Iron Dragon's Advancement Journey

Page 204

　"That's all?" Casalos narrowed his eyes.

　Iraqi leaned forward, the barrier hissing warningly: "Of course not. There's an even more important reason I'm surrendering—bargaining chips."

　"What chips?"

　“The place that Samasser entrusted to me to protect,” Iraqi said proudly. “The Novoralong Mountains are so vast, with thousands of peaks, you would never find them without me.”

　"You want to trade this for your life?" Sister Martha said coldly.

　“It’s not just about exchanging lives,” Iraqi Lai corrected. “I want to leave here, I want freedom. In exchange, I’ll tell you the exact location.”

　"Delusion!" Haiweilan refused resolutely. "You've harmed so many innocent people, and you think you can escape punishment?"

　“Then you can take your time looking.” Iraqi leaned back. “I’m not in a hurry. But you two, Samass won’t give you much time.”

　The atmosphere suddenly became tense.

　Indeed, as Iraqlai said, finding a specific location in such a vast mountain range would have been nearly impossible without her guidance. Even Casalos, with his God-like perspective, would have faced the same challenge. The longer it dragged on, the more thoroughly Samasser could prepare.

　"Are you sure you're the only one who knows?" Casalos suddenly asked.

　“Of course,” Iraqi said confidently. “Samast only told me and Chislindo. Now that Chislindo is dead, I’m the only one left.”

　"What if you die too?"

　Iraqi's smile froze: "You...you wouldn't dare. If you kill me, you'll never find that place!"

　"Really?" Casalos slowly approached the barrier, a dangerous smile on his face.

　"Ha ha!" Iraqlai laughed loudly, "My soul will be guided to Sokuruka's divine kingdom!"

　Casalos shrugged, raising her left hand to conjure a grayish mass, a sense of being watched by fate enveloping the Ice Queen: "Guess how many chosen ones we have here. And guess how many gods your fickle, vain, wicked, and ruthless goddess would antagonize for your defeat?"

　High Priest Euryl's expression changed.

　“Besides,” Casalos continued, “who says you have to find the exact location? Neither you nor Qislindo are stationed where you need to protect. So who is guarding that place? Is it the white dragon, the dragon lich, or that missing warlock under your command? Finding them is much easier than finding a mountain with no distinguishing features, isn’t it?”

　"You don't have that much time!" Iraqi exclaimed anxiously.

　“That’s our business.” Casalos turned and left. “Sister Martha, please prepare the materials needed for the conversation with the dead.”

　"Wait!" Iraqlai shouted.

　Casalos stopped, but did not turn around.

　“I…I can lower my demands,” Iraqi said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want freedom, but at least guarantee my safety.”

　"go on."

　“Grey Claw Peak,” Iraqlai said quickly. “The seventh one to the southeast. But not the summit, it’s on the eastern side, about four thousand meters above sea level. There’s a seemingly ordinary pile of rocks there, and below that is the place Samasser asked me to guard.”

　"that's it?"

　“No…” Iraqi hesitated for a moment, “There are also traps. Samass has set up a lot of magical traps there, all aimed at dragons. There are also some black stone tablets, which he says are ‘keys’.”

　“The key?” Tamarand grasped the key word.

　“I don’t know the specifics,” Iraqi shook his head. “But Samass said that without the right approach, forcing your way in would trigger devastating consequences. The whole mountain would collapse.”

　"Is there anything else?" Casalos pressed.

　Iraqi bit his lip, seemingly going through a fierce internal struggle.

78. Damn evil forces, accept the righteous beating!

　Iraqi trembled slightly, heavy breathing escaping her nostrils and echoing in the silent cave. She raised her head, her deep blue eyes now filled with indescribable weariness and struggle. She tried to speak, but repeatedly closed her jaw, a low, faint hissing sound escaping her throat, as if an invisible boulder were blocking her vocal cords.

　Casalos watched her quietly, while the other dragons or humans waited.

　Finally, Iraqi took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind, his voice hoarse and low: "Not long ago, Samasser took a dragon to Greyclaw Peak."

　Casalos tilted his head slightly. Was it really necessary for the High Priest of Oryul to be so troubled by information about a mere dragon? Unless…

　“That dragon…” Iraqlai’s voice was choked with barely suppressed emotion: “Fiery red, with two heads, wings like bat wings, and a barbed tail. It exuded an aura that made me feel very uneasy—an aura from purgatory.”

　The moment Iraqlai finished speaking, Casaloz's gaze shot straight ahead. His brain's knowledge base surged like a torrent, precisely comparing Iraqlai's description with the countless records of evil creatures he possessed. Fiery red, two heads, bat wings, and a hooked tail—these features quickly sketched an extremely terrifying image. And the "aura from purgatory" acted like a key, instantly unlocking his memories of a specific being.

　It killed Cyrek, disrupting the evil gods' plans in Faerûn, especially the return of Tiamat's faith. Even with Chassar filling in the gaps, Chassar ultimately had his own ambitions, especially after becoming a demigod. Residing in Quettason, he no longer cared about the affairs of the North, devoting himself entirely to establishing his own faith there, aiming for the position of a true god. Under the new rules and order of Ao, the Mother of Dragons was powerless against Chassar. Now, with the North's authority weakened, its chosen new agent in the Material Plane was severely damaged. Against this backdrop, Tiamat now places all its bets on Samaster, attempting to salvage the North's defeat—something Casalos had anticipated. But the dragon Samaster brought…

　A name echoed deep within Casalos's consciousness, carrying immense weight. Was this guy even a dragon? If Iraqlai's description was correct, then the dragon Samaster brought was Tiamat's offspring, one of Afonas's Eight Dark Generals!

　The Raider Modukavar.

　Its very existence is a threat. As a direct descendant of Tiamat, it inherited the immense evil power of the fallen Mother of Dragons. The title of "One of the Eight Dark Generals" signifies its significant position within the Hell of Bathor—a godlike power, something Casalos is very familiar with. However, such beings rarely appear in the Prime Material Plane; their arrival often foreshadows a massive catastrophe: it is not merely a powerful individual, but a symbol, a signal of Tiamat's all-out counterattack. Its arrival, besides demonstrating Tiamat's unwavering support for the final dragon frenzy, perhaps also signifies that Greyclaw Peak has become a potential anchor point to Purgatory, facilitating further invasion by the evil dragons.

　"Do you know that dragon?" Garros asked, noticing Casalos's expression, and the others present also perked up their ears.

　"know."

　"Very powerful?" Tamaland narrowed its eyes, its tone a mixture of eager fighting spirit and barely perceptible contempt. It didn't believe that the dragon mentioned by the Ice Maiden could become an obstacle for the dragon horde to stop the dragon rampage.

　However, in Casalos's eyes, its behavior was also the most direct hint from Bahamut: since Tamarand was ready to flaunt the scales, it meant that Bahamut was now completely on his side.

　What son of Tiamat? Let's get him!

　“Perhaps.” Casalos rarely showed a smile on his humanoid face. “No matter how strong they are, can they be stronger than us? Notify the entire army to take the time to rest and recover. Six hours later, once the Harp Masters arrive, we will immediately head to Grayclaw Peak and send that dragon, which should not exist in this world, back to hell!”

　The order was given, and action commenced. The Metal Dragonflight community sprang into action under Casalos's command. Having single-handedly slain the demigod lich Qislindor, Casalos had earned the unanimous approval of the Metal Dragongate. His power, his wisdom, and his unwavering protection of Faerûn were enough to earn the respect of all the Metal Dragons—regardless of Casalos's motives, his actions, at least in their manifestation, perfectly aligned with the Metal Dragons' definition and standards of goodness!

　There are also the Holy Knights of Damara, the Guardians of the Lord of Dawn, and the Dawn Master Harpists who are currently absent.

　So this time, it will no longer be a dragon fighting alone. The entire metallic dragon race, most of the dragons and humans standing at the top of the Faerûn power pyramid, will converge behind him.

　With the support of magic and divine spells, the rest period was brief but highly effective. The wounds of dragons and humans were healed, their fatigue alleviated, and all participants were mentally refreshed. Information about the Raider Mordukaval was disseminated to every member qualified for the battle, making all dragons and humans aware that this would be a counterattack against the minions of the Mother of Dragons, a holy war to defend the order and balance of Faerûn. Every dragon lord clearly understood the profound significance of this operation.

　As the army set off, the sky was covered by countless enormous and magnificent figures, reaching all the way to the top of Grayclaw Peak.

　The elements in the air became extremely agitated, as if being torn apart by an invisible force. No longer described as the faint "infernal aura" of Iraqi Laina, the aura became tangible, heavy, and carrying the scorching smell of sulfur, like a volcano about to erupt. Twisted and malevolent energy originating from the depths of Greyclaw Peak was spreading outwards, causing the earth to tremble slightly.

　The distant mountain peaks, bathed in sunlight, took on an unnatural dark red hue, as if scorched by some invisible flame, melting away millennia-old snow and glaciers, and molten into the mountain's core. A suppressed whisper, unsettling even to the dragon, echoed in the wind, like the distorted reverberations of countless vengeful spirits and anguished cries, conveyed through some powerful force.

　Casalos lowered his body slightly, sensing the aura, this twisted energy—it was Mordukavar. Its power, originating from the hell of Bathor, was corrupting this land, attempting to transform it into its domain.

　"I just fought the Abyss not long ago," Casalos's voice was deep as he glanced at Ilminster and the others on the magic ship behind him. "I didn't expect to be clashing with Hell again here." (The last part is a nonsensical string of characters and doesn't translate directly.)

　"Unfortunately, Tiamat, who has been lining her own pockets with the resources from the Blood Wars of Hell, is no longer the Grand Duchess of Afonas; she is nothing but a stray dog!"

　"Roar!"

　As a divine child, in response to Casaloz's blasphemous words, Mordukaval's massive, twisted form loomed in and out of existence in the shadows atop Greyclaw Peak. The entire metal dragon alliance had already formed a perfect battle formation, the half-dragons on the magic ship had erected a protective barrier, and the paladins of Damara and the Dawn Lord's guardians were praying on the deck, drawing several beams of light into the sky.

　Modukavar's two heads were raised high atop the mountain, one roaring while the other emitted a piercing screech. Its bat-like wings unfurled in the wind, obscuring a small patch of sky above the peak, while its thick, hooked tail lashed violently across the ground, kicking up clouds of dust. Hellfire burned in its eyes, and a powerful, almost tangible, aura of evil emanated from it. Clearly sensing this immense power, its massive body began to radiate an even stronger infernal energy, attempting to intimidate the intruders with its overwhelming presence.

　But this time, its oppressive aura encountered unprecedented resistance.

　Before Casalos could move, a deep roar surged from the depths of Tamarand's throat, dazzling in the sunlight, responding to the provocation from Tiamat as the Golden Dragon Court—or more accurately, as the chosen ones of Bahamut. The Primordial Golden Dragon Crown Prince's massive body traced a golden arc through the air, shooting like an arrow towards one of Mordukaval's heads. He opened his massive maw, unleashing a torrent of fiery, unnatural dragon breath imbued with pure holy power, tearing through the air to strike its target.

　As soon as the Crown Prince moved, the other golden dragon lords followed suit. "Dawnlight" Thrancia Tierlana followed closely behind, her gentle light now sharp, like solidified matter. The air around her twisted with her flight, forming invisible blades. She leaned slightly forward, her claws tightening, her joints making a soft clicking sound. Her dragon breath, like the vast dawn, a gentle flame carrying arcane fire that could pierce all magic, engulfed the other side of Mordukaval's head, scorching its twisted skin.

　"Light of Eternal Night" Bryant Scavissa, with his deep, imposing golden scales, had an aura around him that solidified even further, like an unbreakable shield. He slightly raised his head, displaying a resolute determination to dispel all darkness. With a powerful thrust, he directly rammed into Mordukaval's outstretched bat wings, and with a muffled roar, he forcefully suppressed the evil dragon's wings with his ancient golden dragon body, tearing a huge gash in them. "Radiant Sun" Aurelian Salamander was as fiery as light itself; his golden scales were almost crimson gold, and his breath seemed to spew out energy as intense as the sun. The flames within him boiled, and the breath from his nostrils seemed eager to incinerate the infernal creature before him. The scales on his neck stood up slightly, and he spewed out a blazing, pure dragon breath, like a miniature sun, scorching Mordukaval and everything around him, causing it to emit a pungent, acrid smell. "Golden Flame" Karsas Tulando, with its ancient and steady golden scales, maintained perfect balance, and the ancient power within it seemed to be slowly but firmly awakening. It circled Moducarval at high speed, leaving golden afterimages with each circle, and throwing out golden phantom chains to bind Moducarval's massive body.

　Lord Havilland, the Claw of Justice, moved like a blade drawn from its sheath. She swooped down, spewing forth icy frostballs—Casaros had learned this technique of shaping his breath into spheres and bombarding the enemy during his dive from her.

　Compared to the golden dragon's breath, which needs to be transformed into holy, arcane, or radiant energy to cause effective damage, the silver dragon's icy breath is inherently effective against fire-type subspecies. Moreover, the silver dragons of the Claw of Justice are all paladins possessing the power to ward off evil! Hevilan unleashed a barrage of ice-ball breaths, instantly freezing Mordukaval's attempt to retaliate, interrupting its advanced teleportation, and the frost's effects further slowed and sluggish its movements.

　Azak, her adjutant, though slightly less experienced and clumsy than she was, was in no way inferior due to his innate self-control. He stayed closely by Havilland's side, demonstrating his aversion to evil.

　Casaloz's old friend, the female ancient golden dragon Dracol, also moved. She was equally enormous, but her movements were more graceful. Her scales shimmered warmly in the sunlight, and her tail swayed gently in the air, yet those seemingly casual movements concealed a deadly premonition. The old golden dragon darted along the edge of the battlefield, brandishing her claws and wings, mercilessly showering Mordukaval with magic.

　Hmm... how many high-level wands did this old guy bring? Ten or twenty? Anyway, some rich and powerful elf is paying for them.

　Seeing this, Vera Marandes, wielding her divine artifact, and Silverwing were not to be outdone. The faint light around her intensified, and although the Mountain Crown was not revealed, its very presence provided invisible support to the entire allied forces. Maintaining a relatively safe distance, she seemingly unleashed her Disintegration spell without any apparent cost, weakening and destroying Mordukaval's blasphemous defenses. Her mate, Silverwing, meticulously created mist, frost, and illusions, obscuring and interfering with the raiders' senses.

　Then came the ancient bronze dragon Uriel, the Holy Watcher Vorasega, and all the gold, silver, and bronze dragons, as well as all the brass and copper dragons who would never be absent from the spectacle. A storm of dragons, dragon breath, and magic enveloped the entire mountain and the visitors from hell, and the evil aura originating from hell decayed at a visible speed.

　The paladins and priests praying on the magic ship looked at each other in bewilderment, while the harp master had various expressions.

　Casalos hovered in mid-air, staring at Modúcarvar without a trace of emotion.

　"Just don't blow up that magic circle... Never mind, it can't be destroyed anyway."

79. A Different Kind of Magic

　At the summit of Greyclaw, the aftershocks of energy—whether blazing, icy, magnificent, or tranquil—still resonate.

　The overwhelming fighting spirit displayed by the metal dragon horde left the dozen or so amorphous dragons that had followed Casaloz bewildered. Their scales trembled with residual energy fluctuations, revealing their confusion. These amorphous dragons had witnessed countless fierce battles, but rarely had they felt such primal and extraordinary power. They turned their gaze to Casaloz, who hovered in the air.

　Fiona folded her wings and flew closer to Casalos. She asked in a low voice, "What are you muttering about?" Her gaze swept over the leveled mountaintop before returning to Casalos's eyes. The air was filled with the intertwined aura of arcane magic, divine light, and elemental power, mixed with the remnants of scorched earth and frost.

　Casalos's gaze remained fixed on the distant sky, where the distorted ripples of energy slowly subsided. He didn't answer immediately, only his body swayed almost imperceptibly. After a moment, he calmly replied, "Nothing." His voice was deep.

　Fiona didn't press further. She turned her gaze to the horde of metal dragons, those colossal figures attacking the demon prince exuding an awe-inspiring power. Light and elemental energy still pulsed around them, displaying their explosive force. She then looked at the mountain range; the once majestic outline of Greyclaw Peak had vanished, replaced by a flat, elementally ravaged land beneath the billowing dust.

　"Are we just going to watch like this?" Fiona looked at the unaffected area, her dragon claws twitching slightly.

　Casalos finally turned his head, his indigo pupils reflecting Fiona's figure. A barely perceptible curve appeared at the corner of his shovel-like lips, which quickly subsided. He countered, "What else..." His tone remained calm and composed, as if he had anticipated all of this.

　Fiona examined the destroyed mountaintop and the protected area again, then asked, "Won't that magic circle be destroyed?"

　Casalos slowly spoke, "The spell Qislindor cast on me at the end was originally intended to blow up this mountain." After a slight pause, it let out a low, slightly resonant breath, "How do you think the destructive power of these metal dragons compares to that?"

　Fiona's dragon body trembled slightly. Although Casalos hadn't let her participate in the battle against Qislindo, she had still been watching the battlefield while entangled with the white dragon and the dragon lich, and naturally understood the terror of Qislindo's final spell. She pondered for a moment, then slowly and cautiously made a judgment: "Hmm... although the overall power of the metal dragon's attack is stronger than Qislindo's legendary spell, it's all targeted power; the environmental destructive power it spreads out is still much weaker than that spell." Her voice lowered a few decibels: "You mean, Qislindo's spell can't destroy the magic circle here either?"

　Casalos shook his head slightly, his gaze falling on the shimmering runes faintly visible within the dust after the mountain peak had been leveled. "Of course, after all, it's a power that doesn't belong to this mortal realm..."

　As Casalos and Fiona conversed, the battle above Greyclaw Peak drew to a close. Without the local buffs of the Barto Hell, Mordukaval, the demon prince, despite his powerful infernal body, showed signs of weakness under the combined assault of Faerûn's elite dragons. His flames waned, his infernal aura weakened, and he faced the overwhelming onslaught of the metal dragons. The sacred fire and radiance of the gold dragons, the frost of the silver dragons, the lightning of the bronze dragons, the acid of the copper dragons, and the scorching heat of the brass dragons, like torrents carrying arcane and elemental power, relentlessly bombarded his body. Mordukaval's struggles gradually weakened; his infernal body, riddled with holes from the relentless assault, his obsidian scales shattered, and his mangled flesh was a mixture of charred and icy fragments.

　Its roar shifted from fury and arrogance to a low, broken wail. Each impact deepened its wounds, each counterattack grew increasingly feeble. The infernal flames weakened, dimming and dying, swallowed by the golden dragon's radiant fire, frozen by the silver dragon's chilling aura, melted by arcane fire, and suppressed by opposing elemental energies. The malevolent aura that permeated Grayclaw Peak dissipated with the decline of Mordukaval. In its place came a vast and magnificent holy radiance, profound and boundless mysteries, and a surging, turbulent primordial energy. They dominated this world, as if at the dawn of creation.

　Half of Mordukaval's body was incinerated by the holy fire of the golden dragon and the arcane flames of the bronze dragon, turning into wisps of black smoke that rose rapidly and eventually dissipated into the clear sky. Its other half, frozen solid by the silver dragon, let out a final wail before its massive, mangled body crashed to the frozen hillside after losing its balance. The deafening roar echoed through the valley, stirring up a cloud of dust mixed with ice crystals and pebbles. Then, the half of its completely frozen body, compressed by gravity and its own weight, shattered into countless ice shards. Those ice shards, too, did not last long; purified by the holy light and arcane energy, they too vanished into black mist.

　Morducaval, Tiamat's offspring and one of the Eight Dark Generals, couldn't withstand the combined attack of the metal dragons for even five minutes. This crushing defeat will become an indelible memory for it deep within the Hell of Bathor.

　As an immortal being born within the hell of Bathor, it can reassemble its form and be reborn as long as Tiamat, who gave it life, remains. However, this is no easy feat. The rebirth process is lengthy, and more importantly, within Tiamat's formidable fortress, each disastrous rebirth signifies a weakening of its power and a sharp decline in its status.

　Maybe this one time will be enough for Tiamat, who has little patience, to give up on this wild child?

　In conclusion, this crushing defeat on the land of Faerûn will undoubtedly leave it with an indelible memory and fear of the Prime Material Plane and metallic dragons.

　The lingering haze over the mountain peaks was completely dispelled, and sunlight once again shone on the charred rocks. The once towering Grayclaw Peak had been utterly flattened, becoming a vast, expansive platform. The traps laid on the summit were gone, completely erased by this epic battle. Only a faint, lingering aura of malevolence remained in the air, rapidly dissipating under the purification of holy light and elemental power.

　The crucial runes were now fully exposed in mid-air as the dust settled. They weren't inscriptions on solid rock, but rather entities formed from some pure force, existing stably in the air. These runes possessed a contradictory beauty—ancient yet strange, complex yet simple. They emanated a faint, constant light, like invisible threads interwoven together, seemingly without any discernible pattern, yet the magical fluctuations within them were perfectly synchronized, as if forming a self-consistent and perfect system, independent of all known magical systems.

　They floated in the air in a form that did not belong to any known Faerûn script, each rune containing a power beyond the mundane and profound principles, silently waiting to be deciphered or activated.

　At this moment, the metal dragons circled in the air, their powerful auras now more composed after the battle. They returned to their ranks, their gazes fixed on Casalos and the runes floating in the air. The Atheros, along with a few high-ranking paladins and the Dawn Lord's guard of honor, were also in position. These paladins and guards hadn't directly participated in the battle to defeat the Demon Prince; they had merely observed from the Deepwater Territory's magic ships. Now, they too were approaching in their magic ships, their expressions serious as they observed this strange phenomenon.

　Tamarand said in a low voice to Casalos, "The demons have been vanquished, and Graytalon Peak has been pacified. These runes are the key you spoke of?"

　"Don't you know what this is? Did Bahamut not tell you or are you just pretending not to know..." Casaroz didn't voice his inner complaints, but simply glanced at the runes, then turned to the golden dragon and answered confidently, "Exactly."

　A priest of the Lord of Dawn looked at Casaloz with a serious expression, his voice cautious: "Lord Casaloz, the power of the demons has indeed been banished, but the power emanating from these runes is beyond our comprehension. Are they... safe?"

　“They are not things that should exist in the prime material world, nor are they evil as you can understand,” Casalos replied calmly. “Their power will guide us forward, and that is enough.”

　Hevilan rushed to the rune: "We have witnessed everything we should have witnessed. Now, whatever challenges lie ahead, we will stand with you."

　Casalos nodded slightly, then turned his gaze back to the runes, before sweeping it over the chosen ones of the goddess of magic on the magic ship beside him. The next task required a different kind of power.

　“Gentlemen,” Casalos’s voice was deep and powerful as he addressed Ilminster, Elasdra, Kelburn, Lyra, and even the lazy tooth-scratching figure in human form, “now it’s our turn. These runes, connected to the warp and weft of the magic network, are not entirely unfamiliar. We need to find a way to activate them.”

　Elminster, pipe in hand, stared at the runes in the air and muttered, "Indeed, the fluctuations of this power are strange, but their rhythm subtly resonates with the deep structure of the magic network. This isn't Faerûn's magical system, but it's not entirely isolated either." He raised his hand, a faint arcane energy dancing at his fingertips, attempting to establish a connection with the nearest rune. The rune merely glowed slightly, offering no further reaction.

　“I tried to manipulate the magic network’s energy, but it felt like an invisible force, impossible to grasp,” Elasdra’s voice carried a hint of doubt. She had also tried to sense the runes, but the feedback was unusually vague. “They seem to operate in a higher dimension, or utilize the magic network in ways we don’t yet understand.”

　Kelburn's expression was grim. He held a staff inlaid with arcane gems, the tip of which gleamed faintly. He said in a deep voice, "Their structure is incomprehensible, yet their inner workings are remarkably simple. I tried to analyze their energy flow, but found that they do not follow any known laws of Faerûn. How did Samasser manage to activate them? That in itself is a huge mystery."

　Lyra's voice was gentle, yet insightful. "Not all powers must be fully understood to be utilized. If Samaster can open it, it means there exists a pathway unrelated to understanding, but related to 'connection' or 'resonance.' Their connection to the magic network may not be traditional energy guidance, but rather closer to a 'key.'" She closed her eyes, a faint magical glow surrounding her, and sensed the runes in a more intuitive way.

　Shaving's massive body moved slowly around the runes. He growled, "These markings seem to tell a story, but we can't decipher its language. Casalos, do you have a more direct clue? Relying solely on the magic network connection will likely take a long time."

　Casalos listened quietly to their discussion. His deep gaze swept over the runes again, then he slowly spoke: “Samass doesn’t fully ‘understand’ them. He has only found a path to the ‘core,’ resonating through a specific magical network frequency. These runes are like a giant lock; what we need is not to forge a key, but to find the ‘tone’ that unlocks it.”

　Elminster paused slightly, then realized, "Tone... so, not through pure magical energy impact, but through synchronization?" He raised his hand again, this time not directly channeling magic, but beginning to simulate various faint magical network vibration frequencies at his fingertips, attempting to establish a deeper connection with the runes. His facial muscles twitched slightly, showing his intense focus.

　Kelburn quickly grasped the idea. He adjusted his grip on the staff, and the glimmer at its tip began to flicker in a strange rhythm. He tried to capture those faint echoes resembling runes within the magic network, then amplified and guided them.

　Lyra entered a deeper state of meditation, the magical aura surrounding her becoming even more pronounced. She abandoned logical analysis, instead using pure perception to capture the "tones" contained within the runic energy, attempting to establish a spiritual connection with them through her magical network talent.

　Elasdra and Razor each employed their own methods. Elasdra attempted to find patterns in the arrangement of runes, combining this with deductions based on common nodes in the magic network. Razor, meanwhile, growled as he compared his ancient dragon language arcane knowledge with the energy fluctuations of the runes.

　Time flowed slowly, and through the combined efforts of these top spellcasters, the magical fluctuations in the air became increasingly complex, yet also increasingly orderly. Those runes that had initially appeared chaotic began to flicker rhythmically under the resonance of a specific magical network frequency, and the connections between them became more apparent. They were no longer independent entities, but rather formed a unified whole, a vast and precise magical circuit.

　Casalos observed silently. He could sense the magic network being activated in an unprecedented way, guided by the chosen ones. As the efforts of all the chosen ones converged, as they each found and resonated with the "tone" of the runes, an invisible core of power was touched.