CHAPTER 161: CHAPTER 161 | THE TOWER OF NYTHRAEL

The ground beneath Jinn cracked in a subtle way due to the snow as he took one final step forward, his boots pressing on solid snow ridden ground.

Stopping just in front of it, Jinn had finally arrived at the massive gates of the domain of Nythrael.

*wooooosh!

A cold gust drifted past him from the sides, whisking a part of his cloak as he slowly lifted his gaze to the enormous barriers towering above him.

Like a mountain, silent, unmovable... and carved with purpose.

The gates were clearly forged entirely from Blackened Kritonium, processed and hardened with techniques only the empire of Zerafhon had mastered with the manipulation of eidra.

The ore itself, Kritonium, came from Kritoria, a nearby mining world inside the Juggernot system. The planet itself is famous for having an endless supply of raw minerals—kritonium—that fed the empire’s endless need for warships, armor, and even its structures.

In Zerafhon culture, Kritonium was often called the ore of everything, mainly for the reason that everything of value, whether it was a district wall, the royal palace, a dreadnought hull, or even a small spacefighter—started from this very ore.

Jinn had seen it used in many things, reinforced by the lectures that Troy had given him,

But even with all that familiarity, the gates standing before him... felt ever so different.

They were not just normal Kritonium gates.

They shimmered faintly, as if powerful eidra coated the entire surface and pulsed under the layers of Kritonium.

The closer he looked, the more he noticed subtle glints, thick black eidra barriers that reinforced Kritonium itself.

Jinn had been here several times before due to Troy’s lectures, yet somehow, he had never asked what kind of forging or infusion technique caused this barrier.

And now that he was staring directly at it, he wondered...

If armor or weapons were ever made from this exact blend, how strong would they be?

What kind of damage and tear could they withstand?

And what kind of power and destruction could they offer?

The questions swimmed subtly within Jinn’s thoughts, maybe out of boredom, or maybe due to authentic curiosity.

Nonetheless, that brief moment of thinking ended when the massive gates in front of him stirred

*grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

as a low rumbling echoed through the walls.

Slowly, they began to whir with dark shadows, faint lines of living eidra running across their surface like veins. Then, with a heavy metallic creak, the gates finally parted before Jinn.

Just as the gates opened, a hooded figure stepped forward, their cloak waving gently as the cold wind slipped past the already opened gate.

"Hail, Scion," the figure said, offering a polite bow before moving aside with controlled grace. Their voice was respectful yet carried a hint of caution, as if they knew exactly who they were addressing and what kind of strength walked before them.

"The grandmaster welcomes you to the domain once again... young master Jinn."

"That voice... you are one of the eidrics under Troy, are you not?" Jinn asked, his tone carrying a faint trace of familiarity. He recognized the voice almost immediately.

During his earlier years of training, there had always been a group of eidrics assisting Troy—guiding him through lessons, helping with demonstrations, and occasionally scolding him whenever he slacked on his studies. Their voices had become a part of his memories, some sharper than others.

"You are correct," the figure replied with a small nod.

He reached up and lowered his hood, revealing an elderly man with long white hair that fell over his shoulders in soft strands. His skin was pale, unnaturally so, and along his face and neck ran thin glowing veins—rivers of concentrated eidra that pulsed gently beneath the surface, marking him as someone who had been shaped by decades of mastery and service.

"Welcome back, master Jinn. It has truly been a while."

"Ah... Berezith," Jinn muttered, his expression shifting as recognition settled in.

This was the very same eidric who once spent entire days burying him under mountains of scrolls, parchments, and thick historical texts, insisting that a warrior of the empire must never swing a blade without first understanding the long blood-soaked path that shaped it.

Memories of sleepless nights, ink-stained hands, and hours of relentless lecturing hit him all at once.

He pushed those memories aside as he stepped a bit closer.

"Where is Troy? I need to see him for a personal matter."

"Master Troy is currently within the Royal District," Berezith answered, folding his hands behind his back with a posture that remained disciplined even with age.

"He is expected to return this evening. But please, come inside for now. I am certain the other scholars will be excited to see you back. They speak of you often, you know, especially after your last campaign."

Jinn gave a small nod, the cold wind brushing over his hair as he exhaled a faint mist. "Very well."

He stepped forward, crossing through the massive gate and entering the domain of Nythrael once more—the place where he had once studied, fought, and grown, and where yet another Chapter of his path now waited for him.

As soon as Jinn set foot within what seemed to be a simple courtyard of a grand mansion, the very around him started to waver. A gentle shudder rippled through the very air.

An Illusion breaking off.

The illusion covering the wide area began to tremble and slowly peel away as thin layers of distorted light dissolved.

Within seconds, the entire false scenery finally collapsed, revealing the true scenery—the true form of the domain of Nythrael.

A colossal tower, massive and ancient that pierced the very skies due to its height—its material, same as the gate’s, pure Kritonium that had been enhanced with eidra.

The tower of Nythrael—the pride of the house, and the most important structure they possessed. A tower, a sanctuary, a library where ancient histories, forbidden scrolls and powerful eidrics resided, spending their entire lives on the craft of eidra and anything related to it.