Pillar of Yita

The sphere held in his hand, with the texture of its iron shell twisting, resembled a crumpled orange, carrying some weight, sinking slightly.

Fang Hong’s deep brown eyes were fixed on the small item wrapped in fabric gloves, pondering silently what it was supposed to be. The shell used the lightest No. 1 grade, even thinner than a standard Clockwork Fairy. Its main Core Crystal only had one energy level—meaning it could only store enough Magic Power for non-combat consumption to use for one Tanya Tick—four minutes.

Inside, it featured a hinge drive mechanism that could be used up to fifty times to operate a pair of ’Guy’ fairy wings with low power consumption.

These were also the wings of a Clockwork Fairy, except the Clockwork Fairy had two pairs and was much more durable and reliable.

Other than that, there was no visual contact crystal, no cooling, no shock absorption, only a reserved limited space, with a carrying weight of just fourteen grams. At first glance, it seemed like a deformed version of a Clockwork Fairy.

But Fang Hong did not feel the frustration of failure. Everything must go through the stage from nonexistence to existence.

He raised his palm, watching as a seam opened on the sphere, from which a pair of thin wings extended. The wing membranes reflected sunlight, like a narrow flash of golden light. With a gentle flick, it lifted the sphere from his palm, during which the sphere wobbled slightly left and right but remained generally stable, rising higher and gradually surpassing the rooftop height.

Then it tilted forward, emitting a howl during the process, sharp like a whistle, shooting forward like an arrow. When this arrow reached its end, in Fang Hong’s vision, it seemed to elongate. The frail front cover began to crack and fly open, wings scattered, and the internal parts and hinges one after another bounced out, finally breaking into a thousand pieces, metamorphosing into a cascade of golden droplets scattering across the ground with a ’ding ding dang dang’ sound.

About twenty-five meters away, Fang Hong calculated the final distance. The last impact had reached a level fitting of an energy level, equivalent to two points of Strength, six points of Attack Power.

He walked over, bent down to pick up a piece of shell, and pinched it between the thick gloves of his thumb and forefinger.

Staring at it, the gray-white curled shell was covered in fine cracks. It resembled the sharp corner of a piece of glass, and then bent backward like a fragile sandstone, breaking from its Self Weight.

The remaining part held in his hand also weathered little by little like grains of sand.

Fang Hong felt the elements scattered in the air, carrying a hint of fireworks’ ashes, rich with the most abundant Fire Element.

He turned his hand over, rubbing his fingers, a heart wandering on a flat plain: The last fragmentation of the shell was due to the elemental material structure’s fragility and instability.

A thousand years ago, did the Numelin Elves face this issue?

Or was it because his skills weren’t refined enough?

Perhaps it was due to the insufficient output of Magic Power?

He turned back to glance at the copper measuring gauge of the Magic Guided Reactor, its red pointer rested on the third notch. This indicated he had output approximately one twentieth of the Mana Value during his prior casting.

This was the Main Crystal’s Magic Power, one twentieth was already a vast amount.

At this moment, Hilveld approached. The Noble Lady, with a pair of white lace gloves, gently placed her hand on his, her eyes, light blue like lake water, contained a slight smile, watching him, and asked:

”What is it called?”

”What is it called?”

Fang Hong couldn’t help but ponder for a moment.

”Gray-White.”

”It’s called Gray-White.”

...

Fang Hong recalled his visit to the ’Sand Lodge’ a few days ago, yet he hadn’t seen these lush green vine plants hanging on the earthy yellow stone walls.

They were placed in a terracotta stone pot, soft pale red vines spread their arms to welcome guests naturally from the pot’s edge, with dense overlapping leaves growing on them.

Like all plants growing in this region, the leaves were covered with a layer of wax.

It looked as though Abed had refreshed the ’Sand Lodge’ within days.

The lodge’s hall was silent, except for their entry, no additional guests were present; during the previous visit, there were a few guests drinking alone at the bar area, which now was occupied only by a lazy yellow cat lying there.

Speaking of cats, Fang Hong couldn’t help but think of Lady Daisy. Unfortunately, since leaving Idus, they hadn’t seen the beautiful Lady Cat again. Others reportedly stayed behind to search for her, yet to no avail.

Tang De privately questioned ’Chris’ matters, but he couldn’t ascertain any connection.

Fang Hong looked around, not seeing Abed quietly standing in the usual spot at first, but instead spotted an unexpected person behind a cluster of dense Sand Rong Trees.

Lady Aierna’s face was serious and earnest, her powerful brows gradually drawing together like two clouds merging, her emerald eyes focusing on him.

But Fang Hong least wished to see this face at the moment.

He almost wanted to turn away.

Lady Aierna strode toward him, furious.

Fang Hong opened his mouth to argue, for instance, how he didn’t intentionally make her cry back then, but would that lead to more trouble?

Yet Lady Giant Spirit had already approached, questioning him in rapid succession: ”Why did you leave the Artisan Association that day? What did you take me for?—Here, take it, I, Aierna, keep to my word. But you must return the Guild’s belongings.”