiting in that pose for a long while.