Two and a half weeks of living in the grey had changed the atmosphere of the camp. The soldiers no longer looked like zombies, thanks to the constant supply of level two stamina potions. Vena's hands were perpetually stained a deep, bruised purple from the Bitter-Root, and her eyes, though tired, had gained a sharp focus. She wasn't ready to call herself an alchemist yet, not without a badge from the Guild, but she had mastered the three stages of concocting. She could balance the heat and purify the dross with her eyes half-closed.
Luceran stood by the iron cauldron, scraping the last of the dried residue from the bottom. He let out a quiet sigh.
"We are out," he said, looking at the empty herb bundles. "We ran out of raw materials."
Vena wiped her forehead with the back of her glove. "We've used every scrap of Sun-Stalk we brought from Ironmarch. Without the potions, the men will start sliding back into exhaustion within six hours."
Luceran didn't waste time. He called for the commander. "Borrin!"
The big man stepped out from a nearby tent, his armor rattling. "Your Highness?"
"We need raw materials. Take your best men and scour the edge of the forest. Look for these." Luceran handed him a parchment with detailed sketches of Bitter-Root and local mana-retaining fungi. "Don't go too deep. Stay within the outer region of the forest, near our encampment."
"Of course, Your Highness," Borrin answered, saluting before heading off to pick his squad.
"Cassandra," Luceran called out as the squad began to assemble. The wind mage stepped forward, her eyes alert. "Go with them. Just to be safe. God knows what kind of danger hides in this forest while it is wrapped in this filth. Your senses are our only early warning."
As they disappeared into the trees, Luceran retreated into his tent. A simple map lay on his wooden table, drawn from the slow, agonizing scouting missions they had conducted in their weakened state.
He traced a line toward the heart of the valley. A few days ago, his scouts had found the entrance to the ruins: a massive archway of obsidian guarded by two 7-meter-tall silver stone statues. Luceran knew them for what they were: guardian constructs. Ancient mage-cities were notorious for building such constructs as their primary line of defense. Since these ruins were clearly a remnant of that era, and the mist formation was still intact, the guardians were almost certainly still functional. He had postponed the exploration, waiting for his reinforcement to arrive.
A few minutes away from their encampment, a silver-winged bird was flying with its maximum speed far above the ground. On top of it, a youth with a rugged cloak looks haggard. Kellen leaned forward on his mount, a Silver Crown Eagle. The beast's feathers shine with a metallic luster, speeding through the thin air with grace. Kellen's eyes glowed with a faint, concentrated light as he used an enhancement technique to pierce through the haze below.
He couldn't help but feel curious. Back in the Academy days, Luceran was the type of person who believed he could do and solve everything. He very rarely asked for help, even if he was approachable and willing to help others. For him to send a priority signal meant the problem was truly unique.
"What have you found this time, Luceran?" Kellen muttered, patting the eagle's neck as they began their descent toward the camp.
When the eagle touched down near the center of the camp, Vena was the first to announce him. "Your Highness, Young Master Kellen has arrived."
Luceran walked out of his tent, a weight lifting from his shoulders. "Oh, took him a while to get here."
Kellen jumped down from the Silver Crown Eagle, looking a bit weary. He didn't waste time on a formal greeting. He immediately turned his gaze toward the mist, his fingers moving in the air as if he were plucking invisible strings.
"It is marvelous!" Kellen said, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he analyzed the flow of mana. "Despite the intricate patterns of the formation, it is still able to continue functioning at such a level, at the peak of mana engraving. We are lucky that this ruin is too old. If not, the formation alone could probably drain us to skeletons."
"Can you disable it?" Luceran asked.
"Not from the outside," Kellen replied, wiping dust from his tunic. "It is far too complex. But I can create a mobile formation. It will act as a moving bubble of neutral space. However, your movement will be limited. You will have to stay within the area of the formation, or the mist will hit you the moment you step out."
For the rest of the day, Kellen took over. He gathered the unit mages and even some of the soldiers, forcing them to watch as he prepared the materials. He spoke clearly, laying out the foundation of the craft as he worked.
"A formation follows a strict structure, just like alchemy," Kellen explained. "First, the object. You must choose a vessel that can hold the weight of the mana." He held up four heavy, blackened iron spikes. "Second, the engraving. The runes are the logic. They tell the mana what to do. If a single line is crooked, missing, or false, the logic fails."
He took an ancient-looking oak wand and began carving into the iron. The metal hissed as his mana bit into it. "Third, the circulation. The mana must flow between these objects constantly. If the flow stops, the formation dies."
It was grueling work. Kellen's forehead was drenched in sweat as he managed the peak-level complexity of the runes. He wasn't finishing it in a second; he was fighting for every inch of progress against the oppressive weight of the valley.
By the time the mobile array was stabilized, it was almost dark. Borrin and his squad finally emerged from the treeline, their bags heavy with the herbs Luceran needed. Cassandra walked at the rear, her eyes scanning the shadows one last time before she stepped into the safety of the camp.
Luceran looked at his exhausted friend and the shimmering blue dome of the new formation.
"Rest now," Luceran commanded, his voice firm. "In the morning, we continue the exploration. We are going into those ruins."