The wooden staircase creaked so badly it sounded like fingernails on chalkboard. But by the ti we reached the third floor, my ears had gotten used to the sounds our tal and leather boots would make when applying pressure against the floor.
The air up here felt heavier, a bit damp and sll weird... Like so kind of air that had been fernting for years, stale bread, even.
I coughed once, waving the dust away, and looked around.
"Storage," I said, squinting.
Rina walked past , her bow still half-drawn, scanning the corners.
"Looks like it," she agreed. "There’s crates, barrels, and... are those alchemy jars?"
"Yeah," I muttered, crouching next to one of the barrels to try and examine it.
The wood was cracked and soft to the touch. A few splinters clung to my gauntlet when I poked it. Inside the glass jars were nothing but mold and a suspiciously green stain that looked like the aftermath of a bad chemistry project.
"So storage and potentially an alchemy station." I comnted.
"I wouldn’t count on that," Rina added under her breath, "Alchemy is known to be dangerous and prone to accidents... He should have an entire floor dedicated to it, a wizard would know the risk of arson and explosions, correct?"
"Good point." I said.
We passed a few collapsed shelves and what looked like the remains of a laboratory, beakers lted into puddles, a table half turned to charcoal, a few scattered gemstones dulled from age.
The place reeked of old reagents and long-dead mana. Every now and then, I’d spot a flicker of light, like tiny sparks just dancing between bits of shattered crystal.
Residual energy, seems to be telling us that sothing magical used to happen here, but now it’s just echoing...
There’s so discrepancy, I thought. Because the outside looks worn, like 100 years old even, while the inside looks like it’s only been untouched for 100 days at most.
I reached out, brushing my fingers against one of the faintly glowing fragnts, and it buzzed like static.
"Still warm," I murmured. "Mana residue. That’s impressive for sothing twelve in-ga years old."
We moved on shortly afterwards.
The fourth floor was different.
The mont we stepped up, the temperature shifted. The air shimred faintly, like heat waves rising from asphalt. My vision flickered for a second before stabilizing.
"Now this," I whispered, "is what I expected from a wizard’s lair."
The room was circular and wide, the ceiling vaulting high above our heads with floating embers drifting through the air.
Broken runic circles glowed on the floor intrigued .
In Darkmoon Adventure VR, these runes and magic circles are, indeed, yes, a way for wizards to cast spell.
But guess what, those are only used for really, really, REALLY, end-ga spells that shape an extre large area or have an extre consequence, like, say, changing the culture between the North and South continent, or mass erasure of mory, bringing down a teor strike, etc.
So Worsetingale was no joke.
"You think this was his main workspace?" Rina said as she took a careful step forward, her boots clicking softly against the stones.
"Most likely," I said, pacing around the edge of the largest rune. "Worsetingale the Dragonborn Wizard... dude was known for sketchy research... Specifically, gravity manipulation magic, which was probably what the runes here are for. Which, you know, was probably fun if you don’t fly into the sun without a way down."
"Huh..." She raised a brow. "Gravity manipulation?"
"Yeah, like, think mage telekinesis, but, h, kinda overcompensating. The lore says he once tried to build a miniature black hole which blew up an entire valley... That’s how the Great Hole Valley in the Southern continent got its na."
"Lovely," Rina chuckled.
I crouched near a broken lectern. The old wood was charred black, and a few pages of parchnt were fused to the floor beneath it, so much so that the symbols were warped and unreadable.
A shattered mirror stood against one wall, its fragnts reflecting faint motes of light.
When I looked into one shard, for a heartbeat, I thought I saw movent, sothing humanoid standing behind .
But when I turned around, it was gone.
"Did you-"
"Nothing worth looting here," Rina said without noticing my concern, scanning through drawers and cabinets. "All junk."
"Yeah. No potions, scrolls, or even a cool lore diary telling us how Worsetingale lost his sanity and turned into Worsetingoat."
"Cory..." She gave a flat stare. "Can we not bring the goat back into this?"
"Fine, fine," I said, raising my hands. "I’ll table my goat-related generational trauma for now."
We did one last sweep before heading for the staircase. I took one final look around before leaving.
I could’ve sworn I heard a whisper right before stepping out.
This tower is ssing with my mind... It seems.
The fifth floor, or technically the roof, was a breath of cold air after all that dust and mana residue.
The very thin forest spread out beneath us, mountain shadows stretching across the horizon. The wind howled, carrying a scent of nature that brushed across my cheeks.
"Wow," Rina said quietly, . "You can see a whole lot from here."
"Yeah," I murmured. "Worsetingale had taste."
The roof was ringed by crumbling battlents and old siege defenses. A rusted ballista leaned against one corner, the rope chanism long snapped. There was a pile of rotted arrows in a barrel and a half-broken bow resting nearby.
"Arrows, don’t mind if I do." Rina knelt by the pile, rummaging through it with a happy grin that gradually turned dim. "Junk... Junk... Junk... Worthless... Broken, Junk..."
"WAIT!" Rina yelled.
She then held up a small pouch, the kind used for holding throwable items.
"Jackpot."
"Throwables?" I asked, coming closer.
"Definitely," she said, tossing one of the small spheres up and catching it again. "Looks like magic bombs, I’ll need to identify them later, if there’s any town nearby with that service."
"Score one for team inside." I clapped.
"Yeah, not bad," she said with a grin, continuing to rummage. "Oh, and these..."
She pulled out a few arrows, the tips faintly glowing blue.
"Frost arrows, I already had so, but no amount is enough."
"Throwables and enchanted arrows," I said, smirking. "Next thing you know, a legendary bow just spawns behind you."
"I wish." Rina rolled her eyes, slinging the new arrows into her quiver, "Hey, I wonder what those three are doing?"
We walked to the edge of the roof, peering down at the ground below.
Marc, Hailie, and Akira were sitting in a circle outside the tower entrance. Three little figures occasionally spinning their head around to keep watch while laughing at each other’s jokes.
Hailie’s staff glowed faintly as she waved it around, probably reenacting so kind of cool monster fight, pretending that she was an attacker of sorts. Marc had his sword stabbed into the ground beside him while also talking animatedly. Akira sat on her Paladin shield and listening to their story attentively like the introvert she is.
"Looks like fun," Rina said softly.
"Yeah," I agreed, leaning on the stone ledge. "The three musketeers outside, Indiana Jones outside."
"Say, Cory..." Rina asked absentmindedly. "Do you rember-"
A gust of wind howled past us, drowning her words.
"What?" I turned.
"Nothing," she said quickly, shaking her head. "Let’s go report back."
"Right," I said, giving the view one last glance before heading down.
Nothing was inside, so ti to survey the surrounding area.
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