The Journeyer and the Pilgrimage for the Origin of Magic: Book 1 in the OM Series

By Benjamin T. Dudley

"The Journeyer and the Pilgrimage for the Origin of Magic" chronicles the adventures of Gai Laguna and his trusty dragon ally, Gimchi. Their mission, given by their sensei, is no less than to find the origin of magic itself, a force potent enough to combat the destructive power of Nae, who has torn a void in the sky. Their path is guided by ancient bonfire stories that lead them towards primordial essences of extreme magical potency. However, gathering these essences is not without peril or ethical quandaries. Through their struggles and triumphs, Gai learns to embody the purpose and meaning of each essence.

Throughout their journey, they commune with the spirits of fallen champions in the hero's graveyard, discover magical weapons that sprout from the earth, and converse with deities that can raise entire cities into the air. Meanwhile, their world teeters on the brink of oblivion as Nae's sky void devours more of Arkadia's history and people. Can Gai and Gimchi harness the origin of magic in time to save their world from an apocalyptic fate? Embark on this journey of courage, wisdom, and magical discovery to find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350914399

Book preview

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Benjamin T. Dudley was born in Charlotte, NC in 1982. He has a B.S. in Economics, a B.A. in philosophy, and an M.A. in Composition, Rhetoric, and Creative Writing. Currently he resides in Tianjin, China, where he travel-blogs and teaches academic writing for Hebei University through its sister school, the University of Arizona.

*Note from the author

Hey Gang,

I began planning this series almost twenty years ago, back when I had the most amazing ideas and a sloppy, juvenile writing craft. Throughout a meandering career path that begged me to do something more financially realistic, I still couldn’t let go of the story. So, I went back and tweaked my process, all the time adding to the series and world-building. After querying and being rejected for the entirety of the Covid years, I moved across the globe to scrounge up some money to self-publish. This is my moonshot. Thanks for joining me on the journey, and know that you’ve always got a home in my world.

~ Benjamin T.

P.S. If you’re curious about the photo, or my adventures over the last year, feel free to check my blog: LivinginChina.info – I’m documenting the experience as genuinely as possible, and interesting things keep popping up.

The Journeyer and the Pilgrimage:

Book One in the OM Series

Written by Benjamin T. Dudley

Cover Art by Hernan Gainza

Full Title: The Journeyer and the Pilgrimage for the Origin of Magic

Copyright © 2021 by Benjamin Dudley. All rights reserved.

BookBaby Press, 7905 N Crescent Blvd, Pennsauken Township, NJ 08110

print ISBN – 979-8-35091-438-2

ebook ISBN: 979-8-35091-439-9

Author and Email for Orders: [e-mail]

www.theoriginofmagic.com

Made in the U.S.A. USA Flag

Review Plea and QR Code

Currency for self-published authors comes in many forms. The gold standard for us is reviews, because reviews drive others to check out our page, read an excerpt, and God-willing purchase a copy and leave a review of their own. Our silver is your tongue: word of mouth to friends, colleagues, and family, or heaven forbid, signing up for email updates to fill your inbox. Bronze and platinum would probably be posts to your socials; two sides of a fiat coin whose value fluctuates stupendously, deflating based on virality. Finally, my most valued resource is your passion and curiosity—the nerdy conversations, fan theories, and community created from the unique culture surrounding the knowledge that these characters are real. They were just digital or paper figments before you found them, but as long as you’re here they get to feel the cool night air, the curiosity of a bonfire story, or even the terror of the void. As long as you are here, they exist.

If you’d like to leave a review, or purchase a different version of the book, follow the link in the QR code below. If not, well that’s fine too—the most important part for me is that you enjoy the journey.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to those who have undertaken a great endeavor, and given up. To the starving artist, musician, or writer that spent a decade or two pushing, but eventually had to drop their passion for practical life expenses, family, or just some free time to relax. For those that simply wore out—I empathize. This was a ten-year work. I trained to write it— it was rejected as my MA project. Its unprofessional, albeit passionate precursor was a six-year work. I wrote them both working multiple part-time jobs, occasionally having access to healthcare, going to school, making beans and eking by with a little help from good friends and kind acquaintances. I put down the pen plenty of times, but I always picked it back up. This is your reveille; this is some dry kindling for your spark. To all of us that have failed, it’s time to get up off the mat—it’s time to wake-up. You are not vincible.

~ Benjamin T. Dudley

Table of Contents

Chapter 1. Bonfire Stories

Chapter 2. The Council of

Chapter 3. The Pilgrimage for the Origin of Magic

Chapter 4. The Legitimate Thief

Chapter 5. The Foundation of Meaning

Chapter 6. Turbulence

Chapter 7. Welcome to Osiri

Chapter 8. The Trap

Chapter 9. Octavarium

Chapter 10. The Good Thief

Chapter 11. The Journey to Mid-World

Chapter 12. A Peaceful Night

Chapter 13. Guardian Monks of the Mei Forest

Chapter 14. The Void Blade

Chapter 15. An Unlikely Master

Chapter 16. Isadore

Chapter 17. Magic Theory and Language

Chapter 18. The Siren’s Balance

Chapter 19. The Battle for Timeless

Chapter 20. The Shrouded Loop

Foreword

He was meaning, and she was devoid. Yin and Yang. She pulled him towards the violent light, and he pulled her towards the peaceful dark—they struggled back and forth. It was the way of things. Two opposing forces stuck in a cycle of suffering until the day they could find a new balance, until the day they were reborn. But would that day ever come?

Chapter 1

Bonfire Stories

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(Nine Weeks After the appearance of the Void)

The woman-gone-wrong flew northwest, crossing in front of the sky void. Far below her, Gai trekked over barren ground with mechanical rhythm. Despite his urge to keep stride, he took a moment to admire the dark beauty of the Apollyon and its harbinger. The void resembled a broken glass star that brewed in an invisible cauldron in the night sky, half-melted, ready to be served for a lethal quaff—he imagined it sliding down his throat. Adjacent to it in the sky, Nae, the woman-gone-wrong, pierced the clouds then disappeared. Gai didn’t follow her because he had his own path to walk—the path that led to bonfire stories.

The void impregnated disorder in the mind of anyone who dared to glance at it, but Gai cast a fearless stare. He wanted to lose his name, to forget his sins—so, he stared. Then he journeyed. He had walked for weeks against wind and wisdom, trying to leave the past behind—but the past is stubborn, and often sneaky. It followed him and waited. When the moment was right, the past used its hand to still the wind, unveiling the stench of rot.

Gai paused. The smell jogged his memory. He lifted his head to trace the stench, but instead discovered great vines reaching into the night sky like tentacles grabbing at the moon—he had made it to the Gardens. His lips parted at their incredible size. In this verdant part of the world, even the smaller vines twisted thick and long as winding water slides. The larger ones, known as navines, towered tall and wide as the buildings that broke the clouds. They resembled core-less, green trees, held up only by sinewy plant muscle. He peered into the dark vine fields and wondered where all the farmers were—he should have run into them by now. Damned moon-shadow.

Nearby, a navine trunk stretched and yawned in protest of the howling wind, as its top whipped around like a snakehead. The gargantuan vine rose over him at such an unnerving angle that he lost his footing, tripping on a stump. He paused to inspect the ground—the dried vine stump was surrounded by brittle, nutrient-deprived soil. Contrary to this, the Gardens of his youth had covered over a hundred square miles of fertile land, and even in the downtime there would have been seedlings out this far south, or at least freshly tilled dirt. Perhaps they are rotating crops… He nodded at this thought, but there were no farmers, no signs of farms… Reaching in between his backpack and neck, he silently unsheathed his sword.

The Gardens supplied two-thirds of the world’s produce. They were a place for religious ceremonies and seasonal celebrations, and the global center of agricultural life—the smell of rot worsened. Here, the ground was supposed to be covered in a healthy, knee-deep mud, but his boots were dryer than bone. The wind shifted with a firm gust—Gai twitched as if to catch an assassin in the moving shadow. Nobody there... instead he was saturated with a musty waft of decay. He shrunk in disgust, wiping his watering eyes in the crook of his elbow. The shadows cast from the great vines finally bent out of the way of the moonlight and he gasped, letting his sword fall… they were diseased—the whole Garden of them. No longer were the towering navines vivid greens and purples, no longer were their skins smooth and thorns sharp; they were pale and shriveled. He squinted and tried to blink the image away, hoping it was a trick of the light, but he just saw more clearly. The navines were blighted with a greyish-blue fungus, their fruit fallen, bruised—their leaves brown and deteriorating. The soil beneath his feet was parched. He knew that the gravity of the sky sickness had begun to cause the planet’s climate to shift, but a drought in the Gardens—the world’s food supply?

Gai picked up his sword, dusted it off and re-sheathed it. Soon we will need to navigate to another planet, if possible… perhaps to the Bearthworld of legend. He used his front teeth to pry some dried blood from underneath his fingernails and swallowed it—he felt better. He took a weary breath, but his nose and brow perked up. There was something other than rot. A smell he had learned to track, bonfire smoke—and was that laughter, or just the absurdity of the sky void playing tricks on his mind? He clutched his chest. The last few weeks had not been kind to his mental state. Lured by the scent, Gai jogged towards the aroma of burning wood and sage.

Amidst the rotting navine fields, head-high walls made from finger-thin vines woven together created a path to his right. He entered and weaved with it, but stopped following when the path made a sharp curve in the opposite direction of the smoky scent. He carefully placed his hands atop the vine wall that lined the path— avoiding its lightly poisonous thorns—and hoisted himself up.

Gai perched quietly for a moment. From atop the wall, he could see at least one celian shadow flickering against a fallen navine, but a hut blocked his view of the people and fire.

The sound of laughter echoed. Gai hopped off the vine wall and cornered around the hut, raring to meet the huddle at the bonfire and share a stiff drink. He would trade anything in his pack for a drink to fog his sharpening mind.

A child of about ten danced around the fire and made shadow puppets against the wrinkled green backdrop; he could tell she was half-celian, half-human, from her pale lime complexion and the pinkish-white colored ivy that covered her. She picked up a weed cigarette wrapped in a dried vine leaf and puffed on it, rolled her eyes, and then set it back down on a nearby stump. She was alone. Gai was disappointed—she would not know good stories. She exhaled smoke from the left side of her mouth to the right, covering the ivy leaves surrounding her body to let them respire. She investigated him with dry, wild eyes and cackled—it sounded like three distinct people simultaneously laughing. Well, perhaps one of her will know a good story.

She moved closer and perched on a thin log in front of the fire, purposely leaving room to her left. The journeyman removed his backpack, sat it on the ground, and joined her. He grunted in discomfort as his bony ass hit the log, then unsheathed his sword so he could sit more comfortably and stabbed it into the sandy dirt. The young girl did not flinch; he took note of that. She pinched her joint off of the stump and leaned it toward him, but he shook his head. She shrugged, took another puff, and then skillfully flicked the remainder into the fire. Something about the weed kept the rot fumes at bay.

Story for a story, she offered, a stranger’s greeting in these parts.

Don’t have much time.

Talk fast, wanderer, she replied, as snappy as a younger sister would—she was smart. She crept a little closer on hands and knees, then dilated and contracted her pupils with captivating celerity.

He felt oddly compelled to give her his full name, letting her know where he was from. Call me Gai, Gai Me’ana Laguna.

Hmm, you are from Opia? I like that—Gai with the glowy eyes. You can call me Anmei, because my real name was stolen.

I highly doubt that.

It’s true, she said, pushing a vine of her ivy above her top lip to make a pretend mustache. Gai’s smirk grew dangerously close to a smile.

You’re stoned.

I don’t have parents around to discipline me, she said with a shrug, and Gai knew there was some truth to this. In the fire, a small magenta flame burned where the girl’s joint had landed. Story for a story, she offered again.

He met her eyes and felt his face stiffen. It’s not a story I want to tell.

She nodded. Those have been filling the fires recently, but they burn away all the same. Beyond her high, there was another kind of unsettling disconnect that she had with reality; Gai appreciated that. How about we play a game, she asked. "If I predict your fortune, you relive your story to me, Gai Laguna—wanderer," she said, tripping over her r’s.

How could I possibly know if you accurately predict my fortune?

"How can I know if you tell me a real story? Past is past and future is future, but only now is now," she said. Gai began to doubt his assessment of her age, but since the void had begun sucking up the sky, the way age worked had changed.

Alright. His hand twitched.

She smiled excitedly, and let the green dermis of her palms and knees permeate into the wooden log. Gai was not surprised, as he was used to seeing celians blend into organic matter.

However, you must tell me a story as well—a short one, he admitted.

She accepted with a nod and a wink.

What’s this fortune of mine look like? Gai asked.

She pushed her finger into the naked skin of his bicep until it hit his bone, then pulled it out. Gai shuddered and grasped the invaded patch of his arm—it felt like a cold muscle spasm.

A little warning, next time?

Then it would not be natural, Anmei said, tasting her finger. She observed the stars, but instinctively avoided the empty part of the sky that looked like swirling, chipped glass. You think your journey is almost complete, but it has only begun.

Gai smiled, kindly. Let us hope you are right.

There is no need to hope, I see it anagrammed in the stars, Anmei said, zigzagging her pointer finger. She sprang from the log and ran to the fire. She stuck her hand into it. Gai made to stop her, but she reassured him with an unblinking stare and flat-palmed gesture of her free hand. She waited a minute and let her hand cook, before retracting her burning fingers. She walked over and stood directly beside him. Blow, she directed. He did—hard, making certain the hot flames over her bubbling fingers were extinguished. She took her burnt hand and drew a line above his head, connecting a selection of celestial bodies like dots. White pus inked out of her fingers in lines that hovered above them. Gai bent to line up the hovering white pus lines with the stars of the night sky. No time passes within light, so the stars have already seen all, she explained, and pointed out a specific line in the Tower constellation. You will fall into a trap, but the trap will be the only thing that can set you free.

That sounds a little vague.

She scowled at him, then peered intently at the lines. You will be controlled by the Shadow.

Gai’s interest perked, I highly doubt that.

Mr. Shadow can become smoke, and anyone who breathes him in will be infected—be at his mercy. He has enslaved tens of thousands, what makes you different?

He tapped his chest, precipitating his eyes to glow brighter. I am different.

Different enough to stop a God?

Perhaps a demi-god.

Not here, here you will become a Shadow warrior, willing or not. Her voice conveyed certainty. He did not believe her, but it was not a vague fortune. She continued, your true journey begins there—where you will encounter the woman-gone-wrong. She pointed to the top of the tower shape she’d roughly created from drawing lines between the stars.

Gai frowned, he knew where it was, the pagoda…

And ends— she squinted. Hmph. You have two constellations? Her voice rose at the last word. "The tower, and the cave. She scratched her cheek with a pinky to avoid her burnt fingers. This can’t be right…two beings?"

I am a Gemini, Gai said, humoring her.

Yes… Anmei remained puzzled, unsure about his clarification. So unsure that she seemed to ignore it completely. Your fates intersect at the top of the tower and bottom of the cave, but both journeys end—

Nothing ends. Gai put a hand on her shoulder. She was speechless for a minute. Gai’s floating pus fortune dried and blew away in the wind. Anmei held up her hand and regrew her forefingers, shedding the burnt chestnut crusts, and then flicked them in the fire—it crackled. She licked her new fingertips for what Gai assumed was to sanitize them. I came from the south, he said, finally. The word south fell out of his mouth like a dense stone.

She sat back down and squinted, "You came from Timeless? You saw it fall into the sea?"

"Yes. I was also with the kibo, then the druids, and at the Heroes’ Graveyard."

Smokes! Trouble follows you around more than me, and that is impressive! Tell me— what happened? She asked, greedily.

Gai held up a finger in opposition. "You first, I ask respectfully—a fortune, and a very short story, in return for a magnum opus."

She frowned, but he could see her think on it.

You argue a hard bargain, wander—er, she said, to keep her mouth from slipping up again. But a curious one…

Just your version of the Ancient’s tale, is all I ask, he said, and even with her eccentricities, he still received the typical response—one of mockery.

A fairy tale? Surely you’ve heard it an annoying number of times, just as everyone.

Just as any being from any culture, from bonfires across the globe. Do you know of any other story that everyone knows?

Well, no… she said, scratching her chin with her newly grown fingers; she winced as she’d forgotten how tender they were.

Well then, mayhap I hear your version, so that I might tell it the best someday.

She sucked in her cheeks like a fish. "Very well, but only because mayhap is a funny word…mayhap, maeyhap," she said, and he gave her undivided attention. "There was an old race—not the oldest race, mayhap the second oldest race, known as the ancients. She made a grand gesture with her hands. They discovered our planet, Arcadia—Arci for short—rotating in between the twin suns. It stood out because it was different—it had magic! she yelled, willing the bonfire to rise. Gai chuckled through his nose. They decided to make it home, well not make it home, make it a home, and the ancient explorers built into the mountains. They watched us natives grow, helped us become wise, and everyone was happy. She knelt down and lowered her voice. And then…a darkness appeared! The ground opened… or the air opened… something opened that wasn’t supposed to open did, tearing a hole in space itself. My guardian said it looked like reality was just a piece of…

Cloth being torn in half? Gai offered, dryly.

Yes! An Odium that let loose evil, or a horrible evil that had created an Odium—

Or void, Gai said, attempting to make a point. They both looked somberly at the sky sickness.

Like that—but much smaller, she said, nonchalantly. "If that wasn’t bad enough, stuff came out of the Odium, and started killing us native arcadians and the ancients. Even the ancients’ technology was useless against the evil! So, they gathered—"

Seven of them, Gai interrupted again. This time Anmei scowled at him.

"They gathered, and they chanted, and they willed the creation of a magical emerald stone. And they used it to seal the great Odium and save the universe! Only one flesh and blood ancient stayed behind on Ark as a storyteller, and this is the story that she told."

Gai nodded slowly in disappointment—he’d heard all this before. No new clues. And what happened to the stone?

Hold on, I’m getting there, eesh! It was broken and spread across the seven sectors of Arci, she said. To balance the power of the magic the ancients left behind, and be reborn when the time was right, my father once said—but I was still in the ground then.

Gai stared at her, whispering to himself, "to balance the power and be reborn… He felt chills, like a ghost had wafted through his grave. If they had been placed to balance the power of magic, would they be placed equally distant from each other? I’ve never heard that last part before, but it makes sense. As if reignited, a hopeful light began to glow from his chest. It was exactly as green as his eyes. He reached beneath his combat vest, and Anmei held her breath as the light grew. Gai revealed a glowing, incomplete, emerald stone.

It’s real? The stupid Ancient’s story is real?

Gai nodded. This is the origin of magic. It is the reason for my journey. A tonic for the growing sickness in the sky. He rolled it over in his hand. "However, it is missing pieces, or what the ancients described as the seven essences of meaning. I was trying to solve their riddles to find all seven… he sighed, But I was not clever or quick enough. I was too late."

Anmei’s complexion paled. She looked at the emerald jewel, and then to the sky void in her periphery. Too much of the sky is gone?

Gai peered deep into her eyes. "Our Garden is rotten."

Yes. We must fend for ourselves now. Did you come close?

Gai nodded. "We came very close. He shook himself, tired of self-pity. Wait, I thought you didn’t have parents?"

"I don’t have parents, she said angrily, and Gai thought it impolite to press further. Now, tell me what happened to Timeless— relive the tale. Don’t worry, you won’t atrophy." She smiled and blew him a kiss.

I won’t atrophy? She must not know what the word means… I will recount what happened at Timeless, if I must, Gai said, his eye sockets darkening per each recalled thought.

It will help, she wooed.

This will take a while.

I thought you were in a rush?

He recognized the sight and smell of the Garden’s rot had pacified him, but he didn’t have the energy to continue the journey without reflection. I made you a promise. Gai moved from the log, sitting on the ground beside his blade, too close to the fire; he didn’t want to feel comfortable recalling this story—he wanted to feel the flames. They say the hole in the sky came from the woman-gone-wrong, came from her emptiness. In that, they are not far from the truth. Her story starts with a void. In contrast, my story begins with the search for meaning. Gai tapped the stone on his chest. Anmei recoiled from the bright flicker that emitted, but her eyes widened in curiosity. She listened attentively.

Gai took a deep breath. Like many survivors, he wished he could retell the story without reliving it, but that would only come with time, and letting go. "Three weeks after the appearance of the void, I met with the leaders of the Fellows and told them of our ongoing pilgrimage for the origin of magic…"

Chapter 2

The Council of

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(Three Weeks After the appearance of the Void)

Gai spiraled up the staircase along the starboard side of the Galeforce. Its impressive sail and fifty-foot wings were painted with dragon shaped yin and yang symbols, and its ample hull was cut from a rare hardwood stained blue. More than one hundred people could fit on it when fully operational. The small propellers protruding from its lower rear wafted through the cool night air. Light wooden knocks neared from the bottom of the staircase as a slender pigmy dragon composed of stained glass clinked up— it was his fellow pilgrim, Gimchi.

Are you trying to leave me behind? She huffed, catching her breath.

Never. I just didn’t think you’d want to come to a war council meeting. Gai bent to her level.

Ikura said the council needs to be inspired, and I’m his gal.

But you don’t know anything about combat strategy…

Gimchi scratched her chin. This is a good point... do you think it’s a trap? Although it was a ridiculous suggestion, the worry on her face was quite real—Gai chuckled. They stepped to the top of the staircase where their Sensei, Ikura waited. His thin white hair poured half-way down his back, catching the wind and blending with his cloak as it billowed. One of Ikura’s shoulder guards was exposed, revealing the leather straps that held it on, crisscrossing his bare chest. Although he was blind in one eye and the veins around it dark, his good eye had a mesmerizing sky-blue iris in which there were real, cycling clouds.

"The council of Gatar Asa waits inside," Ikura said, casually leaning on a thin black staff that resembled the hand of a clock; Gai had always wondered what it was capable of.

Sensei, what exactly does ‘Gatar Asa’ mean? he asked.

In the common tongue, it means last hope.

Gai took a short-breath and leaned back.

Don’t fret— at least we have one. Ikura’s smile was haggard, but perseverant.

Sensei, if we only have one tiny hope, what’s the point of risking so much? Gimchi asked, standing on her hind legs.

What’s the alternative? Cynicism is just an excuse for indifference to action. Ikura conducted his staff through the air, emphasizing the point. Now, we don’t have much time. Are you ready?

Gimchi racked her glass brain for his correct title. Aye, aye, Captain…I mean, Admiral… Sensei? Aye, aye, Sensei!

Different ways of thinking indeed. We’re ready. Gai gave a curt nod. He was intrigued—he’d never been to a war council meeting with the leaders of the Fellows before. Many of the premier generals and head representatives of Arkadia’s democracies would be present.

Good. Try and keep your head down—these heads of state are great, busy, Ikura crowed, then whispered, "and sometimes frumpy." He opened the door and led them inside to an insubstantial corner stool. Gimchi scrambled up to perch on Gai’s shoulder.

Taking up most of the room was a center table covered with a topographical map of Ark. Ikura edged around it, dragging his fingertips on the nooks and ridges, nodding to fellow leaders of the free world as he made his way to the front. Gai recognized a few of the faces— there was Landa, the legendary leader of the cimbali, a feline-humanoid race. His appearance was more on the lion side of the cat family, but his impressive mane was tied back in a pony-tail for the formality of the meeting. Next to Landa was Jal, head of the gin-lu. He had shiny, turquoise skin, biceps as large as Gai’s head, and knotted gray hair like a mop. On the opposite side of the table was Breccia, a lightweight representative of the rock creatures known as gantis. She was here as a stand-in, as a heavier gantis could not board Ikura’s airship, else they would risk falling straight through the wooden deck. Beside her—of course—there was Adrian, the savior of the old world.

Ikura stood at the front and addressed the council. Welcome to the Council of Gatar Asa, our last hopes are in each of your hands. We are gathered here to prevent Armageddon, and search for a new peace. We have two major threats to address: the Shadow, whom you are quite familiar with and we understand how to fight. However, three weeks ago, Nae Se Ven ripped open a hole in the sky—something we didn’t think was possible. Since this time, our climate has become erratic, at least three sentient races have nearly gone extinct, and the planet’s center of gravity has shifted. Our single, unifying goal must be to seal the sky void and stop her at all costs. Are we all agreed?

Gai’s breath stalled from nerves—he knew he would have to speak soon.

How do you propose we do that—seal the void? asked Landa, with a skeptical growl.

It won’t be easy, but we have begun the search for a force powerful enough… Ikura paused, bracing for cynicism.

The origin of magic, Gai interjected, holding up a mangled notebook. All the heads of the leaders of the free world turned to the rear of the war room. Gai’s once confident hand trembled, and Gimchi leapt off his shoulder and scampered underneath his stool.

Leaders of the free world, this is my apprentice, Gai Laguna—he’s a former cryptologist for the Peacekeeper’s Guild, and for the last few years, he’s been on a pilgrimage for magic’s origin. Ikura nodded to Gai. And he is correct. In order to seal the void and stop Nae Se Ven, we need to discover what makes the very heart of magic beat.

Jal cleared his throat and flexed his great blue biceps, unconvinced. As we speak, more Shadow forces are deploying on my lands. Why should we focus on the sky void when these murdering sheep are right in front of us?

Our battle should be with the Shadow first. The woman-gone-wrong is but one person. The Shadow spreads and infects millions— he has armies upon armies to invade with, Landa roared in agreement.

"You would not be so quick to focus