CHAPTER 162: CHAPTER 162 | TOWARDS THE ARCHIVE

Their footsteps echoed subtly across the Kritonium forged ground floor, each step sending a soft metallic vibration through the enormous space as they moved deeper into the tower.

Jinn’s gaze shifted left and right, quietly absorbing every detail around him. It had been years since he last stood here—years spent marching through campaign after campaign beside General Gaius—yet the interior still struck him with the exact same feeling he remembered: vast, cold, and filled with a kind of silent intelligence, as if the tower itself was watching.

The chamber stretched outward in every direction like the inside of a giant cylinder, wide enough to hold an entire battalion yet carved with precision that felt almost surgical.

Dozens of braziers clung along the curved walls, each one burning with pale blue eidric flames that swayed without producing smoke or heat. Instead, their glow pulsed softly, almost breathing, sending synchronized waves of light across the smooth surfaces.

The illumination danced along the walls, revealing lines of etched runes—thin, angular symbols carved so deeply into the Kritonium that they shimmered with threads of dormant power.

Above him, faint streams of light drifted across the ceiling like slow-moving constellations, eidric currents flowing through transparent channels embedded in the structure. These rivers of blue and silver energy ran upward through the higher floors, giving the impression of a tower alive with circulating lifeblood. Occasional sparks flickered within the channels, reacting to their presence, as if acknowledging Jinn’s return.

The ground floor itself was a strange blend of ancient and advanced—like a wizard’s sanctum fused with a futuristic data core.

Floating platforms drifted lazily above recessed pits that held spiraling eidric machinery, their gears turning without ever touching each other, powered by invisible arcs of energy.

Around, Large crystalline pillars stood in precise formations, humming quietly as information flowed through them, their surfaces engraved with glowing diagrams and diagrams that shifted whenever one walked past.

Jinn took all of this in with a sense of familiarity mixed with a quiet awe. Even after all his years away, the tower of Nythrael hadn’t changed. It still felt like a place far beyond normal understanding—a structure built not just for knowledge, but for wielding it.

A place where both past and future existed side by side, bound together by the power of eidra.

"Is the Grand Archive still operational?" Jinn finally spoke, his voice breaking the steady silence. The sound echoed faintly, bouncing off the curved interior like a soft ripple through still water.

"We have prohibited the visits of nobles to the Grand Archive temporarily," Berezith replied, his tone calm yet holding a hint of pride, "but for you, Master Jinn, the doors will always remain open."

He offered Jinn a warm, sincere smile—one of the few genuine expressions Jinn ever received within the empire—before shifting his gaze forward toward the end of the chamber.

There, a large portal pulsed with slow waves of dark blue light, its oval shape framed by rotating metallic rings engraved with ancient runes. Each ring floated on its own axis, adjusting its rotation whenever someone approached, as if the portal was waking from a long rest.

Berezith then extended his hand toward Jinn, revealing a glowing crystal resting on his palm. The crystal was dense, shaped like an elongated shard and filled with condensed eidra swirling inside like trapped clouds. Its glow shifted subtly between dark blue and violet, carrying the unmistakable essence of House Nythrael.

This shard was more than just a key—it was a command seal, something that allowed direct interaction with the tower’s deeper systems, the doors, the archives, and the countless tools and interfaces that filled the tower’s many levels.

"I trust that you remember how this works?" Berezith asked as Jinn reached down to take the crystal. His tone was gentle, almost nostalgic, as if remembering the many lectures and long nights Jinn once spent here as a younger apprentice.

"Of course," Jinn replied quietly. He lifted the crystal to eye level, observing the faint pulses running along its edges.

It hummed with dark eidra—not corrupted, but pure in its own heavy way—carrying the unmistakable signature of the eidrics of House Nythrael.

The glow danced faintly across his fingers, almost as if acknowledging him, reminding him of the times he had used similar tools under Troy’s supervision.

For a brief moment, the weight of the past returned to him, but only long enough for him to tighten his grip and refocus on the task ahead.

"I’ll move on ahead, Elder Scholar," Jinn said with a small nod, his voice steady and direct.

He didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t slow down, and didn’t bother looking back as he increased his pace, the faint echoes of his steps spreading through the vast chamber.

Berezith watched him leave, his old eyes following the young man’s figure until it disappeared deeper into the tower. A soft smile tugged at his lips, warm and a little nostalgic.

"That boy has truly grown..." he whispered to himself, remembering the sight of a much younger Jinn—quiet, unsure, practically a lost lamb—when Troy had first brought him into the tower. Back then, Jinn had walked like someone unsure if he even belonged here. Now, years later, he walked with the controlled certainty of a seasoned warrior.

===

With one final thud of his boots against the solid Kritonium floor, Jinn stepped directly in front of the portal. The air trembled faintly as the rotating rings recognized him, or more specifically, recognized the crystal seal pulsing in his hand.

The rings responded at once—turning faster, glowing brighter, shifting in rhythm as if the portal itself was waking up after a long sleep.

Jinn didn’t waste time.

He leaned slightly toward the left side of the portal where a square platform stood, its surface etched with thin glowing lines. A small hollow slot sat at the center of it—clearly designed for inserting the crystal. Jinn placed the shard inside, hearing a soft click as the system accepted it.

A heartbeat later, the crystal shined brighter, its dark blue glow intensifying until small strands of eidra flickered around it. The rings surrounding the portal responded with an even louder whir, spinning in synchronized patterns before slowly coming to a complete stop.

The tremors vanished.

The air stilled.

The portal’s surface went from unstable ripples to a perfectly smooth sheet of shimmering energy.

It was primed.

The moment it stabilized, a figure emerged from the surface—transparent, almost holographic, more like a projection than any living being. Its body was humanoid in shape but lacking all detail, its limbs outlined only by faint strands of dark eidra swirling within.

"Floor?" the figure asked. The voice carried no tone, no emotion. It sounded mechanical, completely empty, as if its entire existence revolved around asking that single question.

"Floor forty-three," Jinn replied without hesitation, his tone steady, his mind already moving ahead to what he expected to find there.

As soon as Jinn spoke his destination, the faceless figure dissolved into drifting wisps of shadowy eidra, vanishing as if it had never existed.

The rings around the portal immediately shifted, swinging into new axes with deep mechanical groans, each rotation heavy with power. For a few seconds the entire structure moved in a complex sequence, aligning itself with whatever unseen pathways connected the countless floors of the tower.

Then, all at once, the movement halted.

The rings locked into place with perfect precision.

A soft, distinct

*ping!

echoed across the chamber, subtle yet undeniable—confirmation that the portal had finished its calibration.

Jinn didn’t hesitate.

The moment he realized the portal was ready, he stepped forward. The surface swallowed him instantly, wrapping around him like liquid glass before pulling him through in a single blink.

Just one second later, his figure emerged from another portal entirely, the sensation of transit fading as his boots clicked softly on a different floor.

The air here was calmer, colder, and carried a faint scent of ink, parchment, and old dust. Jinn lifted his gaze and found himself standing in the center of Floor Forty-Three—the floor of the Grand Archive.

The reaction was immediate.

Several scholars froze mid-step, turning their heads.

A cluster of students carrying stacks of parchments paused, their arms trembling as they struggled not to drop anything.

Librarians seated at long crystal desks lifted their eyes from glowing tablets, their focus shifting onto the unexpected arrival.

"That... is that the Scion?" one student whispered loudly, his voice cracking a little as he struggled to balance the tower of books in his arms.

"I-I think it is! Red hair, one eye... and the synthetic arm!" his friend replied in an excited rush, almost tripping over her own feet as she leaned forward for a better look.

The murmurs grew quickly, spreading across the floor like ripples on water.

Faces peeked from behind shelves, scholars nudged each other for attention, and a few even stepped back in awe.

To see an eidrakai of Jinn’s rank walking into the Grand Archive—a floor normally filled only with researchers, archivists, and ancient records—was a rare event.

Some of them had only ever heard stories about him: the Scion of Venedix, the blade of the empire, the boy who rose from slavery to become one of the strongest young warriors in Zerafhon.

But Jinn didn’t pay attention to any of them.

He didn’t come here for admiration or the endless murmurs people always threw his way.

His steps remained steady and forward, not slowing even once. His expression stayed sharp and focused, ignoring every whisper that reached his ears.

He was here for something far more important than reputation—he was here to learn more about Muradryn.

And within the entire empire, there was only one place capable of holding the kind of information he needed:

the Grand Archive of Nythrael, the oldest and most protected reservoir of ancient knowledge still standing.