Chapter 221: The Seed Had Already Been Planted
From the other end of the soul contract, Syl’s will came through with perfect clarity and calm.
Ryan gazed at the small cluster of azure light before him.
One memory after another flashed through his mind. In Whispering Forest, it had been Syl who drew upon his power to absorb those two Shadow-Claw Wolves. During the Frost Crystal Explosion Incident, it had been Syl who protected him when danger was right in front of him. After entering the ruins, it had been Syl’s Mana that helped him survive the first crisis. He had never said much, yet at every crucial moment, he had always stepped in quietly.
And now, Syl had openly admitted the helplessness of their first meeting, expressed regret for not having done enough, and yet framed it all as a choice of fate and a shared pursuit. For Ryan’s road ahead, he was willing to pay the price of falling into a long slumber.
Ryan slowly nodded.
“I understand, Syl.” His voice in the realm of consciousness grew a little heavier. “Thank you. Not just for this, but for everything before as well. I’ll remember what you’re searching for. In the future, if there’s any chance at all, I’ll help you uncover the lost truth of the Elf Race. I give you my word in the name of Ryan.”
Syl’s azure eyes seemed to curve slightly, as though he were smiling.
“Then... let it be so.”
He said no more. He turned and flew toward Serandil’s fading remnant. The small body blazed with azure light, and his pure wind-spirit power and soul-force condensed into a solid stream of light, pouring into that translucent figure without hesitation.
Serandil watched in silence, shifting light reflecting in his golden eyes.
He raised a hand and accepted the offering. His failing figure steadied for a single moment.
He merely inclined his head slightly to Syl, an ancient and solemn gesture, then guided all of his remaining strength, together with that pure external power, into the final right seal.
As if answering a summons, the right seal stabilized. Its light brightened once more, and it drifted slowly toward Ryan’s right shoulder.
The seal descended.
This time, an even fiercer heat exploded outward from his right shoulder.
But unlike before, the burning came with a sense of wholeness and perfect connection.
The two array-seeds in his left and right shoulders were linked in an instant by an invisible bridge. Pale golden light surged through Ryan’s consciousness-body, forming a perfectly balanced, self-sustaining cycle.
The flow of Mana accelerated sharply. His perception of the elements leaped upward once again. The whole world became clearer and more orderly in his eyes, as if a pane of dust-covered glass had finally been wiped clean.
Of the twelve foundational arrays of the Elven Gospel array, the first layer, the paired Seals of Enlightenment, was complete.
Power flooded through him.
For a moment, Ryan even had the illusion that he could now cast complex spells with ease—spells that once would have required careful preparation.
Then he looked at Serandil.
Having completed his final task, the elf’s fading figure wore a smile of release, as though a burden weighing ten thousand pounds had at last been set down.
That smile, on his now almost transparent face, was beautiful enough to stop the heart, and lonely enough to shatter it.
His body began to break apart more quickly, the edges dissolving into silver motes of light that drifted away.
At the very last moment, his lips moved softly.
With the extraordinary perception granted by the twin seals, Ryan could hear the silent farewell.
“...The seed has been planted... May it... bloom and bear fruit... within you...”
The next instant, Serandil vanished completely. The pure white Chamber of Remembrance began to twist and convulse violently, the space itself letting out a mournful cry as it collapsed.
Then a powerful repelling force struck him, and the world spun.
Ryan’s hand slipped from the icy stone door.
He blinked once, like someone waking from a brief moment of absent-minded thought. The movement was natural, just like a person unconsciously touching something while thinking and then drawing back their hand.
The whole process had taken less than a single breath.
Behind him, Lillian’s words had not even finished falling.
“This door... can it even be opened?”
Rex was still holding his cautious stance, scanning the walls. Vera’s gray-green eyes had only just moved away from the stone door and were about to turn toward Ryan to ask what he had found.
Then her words stopped.
A small azure bird was now perched on Ryan’s left shoulder.
It was no larger than a palm, its feathers a soft blend of blue and green, with a slightly longer tail. Its wings were folded close, and it sat there quietly, tilting its little head. Its azure eyes were half-open and half-closed. It looked listless, and there was something strangely vacant in its gaze.
“Huh? Where’d that bird come from?” Rex froze for a moment and lowered his greatsword slightly.
Lillian’s eyes widened too. They had been too tense while passing through the spider’s lair to notice anything else, and this place was deep underground. How could there possibly be a living bird here?
Vera let her gaze linger on the little azure bird for two seconds, then shifted it to Ryan. Ryan himself appeared a little surprised. He turned his head, frowned slightly at the unexpected arrival on his shoulder, and murmured in a low voice,
“Syl?”
The little bird heard his voice and turned its head. Its azure eyes landed on Ryan’s face.
But there was no familiar spark of intelligence in them now, no gleam of awareness. There was only instinctive closeness.
It let out a soft, weak chirp, then affectionately rubbed its fluffy little head against the skin at Ryan’s neck.
Ryan’s body stiffened slightly.
He understood now.
When Syl had said he would sleep, he had meant that the core consciousness—the one that could speak with him, the one that carried memories and thought—had fallen into a deep slumber.
What remained perched on his shoulder was only the instinct left in the Sacred Beast’s vessel, the most basic residue of life itself.
It still recognized the aura of their soul contract. It would instinctively cling to him and trust him.
But that was all.
A trace of melancholy rose in Ryan’s heart, though it quickly settled again. He lifted a finger and gently stroked the soft down atop the little bird’s head. The bird narrowed its eyes in comfort and nuzzled his finger again.
“It’s nothing,” Ryan said, lifting his head to address the other three. “Some magical creature from the ruins must have been drawn here by the disturbance just now. It isn’t a threat.”
He carefully lifted the little bird off his shoulder and tucked it into a deeper pocket at the front of his chest. The bird shifted inside, found a comfortable position, and curled up, leaving only its head visible. Its eyes slowly closed again, and its breathing grew quiet and steady.
Vera’s eyes lingered on Ryan’s movements for a moment longer. His hands were steady, even gentle, but that kind of care—like he was handling something fragile—did not quite fit the Ryan she had come to know.
And the name he had called out just now—Syl?
Was that the bird’s name? Had he known it before?
Vera’s gray-green gaze swept over Ryan’s back once more. It was not just his movements. There was something about the way he now carried himself...
He felt more harmonious, more in tune with the world around him.
It was incredibly subtle, but it did not escape the perception she had honed through constant observation.
Ryan felt the small warmth against his chest and let out a quiet sigh.
Syl was only asleep, he told himself. When he grew stronger, when their contract deepened, Syl would awaken again.
And now, he had gained power. He had also learned part of the truth behind this place.
This was not merely a ruin. It was the observation station and laboratory Serandil had spoken of, the forward base where the Elf Race had researched the Philosopher’s Stone and sought a way to fight the Dragon Race in the depths of their despair.
That foul Mana lingering in the air, those twisted monsters outside, those cocoons full of corpses—almost all of it was surely tied to the failed experiments and the contamination that had leaked from them.
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