Chapter 116: The Forgotten One


    Inside a grand hall adorned with opulent chandeliers and walls lined with tapestries depicting Reinhart’s long, storied history, Ike Murman stood at the center. His presence radiated authority, a fierce and commanding figure dressed in dark, ceremonial robes embroidered with gold floral patterns. His piercing green eyes glinted with a dangerous mix of frustration and determination. In front of him, five sons knelt in a line, their postures tense, their blonde hair glimmering under the soft light. Each son bore the same sharp features, their expressions a mirror of focused obedience.


    Ike''s anger was obvious, his voice slicing through the tense silence like a blade.


    “We’re too close to fail now!” he bellowed, pacing furiously. “The red flag is essential to the Flower Palace exploration. We’ve spent years perfecting the ritual, preparing for this exact moment. We cannot afford to ‘fumble the bag’ as some of you seem to be doing.” His voice dripped with venom, and the words hit with the weight of years of careful planning teetering on the edge of collapse.


    The brothers remained still, eyes locked on the ground, but their attention was unwavering. If Abel were present, he’d notice the faint flicker of mana emanating from each of them, subtle but undeniable. These were not ordinary men. Each one was attuned to a magical artifact, its power hidden beneath their calm exteriors.


    Ike stopped in front of his eldest son, Hector, a tall, broad-shouldered man whose presence alone exuded authority and discipline. Hector stood at attention when his father gestured for him to rise, his green eyes fierce with conviction.


    “Hector,” Ike’s voice lowered, but the intensity remained. “The Bazaar is tomorrow. You will oversee everything. Continue spreading information about the Bazaar to those who are useful—valuable people who can aid us in our Flower Palace exploration. We need more hands, more fodder, and more secrecy. Our time is running out, and we will set everything in motion.”


    “Yes, Father,” Hector responded, his voice steady and respectful. He gave a deep nod, his loyalty unquestionable. “We’ll ensure the right people are approached. The Flower Palace will be ours.”


    Ike’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, then hardened again. “Good. You’ve always understood the gravity of this. Unlike your brothers…” His glare shifted to the others. “Find Hanz. If he’s still breathing, bring him back. If he’s not…then find the flag. It’s more important than his life. Do you understand?”


    A chorus of “Yes, Father,” followed, each voice solemn.


    Hector added, “We’ll search the outskirts, the hidden paths, and even the northern caves if necessary. We won’t return empty-handed.”


    Ike nodded but couldn’t hide the worry gnawing at him. He clenched his jaw, his mind spiraling through years of carefully laid plans. “This town will belong to us,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Once the Flower Palace is unlocked, Reinhart will bow to the Murman family.”


    He dismissed his sons with a wave of his hand. As they exited the hall, Ike’s eyes flickered with something between pride and greed. They were powerful, but he knew that power alone wouldn’t be enough. His plans were far too fragile for any more mistakes. He stood there, contemplating, as the door closed behind them.


    …


    Abel stood in the heart of his Starry Villa, the quiet ambiance of the night settling around him like a blanket. After dismissing his staff for the evening, allowing them to join the Flower Dance celebrations with their families, the villa had become eerily serene. The absence of human presence heightened the distant sounds of celebration—a faint hum of laughter and distant music echoing through the streets. Yet, Abel felt detached from it all. His mind was elsewhere, consumed by the remnants of the ritual he''d uncovered.


    He descended into the basement, the new fortified door clicking shut behind him with a satisfying thud. Abel traced his fingers along the cold iron surface, nodding in approval. This door was only a temporary safeguard. In time, he intended to weave enchantments and reinforce it with more sophisticated security measures. For now, it was enough.


    The basement, still a work in progress, held the bare bones of what would one day be his sanctuary for research. Lab tables stood in neat rows, some already cluttered with parchment, ink bottles, and holders for whenever Abel decided to place his artifacts down here. Cabinets lined the walls, awaiting more tools, but the space felt alive with potential.


    Abel crossed the room and laid out his findings from the abduction and the recent battle—the loot he''d taken from the brothers and the man with the red flag. His eyes fell on the peculiar parchment he''d uncovered, and he unfurled it carefully, smoothing it across the table. Symbols and geometric shapes formed intricate patterns, and Abel''s eyes narrowed as he traced the outlines with his finger.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The ritual was complex, relying on precise formations etched in blood. The process was unnervingly detailed: draw specific shapes in blood, arrange beast bones in a calculated order, light candles, and invoke the power of the Forgotten One. Abel leaned closer, his mind racing.


    "The Forgotten One." The name stuck with him. It was foreign, unfamiliar even in the vast array of knowledge he''d gained at the Tower. Who—or what—was this entity? He tapped the edge of the parchment thoughtfully.


    “The chant mentions guiding power with the assistance of that being from the blood into bone, then into the formation and, finally, into an item,” he murmured aloud. “A way for mundanes to manipulate mana… but at what cost?”


    The candles, the blood, the bones—it was clear the ritual was more than a crude attempt at magic. Abel’s gaze sharpened on the symbols within the circle. They weren’t arbitrary. Each shape, each line, seemed to serve a purpose. He thought about his knowledge book specifically the section on enchantments.


    Enchantment formations were familiar to him: small, intricate patterns used to imbue objects with magical properties through mana manipulation or innovative combinations of magical attributes. But this ritual? It wasn’t just an enchantment—it was a colossal version of one, an elaborate web of power far beyond anything he''d encountered. Both held the same core of strange shapes and purposeful lines, both capable of reacting to mana.


    Abel frowned, comparing the shapes in the ritual to those from the knowledge book. There were parallels—certain sigils aligned with known enchantments—but others were entirely foreign, ancient perhaps. He scribbled notes in the margins of the parchment.


    “What’s the significance of these larger formations?” he pondered, his voice echoing softly in the empty basement. “If enchantments are typically small… why create something this massive?”


    The idea gnawed at him. Was it simply a matter of scale, or did the ritual serve a darker purpose? He remembered the chant’s request for the Forgotten One to “guide the power.” This wasn’t ordinary magic. It was a dangerous convergence of forces beyond human understanding.


    Abel clenched his jaw, his fingers brushing over the bones he’d retrieved from the scene. They were light yet dense, clearly from a beast that wasn''t very magical, but what unsettled him was the engravings—small carvings etched into each bone, faint yet purposeful.


    “These bones are more than just catalysts,” he realized. “They’re conduits.”


    The air in the basement felt heavier, the weight of his discovery pressing on him. He stared at the parchment one last time before stepping back. This was no ordinary magic. Whoever devised this ritual understood mana manipulation in ways even the Tower hadn’t taught.


    Abel placed everything related to the ritual onto a dedicated table, organizing the parchment, bones, and notes into neat piles. He would study them further, but not tonight. He pulled out a parchment and began writing on it, “Forgotten Enchantment Ritual— a ritual with the purpose of creating a magical artifact. Possible malicious shapes and mental corruption from unknown beings. Investigate the link to Forgotten One.”


    Abel stood at the center of his dimly lit basement and moved to another part of the lab, the red flag laid flat across one of the lab tables. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light, its deep crimson hue almost pulsing with a life of its own. His fingers brushed over the strange, intricate patterns etched into the cloth, his eyes narrowing when he spotted a small number embroidered at the bottom—"4."


    "Four? Does this mean there are others like it?" Abel wondered, his mind racing with possibilities.


    He decided to test its properties further. Channeling a small amount of mana into the flag, he felt it vibrate under his palm, the faint hum growing into a more pronounced pulse. Slowly, a sinister energy began to emanate from the flag, spreading out like invisible tendrils, trying to form a domain. Abel could feel the mana wave reaching for him, seeking a connection.


    His instincts flared, and he swiftly severed the link, cutting off his mana flow before the wave could anchor itself. The energy recoiled, shifting to a different, more insidious frequency. This time, it bypassed his mana pool entirely, attempting to establish a connection through his blood.


    Abel’s eyes darkened. He sensed the shift in the wavelength, the wave now laced with something malevolent. It was as though the flag was alive, not just a magical artifact but a parasitic entity seeking control. Without hesitation, he reinforced his mental defenses, blocking the blood connection with precision. The flag trembled violently, its aura dimming as it failed to secure a source.


    "So, that’s how it works," Abel muttered, his voice calm but his mind wary. "It communicates through mana first, and if that fails, it tries to invade the bloodline. Whoever designed this knew exactly how to manipulate both."


    He leaned closer, studying the flag’s patterns again. The mana wave it projected wasn’t something he’d encountered before—not even in the Tower’s extensive archives. This wasn’t ordinary magic. It was something older, darker, and far more dangerous.


    The realization sparked a new line of thought: If this is the fourth flag, where are the others? And who’s controlling them? He scribbled a note in his journal:


    “Red Flag #4—Attempts both mana and blood connections. Further study is needed. Connection method differs from known magical artifacts.”


    Abel placed the flag back on the table, deciding to revisit it later. As he turned away, his Tower badge vibrated softly against his chest. He retrieved it, his eyes flicking over the glowing surface. A message appeared, and one of his friends reached out.


    A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The weight of his discoveries lifted slightly. Despite the dark mysteries surrounding Reinhart, knowing he wasn’t entirely alone gave him a rare sense of comfort.


    Tucking the badge away, he took one last look at the flag before heading upstairs. His mind churned with unanswered questions, but for now, the message from his friend was a welcome distraction.