Adam tucked his fingers around his chin, the corner of his lips rising.
The guardian of the archipelago, indebted to Qing’s ancestor, was a golden ticket. He dismissed his original infiltration plans; this was far better.
’Who would have thought Qing’s ancestor was such a big shot?’ His smile broadened. ’The guardian can surely smuggle Misha and me in as well. No, things are always the same, no matter the realm. I must prepare something she can’t refuse.’
He stared at the serpentine creature on Alistair’s chest. What could such an ancient creature need? Nothing common, certainly. Perhaps crafting an item, something unprecedented, would pique her interest. He tilted his head, then shook it. ’I’ll ask Misha and the others tomorrow morning.’
Eyes sparkling and wondering what dream magic could do, he recalled Luna’s ability to dream of herself in the real world. The sixteen dream places she created were also mysteries he had always wanted to crack.
Eager for answers, he flipped to the next page, Alistar’s words flowing.
"Our affinity is second only to mana in versatility. Most of what you can imagine is possible if you meet the right conditions. For example, my mother specialised in placating minds by exploring her patients’ nightmares, which are generated by their subconscious fears or traumas. My father could enchant runic staves in his dreams."
"Unlike them, I pushed our magic to the limits. I could weave material of my tier or below from my dreams. A useful ability I’ve recorded at the end of the grimoire. But a word of warning: weaving something from nothing costs more than mana. You need the firmest mind and control the process perfectly, or injuring your magic circuits will be the least of your worries—you can lose your life. This ability must remain a secret. Wealth is both a blessing and a curse, depending on whether you can protect it or let scavengers feed on your bones."
Adam covers his lips, his breath growing labored. With a gulp, he pushed down the eager roar clawing at his throat. Instead, it exploded in his shaken mind.
’Of course it must remain secret! Infinite materials of the eighth tier—everyone would kill to get their hands on that spell.’ His eyes slipped to the side. ’I would, too!’
Unable to contain his curiosity, pages rustled as he skipped to the end of the grimoire.
There, he found the spell along with the specifics. More than mere dreams made real, the caster required a precise grasp of the material’s composition, affinity, and essence to weave it. With his perfect affinity and Lulu’s recordings, this was the simple part.
He imagined thousands of mana core heart gems piling up in his room. Blades, spears, and armour, all of which were integrated. No, why just one? Several! With so many, they would surely reach the ninth tier—perhaps even surpass it?
Chuckling, he read the second part. However, his smile faded a little more with each word.
Between the risks of mana circuits collapse, heart explosion, or having his soul lost between dream and reality, Alistair’s earlier warning was an understatement. Mere focus wouldn’t suffice.
A mind scarred by the hammers of deadly battles, then healed countless times by the purest water like tempered steel, could reach the minimum standard. Even then, he suspected mind protection spells, like those developed by astral mages, as well as potions or incense of the highest quality, would be required.
But the worst news came like a thunderclap that seared his dream into oblivion. Reading the spell’s limitations, he massaged his temples.
"I highly recommend that you rest for at least five years between two weavings. Mastery can help, but do not attempt it more than once per year—especially for tier eight items. What follows are conjectures hard to put into words, but it seems the legendary rank limit of the eight tier is the limit. Something, I don’t know what, blocks off my attempts. Is it the will of the cultivation realm, or am I still too weak? I hope you’ll find the answer by the end of your journey."
Adam sighed. "Frustrating, but understandable, at least for the ranks. Mythical materials are too powerful to be woven from dreams. Perhaps Luna could, but the energy expenditure... not worth it. The realm’s will." A furrow creased his brow. "Possible if the core gained sentience like Luna."
He shook his head. "I don’t think the tier has anything to do with it, at least not before I become a supreme sorcerer and try for myself. But..."
Mana surged into threads, each dancing with precision and purpose at his fingertips as his sky-blue eyes ignited. "As long as I can circumvent the one-year limit, tier nine minerals and cores will flow into my chests. No, I’ll have to optimise the fusion process to reduce my needs, too."
As plans about the dream spells and the archipelago’s mysterious guardian formed in his mind, the starry sky gradually turned brighter. The moon faded, replaced by the orange glow of the rising sun. Soft rays cascaded down the blessed land, nourishing the gardens’ rare herbs, the sprawling forest of cultivator fruits, and the slumbering city.
And with it, Misha twitched. She raised her head, golden hair tickling his chest as her radiant eyes fluttered open. A soft smile spread across her lips as she stretched her arms wide, then wrapped them around him. Crawling up, she planted a gentle kiss on his lips. "Morning, Adam. Did you not sleep?"
Surprised, Adam took in the morning’s first light through the windows. He raised the grimoire, lips crooked. "Let’s pretend I did."
Her lips pursed as she scrutinised him for a moment. "Don’t fall into that trap—avoiding sleep because your body can endure." She sighed. "Most humans do, but magical beasts grasp what’s best for them naturally. You recover fast, but invisible damage stacks. Without proper rest, flaws will riddle what was perfect."
With a solemn nod, she rose. "I’m not even mentioning your work efficiency. Once is fine. Multiplying the all-nighters, however, will only make your thoughts sluggish."
"You’re right." Before Adam could continue, she grabbed his hand. Pulled up, he let the grimoire slip onto the bed as Misha chuckled.
"As always. Let’s have breakfast with our new guests. I’m sure they want to see you after all you’ve done to save them." She walked toward the door, but paused midway. Turning, she closed her eyes and let out a relieved sigh. "I’m glad you brought them. No, I’m proud you went out of your way for them."
The way she looked at him, the softness of her voice, and the curve of her lips made his heart pound in his chest. He scratched his cheek, his eyes slipping to the side as he muttered. "Proud of what? You know I couldn’t let them suffer—no civilised human could."
"Humans are far wilder than what you believe, then. Very few would have avenged them, and fewer would have taken responsibility for their future. I..." She paused, a blush burning her cheeks. "I love that part of you."
They gazed at each other for a languorous moment, passionate thoughts, fueled by their youthful hormones, filling their minds until Misha broke the silence.
Breath ragged, voice cracking, she loosened her dress, whispering into his ear. "We’ve taken many children in. Should we... make our own?"