The 18-level Hell?
Legend had it that Hell was a prison for vicious spirits, demons, and terrifying spellbeasts. Once imprisoned, escape was impossible. How could Hell's scenery appear in his mother's necklace?
Alan's heart skipped a beat. Pulled into the first level of Hell, he finally regained control of his body and cautiously observed his surroundings.
A hazy grayness enveloped him, filled with eerie wails echoing from all directions. Ahead, he saw the massive figure of a giant sitting cross-legged, exuding an intensely chilling aura.
Nervously, Alan reassured himself. His mother's necklace wouldn't harm him, but the unsettling atmosphere offered little comfort.
"My mana core is destroyed; I have nothing left to lose!" Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he approached the imposing figure.
The closer he got, the more familiar the figure seemed.
"Eldritch Continent's Forbidden Magus…Nicolas?!" Alan murmured in shock upon recognizing the figure.
Nicolas was a legendary figure on the Eldritch Continent. At only twenty years old, he had achieved tier-gold.
On the Eldritch Continent, ranks were clearly defined, ascending from tier-iron to tier-bronze, tier-silver, tier-gold, and beyond. In the Northern District, even reaching tier-bronze was rare, while a tier-gold mage was considered elite within the entire Plantagenet Kingdom.
Nicolas had achieved a rank that most mages could only dream of in a lifetime, all by the age of twenty.
And he wasn't just a mage—he was a magus.
While mage and magus might seem like similar titles, they were worlds apart. A mage relied on their mana core to absorb elemental forces, strengthening their body, storing mana within, and casting various spells. Alternatively, they might store elemental power in a staff, using arrays and inscriptions to amplify their abilities.
But a magus was entirely different. A magus had an exceptionally powerful mind, enabling them to directly control the elemental forces of the world. The spells they cast were overwhelmingly powerful, unmatched by others at the same tier.
No amount of stored mana could rival the infinite elemental power of the world itself. Magi like Nicolas, possessing such exceptional talent, were one in a million.
Nicolas continued his ascent, ultimately becoming the Eldritch Continent's Forbidden Magus—a figure of immense power and influence.
Even though Nicolas had disappeared many years ago, his legend lived on. His name and statues were revered, making him a true myth on the Eldritch Continent.
Alan couldn't believe he was seeing Nicolas here—and as a corpse, no less.
Suddenly, Alan's gaze was drawn to the staff lying before the corpse.
"I, Nicolas, guard the first level of Hell. Nearing the end of my lifespan, I refused to let my power fade. I left my legacy behind, awaiting one who is destined to inherit it…" Engraved words, filled with pride and defiance, surrounded the staff, still radiating an aura of elemental energy.
Alan's eyes lit up. The legacy of the Forbidden Magus, Nicolas!
Just as Alan reached for the staff, a shadowy figure in a dark robe appeared silently behind him.
Cold sweat covered Alan's back as his survival instincts kicked in. With swift reflexes honed through countless battles, he turned and slashed with his sword.
His blade cut through the air like a meteor, quick and precise. The dark figure made a surprised sound, effortlessly dodging the attack and reappearing in front of him, seemingly amused.
"You're quite interesting. Your tier may be low, but your reaction and combat experience are impressive," she said in a cold, ghostly voice. "A special magical bloodline, unusually strong mind power… No wonder Hell chose you to be the new Hell Warden."
Alan was perplexed. The mysterious woman's presence radiated an overwhelming strength, making it impossible for him even to think of attacking.
"You want Nicolas's legacy?" she asked after a moment.
Alan nodded cautiously, not wanting to provoke her further. Her power was far beyond anything he could handle.
"If your mana core were intact, his legacy might have been suitable for you. But now…you're nothing but a cripple," the woman said with a shake of her head.
Refusing to give up, Alan reached out to grasp Nicolas's staff. Yet, as he approached, the staff repelled him, pushing him back several steps with a force that defied his control.
So, with his mana core shattered, Nicolas's legacy was truly beyond reach.
A look of deep disappointment crossed Alan's face, but then he turned to the mysterious woman, resolute.
"Since you've shown yourself, surely you know a way to restore my broken mana core?"
"There is a way," she said, her gaze assessing him. "But it may be more than you're willing to risk."
Alan smiled grimly. "Nothing scares me more than becoming a cripple!"
Thoughts of his sister, his mother, and himself steeled his resolve.
The woman seemed pleased with his determination. "Then, let's proceed."
With a motion of her finger, an overwhelming surge of magical knowledge flooded Alan's mind, almost too much to bear.
Dizzy and overwhelmed, Alan struggled to process the information, eventually making sense of it bit by bit.
"Using a staff to replace my mana core?"
Alan's expression shifted as he mentally sorted through the new knowledge. The idea sounded extreme but plausible.
After all, the core's primary function was to store mana, much like a staff.
"Can I really fuse a staff with my body?" Alan asked, sensing the risks involved.
"In theory, yes," the woman replied, her tone resolute.
After a moment of silence, Alan made up his mind. He had no other options now.
He looked at his sword, a weapon that had served as his staff for years, its blade embedded with seven magical gems—a magical sword. It had been with him through countless battles, forging a deep bond. If the woman's words held true, this sword was his best choice.
With a plan forming in his mind, Alan channeled all his elemental energy into the sword, softening it. Then, he thrust it into his abdomen as if performing a ritualistic seppuku.
This was the critical step—to merge the staff with his flesh, forcing his body to adapt to its presence. The searing pain made his forehead bead with cold sweat, too intense for him even to scream.
He gritted his teeth, pushing his mind power through his flesh and the blade in a delicate, gradual process. One lapse in concentration, or too much blood loss, and he'd be a corpse.
As time passed, the agony intensified, his body trembling with exertion. Blood and sweat soaked his clothes, and he felt himself wasting away.
"Isabella's waiting for me… I can't fall here!"
Just as he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, fleeting images of his sister flashed before him, helping him endure.
Finally, the excruciating pain faded. The sword embedded in his abdomen had vanished, as though the painful fusion had been nothing but a hallucination.
Regaining his senses, Alan scanned his body and found himself grinning with pure elation.
The magical sword had successfully integrated into his body, replacing his shattered mana core!
"Did it really work?" The dark-robed woman seemed genuinely surprised as she looked at Alan.