Myth: The Ruler of Spirituality

Tap tap...

Creak——

Boom...

The unguarded door swung open, then closed behind her.

In the empty corridor, the clear sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, like the beat of a drum.

The robe trailed on the ground, her hand holding a scepter that was more symbolic than practical, the witch's demeanor casual and natural.

Although the meeting was about to begin, she still had the leisure to admire the murals and reliefs on the walls on either side of the corridor.

A hundred years, a thousand years, history condensed upon them, a unique hobby of the people of this era.

They seemed to have inherited the habit of the Golden Age and the inscriptions on the stele, enjoying the engraving of myths and facts on solid stone.

'But this has no real meaning... just a useless sense of ritual.'

Losing herself in thought, Medea, as usual, criticized the so-called traditions.

After all, during the Golden Age, humans likely chose to use stone over other materials simply because of technological limitations.

In their eyes, stone was probably the most common and durable material.

But as time passed to today, stone is no longer more durable than the skin of a demon, nor easier to inscribe upon... Wizards have better ways to make their writings last for millennia.

"Tradition always has its significance, Medea, even for us."

"The powerful are not necessarily ancient, but the ancient often contain strength."

"Learn to respect history, respect tradition... you are no longer young."

At the end of the corridor, an old and gentle voice came from there.

That old guy again... a flash of fear crossed Medea's eyes, but her retort was unrelenting.

"Nonsense."

"True power must span time and space, just like our conjecture about the ultimate convergence of witchcraft, deities, and alchemy."

"Bringing everything back to one point, and that point is everything. So the ancient are not necessarily powerful, the powerful must be ancient, this is the real truth."

"In comparison, some dross of the old era should stay in the garbage heap, not still be placed on the table, influencing the progress of later generations."

Disdaining the elder's words, even though Medea knew she was the one being unreasonable.

After all, the elder spoke of reality, while she spoke of unproven conjectures... but that's how arguments are.

Striding forward, passing through the door at the end of the corridor.

The narrow space instantly turned spacious, behind the door was a gigantic overturned dome-like hall.

Twelve tables were floating in the air, most of them already occupied.

Other than those who couldn't come momentarily, was she the last one... ignoring a middle-aged man's glaring eyes, Medea casually nodded at the elder who spoke earlier.

Soaring up, the witch reached her assigned seat, then lazily leaned against the armrest.

Her gaze swept across the hall, finding a timing device.

Counting down from three, Medea calmly said:

"Hmm, 3...2...1...I have arrived, and three breaths early, not late."

"So if there are no issues, can we start? After all, everyone's time is precious, no need to waste it here."

"You—!"

Slamming the table, the middle-aged wizard stood up angrily.

That nonchalant attitude again, he had long been displeased with this ever-irreverent Divine Witch.

However, for his anger, Medea didn't even spare him a glance.

She just looked at the elder at the head, asking with her eyes what he actually wanted.

"Ahem... enough, Erwin, sit down first."

"Medea, you also say less."

At the forefront of the twelve floating platforms, a dark oak cane gently tapped the ground, the elder's gaze fell on the witch.

Cloudy eyes, sparse hair, weak vitality... no matter how you looked at it, this was a man near death.

Yet seeing this scene, Medea took a deep breath, reluctantly sitting up straight.

A hundred years ago, this old guy was already like this. She thought he was finally going to perish, but a hundred years passed, and he was still in this half-dead state.

How he broke the limits of mortal life, the witch wasn't sure, but one thing was certain.

She indeed feared this old guy, so although she always tested his condition in various ways, as long as he got serious, she would still exercise caution.

"...Very good."

Withdrawing his gaze, the elder's smile remained gentle.

"Since everyone is here, let's begin."

"Today, the reason I called you here is for a matter concerning the life and death of the White Tower."

Tap tap...

Creak——

Boom...

The unguarded door swung open, then closed behind her.

In the empty corridor, the clear sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, like the beat of a drum.

The robe trailed on the ground, her hand holding a scepter that was more symbolic than practical, the witch's demeanor casual and natural.

Although the meeting was about to begin, she still had the leisure to admire the murals and reliefs on the walls on either side of the corridor.

A hundred years, a thousand years, history condensed upon them, a unique hobby of the people of this era.

They seemed to have inherited the habit of the Golden Age and the inscriptions on the stele, enjoying the engraving of myths and facts on solid stone.

'But this has no real meaning... just a useless sense of ritual.'

Losing herself in thought, Medea, as usual, criticized the so-called traditions.