A/N : If you want to support me or early access to chapters, consider becoming a patreon: patreon.com/keetarp.
★TDG FF has Early Access till Chapter 106.
★WMW FF(rewrite ) has Early Access till Chapter 66.
★WMW DL has Early Access till Chapter 76.
Join my community, accessible to all readers, discuss ideas, get updates and share photos and comments—https://www.patreon.com/chats/f10f809d279243e9a68849812a04ff8e
You can also support me through PayPal —https://www.paypal.me/ppratyay
...
The Poolfield Kingdom's western outskirts stretched vast and untamed, a land where the horizon bled into a haze of dust and heat, the earth scarred by jagged hills and winds that carried the faint tang of decay.
Beneath a sky bruised with twilight, the rhythmic ta ta ta of hooves thundered across the plain, four figures on horseback cutting through the stillness like blades through silk.
The two riders at the rear peeled back their hoods, revealing faces hardened by ambition—Leylin, his bright brown eyes glinting with a quiet, predatory calm, and Bosain Lilytell, golden hair catching the fading light, his silver robes rippling with an heir's arrogance.
Ahead rode Shaya, her fiery red hair a blazing banner against the dusk, and O'Brian, the potion master, his mud-yellow locks framing a face hollowed by exhaustion, black eyes sunken under deep, shadowed circles. (Image)
Months ago, Bosain had led a different crew—himself, Shaya, an acolyte named Roth, and a potion master, William—through the treacherous path from Zither Moon Town into the venomous heart of marshes, chasing whispers of a map's promise.
The journey had been a slaughter. The terrain turned against them, all sucking bogs and razor-edged vines, claiming their potion master, too frail to endure. A brutal skirmish with rival acolytes from enemy academies followed, blood soaking the mud, and Roth fell, his screams swallowed by the swamp.
Defeated, and unable to progress without a Potion Master Bosain and Shaya turned back, their pride bruised but their hunger unquenched.
They regrouped, pulling strings to summon O'Brian, a potion master with a knack for survival. Bosain waited for Leylin, biding his time until the alchemist's experiments bore fruit, then sent another invitation, sweetened with Lilytell promises resources, secrets, power.
Leylin, now a Rank 1 force in all but name, felt the weight of his own strength and saw no reason to refuse. With his alchemy mastery and potion skills bolstering the team, Bosain's confidence surged, his eyes alight with the certainty of triumph.
The group rode in a loose formation, hooves kicking up clouds of dust that stung the air. Leylin maneuvered his horse alongside Bosain's, the beast snorting under him, its flanks slick with sweat.
He tilted his head, a sly smile curling his lips, his voice rolling out smooth and teasing, laced with a spark of curiosity. "It's such a mystery, don't you think? So many acolytes sniffing out this supposed inheritance land—Dylan Gardens, was it? Sounds like a fairy tale spun to lure fools." He paused, his tone dipping into a playful challenge, his eyes glinting with mischief. "What if it's a trap? Some ruse from Sage Gotham's Hut or another enemy academy to gut what's left of our survivors? I reckon even an official Magus might catch wind of us and come prowling."
Bosain's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he shot Leylin a sidelong glance, his voice grave but thrumming with a fierce pride. "They won't move easily," he said, his tone heavy with the weight of his lineage, each word a stone laid with conviction. "A Rank 3 Magus's contract isn't some parchment to be torn up—the consequences would crush them. As for acolytes who dare cross my path?" His lips curled into a smirk, arrogance flaring like a flame, his voice dropping to a low, venomous drawl. "They'll learn what it means to challenge a Lilytell."
Leylin's smile widened, a flicker of amusement dancing in his gaze, but he said nothing, letting the silence speak his indifference.
This team was a coiled viper Bosain, armed with his family's trump cards, wielded secrets that could turn tides; Shaya, her fiery demeanor hiding a magic artifact's hum, was no mere acolyte; O'Brian, gaunt and haunted, had his own cunning to survive the bloodbath jaws months ago.
And Leylin? He feared no Magus now, let alone acolytes, his powers pulsed with power that could rend steel and soul alike. He leaned back in his saddle, the creak of leather a quiet underscore to his thoughts, his calm a mask over the storm within.
Shaya slowed her horse, falling in step beside Leylin, her red hair catching the wind like a banner of flame. She tilted her head, her green eyes sparkling with a mix of admiration and something bolder, her voice warm and teasing, dripping with charm. "You know, Leylin, it's no small thing traveling with someone like you," she said, her tone light but laced with a suggestive lilt, her lips curving into a coy smile.
"Alchemy genius makes a girl feel safe out here in the wilds." She edged closer, her hand brushing his left arm, fingers lingering as if testing the waters, her touch bold and uninvited.
Leylin's eyes turned cold, a glacial sheen overtaking their warmth, his smile tightening into something sharp and brittle. He shrugged her off with a flick of his arm, the motion sharp enough to nearly unbalance her, his voice smooth but edged with a polite venom that cut through her flirtation.
"I'm flattered, Shaya, truly," he said, his tone dripping with courtesy that didn't reach his eyes, "but I'm here for the Gardens, not games. Let's keep it to the task, shall we?"
Inside, irritation coiled like a snake her antics grated, a distraction he had no patience for.
'Keep pushing, little bitch.' he thought, 'and you'll regret it.'
He forced his expression to soften, masking the annoyance that simmered beneath, his charm a practiced shield.
Shaya blinked, startled, her hand retreating as she steadied herself, a flush creeping up her neck. Her thoughts churned 'Why's his arm so rough, like beast scales? Some weapon? Body modification?' but she masked her shock with a laugh, light and forced, her eyes darting away.
Leylin ignored her, urging his horse forward, his focus snapping back to the horizon, the dust stinging his face like a reminder to stay sharp.
Zither Moon Town crouched at the foot of the Zither Moon Mountain Plains, a speck of civilization clinging to the wild's edge, its wooden buildings weathered by wind and time.
Dust swirled through the streets, kicked up by the five travel-worn riders—Leylin, Bosain, Shaya, O'Brian, and their guide, a grizzled local who'd joined them at the border.
The town felt hollow, its pulse faint under the weight of the plains beyond. "Alright, let's rest for a while in the inn before going out," Bosain said, his voice firm but weary, carrying the weight of command.
Having been here before, he and Shaya had a plan—recharge, then strike straight for the map's location, no delays.
They led their horses to an inn dubbed "Ghosts With Grievances Don't Weep," its sign creaking ominously in the wind, the faded letters barely legible. (Image)
Leylin's lips twitched, a flicker of dark amusement at the name, his eyes scanning the squat building with its sagging roof and grime-streaked windows. They pushed through the door, the hinges groaning, and stepped into a desolate interior—empty tables, dust motes drifting in shafts of weak light, the air heavy with the scent of stale ale and neglect.
Shaya sidled up to Leylin, her voice low and tinged with a wistful note, her eyes flicking around the barren room. "Last time we came here, it was bursting with guests," she said, her tone carrying a faint ache for livelier days. "So many acolytes, all chasing the same dream."
"Oh, it seems only we're the ones hoping for a miracle here," Leylin replied, his chuckle rolling out rich and dry, laced with a sardonic edge that hid his indifference.
His gaze swept the room, unbothered by its emptiness, his mind already on the plains ahead.
Shaya stepped closer, her voice softening, a playful spark reigniting as she brushed his left hand again, her touch bolder this time. "Well, I am happy it's emptier this time, give me more space to get to know you better." she said, her tone warm and suggestive, her smile teasing as she leaned in, testing his patience.
Leylin's eyes flashed cold, a storm brewing beneath his calm, and he pulled his hand back sharply, the motion almost throwing her off balance.
"Careful," he said, his voice smooth but icy, a warning wrapped in silk, his irritation spiking like a blade under his skin. Shaya froze, her breath catching, her mind racing again 'It wasn't my imagination, it's definitely scales but isn't Leylin a rune crafting alchemist why is he indulging in body modifications?Now that I think about it his mentor Dorotte is also an expert in body modification. What are you hiding little genius?' but she forced a smile, stepping back.
Bosain, oblivious to their exchange, strode to the counter, tossing a golden coin that glinted in the dimness, his voice clipped and commanding, carrying a trace of impatience. "Four private rooms."
The shopkeeper, a wiry man with a face like crumpled parchment, snapped to attention, his eyes gleaming with deference as he recognized Bosain's bearing.
"Of course, sir, welcome back," he said, his tone fawning, a smile cracking his weathered features. "I've reserved the best rooms for you."
"I can share my room with Leylin," Shaya piped up, her voice bright with a teasing lilt, her eyes darting to him with a hopeful glint.
Leylin's jaw tightened, his patience fraying like a worn rope, but he grabbed his key without a word, his movements sharp and final, his voice silent but screaming restraint.
'Don't give me a chance, little bitch.' he thought, venom curling in his mind, 'or I'll show you why you shouldn't share the same breath as me, let alone a room.'
Regret gnawed at him not for her, but for the charm that drew such annoyances like moths to a flame. He couldn't lash out, not yet petty violence would stain his standing at the academy, where he still had mountains to climb.
With a curt nod, he vanished up the stairs, leaving Shaya's words to die in the air.
Late that night, under a sky thick with stars, the four slipped from their rooms, their steps muffled by the inn's creaking floors. They trekked through the outer forest, shadows pooling around them, the air sharp with pine and earth. They moved fast, boots crunching on fallen leaves, their breaths fogging in the chill.
In a few hours, they'd plunged deep into the Zither Moon Mountain Plains, the landscape shifting into something alien, hostile. The vegetation twisted—normal plants at the border gave way to bizarre, otherworldly growths. (Image)
White shrubs dominated, their leaves spiraling in eerie patterns, swaying in the breeze like a sea of ghosts. Every gust stirred them, unleashing a chaotic symphony—ding ding dong dong—like piano keys struck by a madman's hand, the sound clawing at the mind, urging reckless abandon.
A weaker acolyte, or a normal human, would've succumbed, charging blindly into the dark.
"This is the Piano Key Bush," Shaya said, her voice low and tense, a flicker of unease breaking through her usual bravado as she glanced at the others.
She and O'Brian pulled vials from their pouches, tranquilizing potions glinting faintly, their contents a shield against the bushes' seductive pull.
They'd shared their knowledge with Leylin and O'Brian earlier, ensuring the team was armed. O'Brian hesitated, his gaunt face tightening as he tasted the potion's bitter edge, then drank deep, his shoulders relaxing.
Shaya followed suit, her movements quick, her eyes darting to Leylin with a mix of curiosity and lingering desire.
Leylin met her gaze, his voice casual but firm, carrying a trace of dry amusement. "I don't need it."
He shrugged, his tone light but laced with a quiet confidence that bordered on defiance, his spiritual force well above 18 rendering the potion redundant.
Bosain, too, stood unbothered, his own power a fortress against the bushes' call, his expression a mask of cool certainty.
The deeper they ventured, the deadlier the plains grew traps exhaling poisonous gases, ambushes lurking in the undergrowth. (Image)
This was why they needed alchemists, and Leylin and O'Brian rose to the challenge, their hands steady as they mixed antidotes and countermeasures.
Leylin's alchemy knowledge burned bright, his weapons and runes precise and potent, neutralizing toxins with a craftsman's finesse, while O'Brian's brews bolstered their resilience, his gaunt frame belying a sharp mind.
Together, they carved a path through the obstacles, their teamwork silent but seamless, each step bringing them closer to the map's elusive prize.