CHAPTER 174: JOURNEY TO THE NORTH WIND

Dorose paused, her serene smile unwavering as Noirette’s question hung in the workshop’s charged air.

For a heartbeat, the Holy Guardian’s eyes held Noirette’s gaze, assessing, as if weighing the query against unseen scales.

Then, with a gentle incline of her head, she spoke.

"No, I am not a Fateling."

Noirette felt a subtle release in her chest, though curiosity lingered like an unquenched ember.

Dorose tilted her head slightly, her blond bob shifting with the motion, and her smile deepened into one of intrigued warmth. "I am curious, though. Why do you ask? Fatelings have been essentially extinct for cycles uncounted, hunted to oblivion by a powerful and relentless being known as the Endless Dragon.

"I noticed that you have perused the related knowledge within the Grand Archive, but is that the only reason for your curiosity?"

The fact that Dorose knew what kind of information that Noirette had been consuming in the library was quite concerning.

Noirette maintained her wry smile, leaning back against the molding stool that conformed to her form like a living cushion.

"I was simply wondering. Especially since I have heard fragments of your lore from other members of the Mage Court. The tales paint quite the picture that you might be a Fateling with more wings."

"Huh, I guess that is quite the reasonable conjecture."

Blanchette’s voice carried a casual lilt that cut through the moment’s gravity. "If I may ask, what is your daily life like as the Holy Guardian?"

Dorose’s smirk returned, sharper now, as she rested her chin upon her hand, elbow propped on the table’s scarred surface.

The gesture was languid, almost playful, her chained crosses chiming faintly with the shift. "And why do you ask that, precisely? Do you harbor some affection for me, perhaps?"

Noirette’s grin broke wide, a spark of mischief lighting her features as she glanced sidelong at Blanchette. "As the older sister, I must suggest that you only take a relationship when you’re ready, Blanchette, maybe when you have a house or two."

Dorose chuckled, her eyes dancing with amusement. "I appreciate the offer, but I do not entertain such propositions. Even if I did, I tend to prefer someone on the taller side."

Noirette’s grin widened further, her tone laced with feigned innocence as she placed a hand over her heart. "Does that leave me with a chance then?"

"You already have three wives waiting at home. Must you be such an acute womanizer?" Blanchette interjected smoothly,

Dorose’s intrigue deepened, her chin still propped on her hand as she regarded Noirette with a tilt of her head, "Now that piques my interest. What are your partners like?"

Noirette opened her mouth to redirect the conversation—the topic had skewed into realms far removed from Shallow Ones and digital glitches, a tangent that left her feeling exposed amid the Curio-cluttered benches.

"Actually, I was thinking we should—"

Blanchette cut through her sister’s sentence, "One of them is none other than the Endless Dragon mentioned just a moment ago."

Dorose’s expression shifted—a wry smile curling her lips, her eyes narrowing in a mix of judgment and genuine surprise, as if reassessing Noirette in a new light.

"I know what the Endless Dragon looks like. I did not realize you were quite that... adventurous."

"My sister can be quite freaky, you see," Blanchette stoked the fire even further. "It was to the point that she almost claimed me, her own sister, in the absence of her partners in satiation her lustful desire~"

Noirette’s cheeks warmed, a rare flush creeping up her neck, but she met Dorose’s gaze with a defiant spark, her voice steady despite the embarrassment. "It is not as you might imagine! But enough of that—let us return to the Shallow One you mentioned...

"Where might he be, and what information do you wish delivered?"

Dorose’s wry smile lingered, her fingers drumming lightly on the table’s edge, ignoring the pivot with the grace of one accustomed to steering conversations. "So, how does the insertion work when you and the Endless Dragon ended up doing the deed?"

Noirette’s eyes widened, her composure started fracturing. "Why are you even curious about that...?"

Dorose waved a hand vertically in a dismissive flourish, "The individual I deem the Shallow One resides somewhere to the north, off the Resilient Mother’s current trajectory.

"You and Blanchette would need to undertake land travel to reach him, should you accept. As for the content of the information itself, it is none other than a copy of your ongoing project regarding the digitalization of Fathomi—and how only those whose spiritual signature is empty, or more precisely, devoid of the Well of the Soul, can perceive it."

For Dorose to hurriedly transfer the knowledge to this Shallow One, this individual must be someone important in relation to the Mage Court, or maybe just the Resilient Mother bastion as a whole.

Dorose leaned forward, "In exchange for this errand, the reward will be something special—chosen by me, tailored individually for you both."

Excitement flickered in Noirette’s chest, overriding the lingering embarrassment, her wry smile returning with renewed vigor.

"In that case, we accept."

Blanchette offered no argument, her serene nod a quiet affirmation, her hat’s droplets falling in steady rhythm.

The decision crystallized the moment.

Dorose rose gracefully, her cape flowing like liquid shadow, and extended a hand. From her spatial storage—a subtle ripple in the air—a pair of sealed tomes materialized, their covers embossed with seals that pulsed faintly, copies of Noirette’s project bound in protective wards.

It seemed to be a unique kind of copy than the one produced by the Grand Archive of the Mage Court.

"Safe travels—and may the truths you uncover bind rather than unravel~"

Before long, Noirette and Blanchette departed the Resilient Mother under the bastion’s watchful spires, the northern horizon beckoning with its promise of fractured skies and whispering winds.

The plateau receded behind them, the landship’s grapples retracting with mechanical groans as the docking concluded from Yelmen bastion.

Their backpacks settled comfortably, laden with essentials from the Athena Marker and unlimited ink pen for hasty notes, the two project books pulsing with half-formed insights, and provisions pilfered from grateful vendors—skewers of spiced meats wrapped in leaf parcels, fruits that burst with rift-sweet nectar.

"I think we carried too much food."

"There is no such thing as too much food."

The path north unfurled like a vein through Fathomi’s scarred flesh, first across open meadows scarred by a casual anomaly, where grass grew in crystalline patches that chimed underfoot.

The journey began with the camaraderie of shared silence, the sisters’ steps syncing in unhurried rhythm, reminding them of their time before they encountered the Resilient Mother bastion.

Blanchette’s white hat dripped its cool essence in lazy trails, evaporating into mists that cooled the midday haze, while Noirette’s black crown with gold filigree absorbed the sun’s glare, its self-latching hold a subtle comfort against the pack’s weight—still latching despite Noirette bobbing her head up and down when trekking the uneven landscape.

"I wonder if these hats are somewhere around Noble Tier if they happen to be Curio Items."

"I doubt that mine is even a Noble Tier, since its main function is only for aesthetics."

"That’s your fault for wanting a cool hat instead of a useful hat, when the Hat Maker asked you."

The land shifted gradually, meadows giving way to rolling hills dotted with petrified trees, their bark frozen in mid-twist as if fleeing an unseen predator.

By the second day, the terrain grew wilder, the air thickening with a fungal tang that clung to the tongue.

"Mushroom land, heh."

"Don’t eat any of it, lest you want to reset prematurely."

Deeper into the north, the biome transformed.

The hills swelled into undulating waves of earth carpeted not in grass but in a vast mycelial sea.

Mushrooms towered like ancient sentinels, their caps broad as pavilion roofs, veined with phosphorescent fungi that glowed in spectral blues and violets, casting the understory in an otherworldly luminescence.

Clusters of smaller toadstools carpeted the ground, some bioluminescent spores drifting lazily on thermals, others releasing puffs of iridescent dust that tingled against the skin like static kisses.

The air was filled with the low thrum of subterranean life, roots threading the soil like neural networks, and the canopy above—formed by interlocking caps—filtered sunlight into dappled emerald shafts that danced across the forest floor.

Noirette paused at the biome’s threshold, her backpack settling heavier on her shoulders as she inhaled the earthy, spore-laced breeze.

Blanchette stood beside her, her hat’s droplets mingling with the drifting spores in a fleeting alchemy.

"Is breathing even safe around here?" Noirette asked wryly.

"Worse case scenario, this spore hijacks our mind and we become some kind of mindless zombie," Blanchette grinned.

"Don’t scare me, I’m no longer an almighty deity that can scoff off disease and parasites."

"We have Malleable Essence manipulation, just use that to constantly erase foreign substances that is trying to overtake your body~"

"Sounds like a pain in the ass..."

The mushroom expanse stretched endlessly, a living labyrinth where paths wound between colossal stems thicker than ancient oaks, their gills fluttering like veils in the faint winds.