Pillar of Yita

The seventy-third sunset in the world behind the door.

Outside the window was the last trace of twilight, the golden setting sun reflecting on the streets by the canal.

But under the crimson clouds, the evening outside Kapuka did not bring the familiar noise and clamor to Fang Hong — although specks of starlight fell upon this city, and the street shops were all aglow with warm lights, the streets were just as quiet as ever.

Just like within this hall —

Everything was in its proper place, the towering iron puppets, various teaching tools, and the massive metallurgical furnace seemed recently operated, glowing with golden-red light inside. After the night came outside the window, the crystal chandelier above also emitted radiance at intervals, making the hall suddenly as bright as day.

Yet the hall was empty, except for Fang Hong sitting alone amidst a pile of parts and tools. As he looked up at the scene, he was reminded that he was still in the world behind the door — this was not Kapuka, but the Hall of Thousand Doors.

Fang Hong rubbed his somewhat tight forehead, then put down the tools at hand. He let out a long breath, as if to expel the melancholy from his heart, then stood up and walked slowly to the window to quietly watch the rippling river outside.

In the dark environment there, a faint crimson afterglow was still reflected in the ripples, but the crimson was gradually merging into a deep blue-purple hue.

Then came the sporadic lights.

Such a scene he had watched for over a month, and though not weary of it, it had become somewhat monotonous.

And Fang Hong did not expect the warning to come true — as if he had endless time, but never able to pass this ordeal. He glanced back at the scattered parts in the hall when midnight struck — everything here would reset to its original state.

But endless materials could not forge the imagined creation.

Advancing from the highest quality ’Grade A’ Magic Guided Conductor seemed but a step away, yet it was a chasm.

A month — measured by twenty-four hours, lasted half a month, he spent every waking moment in this place, until he was completely exhausted. He tried every method, but the step from ordinary to legendary remained a chasm.

He repeatedly improved his control over every node, continually increasing precision, but everything had a limit. When he reached a standstill, neither his creations nor inspiration moved.

Precision improvement had been stagnant for thirteen days and even showed signs of regression —

Human patience is ultimately limited, and these days he obviously felt much more agitated, yet the clear bottleneck lay before him, unmoved.

He invested his last bit of experience, but it was like a drop in the ocean for improving skills. Only at this moment did Fang Hong feel somewhat remorseful, thinking that if he had saved some experience at other stages, he might just make it now.

Of course, this was just a wishful fancy, yet he couldn’t help but think this way. Once in a predicament, people can’t help but regret each past decision, which is not ridiculous, because it is a process of organisms learning lessons.

Right or wrong.

Little Miss Fairy sat quietly beside him.

Every day and night Fang Hong experienced, every instance of anxiety, she felt with him. Her inner calm and serenity influenced Fang Hong, preventing his knight from losing composure.

She watched Fang Hong walk back from the window, pacing with his head down in the hall, knowing he had exhausted every means, yet she held her peace, seeming it wasn’t time to speak yet. Just at that moment, a voice sounded in the hall:

”You’ve encountered trouble.”

”Why not try another method?”

On hearing this voice, Miss Fairy glanced up and then discreetly vanished.

Fang Hong was slightly stunned, turned around, and saw a door open on one side of the hall — that door seemed to appear out of thin air — the Tower Guard, in a white robe, emerged from the door, turning to look at him.

In those silver eyes, nothing seemed to surprise the Tower Guard.

Only an undisturbed calm as still as an ancient well.

”Mr. Tower Guard.”

Fang Hong didn’t know how to address him, scratching his head — the man suggested trying another method, but what method hadn’t he tried? However, fortunately, the Tower Guard didn’t mind, merely saying: ”Have you forgotten the previous things?”

”Previous things?”

”I once gave you a hint.”

”Hint?”

Fang Hong was taken aback, a flash of insight crossed his mind, suddenly remembering he still had a reward to use.

However, after passing the second, third, fourth, and fifth Red Gates, he didn’t get any related hints and thus had forgotten about it for a while. But Fang Hong looked at the Tower Guard; at this moment, regardless of the Construct Lord, Supreme Choice, Immortal Knight, or Controllers, how could they help him?

They had nothing to do with an Alchemist’s core profession.

It wasn’t until now that people would remember — the Combat Artisan is just a branch of an Alchemist, rather than its primary profession. The vocation of Alchemists came into being for a reason, a point often forgotten in the long history.