Chapter 61: News of Thomas Once More

With a creaking sound, a massive stone gate, four or five meters high, slowly opened before Roland and his companion. Misius led him inside, and with a thunderous crash, the stone gate closed behind them.

Roland found himself with Misius in a long corridor, where the lighting was much dimmer than in the hall they had just left. After a moment, Roland’s eyes adjusted, allowing him to make out the ancient murals carved into the stone walls on either side of the corridor, most depicting rare birds and exotic beasts.

Misius strode forward. “Roland, I know you have many questions for me. Let’s talk as we walk.”

Delighted by this invitation, Roland hurried to follow.

“Master Misius, what was that ripple, like water waves, when we entered the sanctuary? And what was the force you enveloped me with just now?” Roland asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

“The passage into the sanctuary is a spatial array, and what I used on you just now was also a form of spatial energy,” Misius replied without hesitation, as if he had anticipated Roland’s questions.

“Spatial energy…” Roland echoed silently in his heart. Only now did he realize that the strand of jet-black energy within his lower dantian was most likely spatial energy; otherwise, it wouldn’t have resonated so fiercely when he approached the spatial array.

He drew a deep breath and pressed on, “Master Misius, how does one cultivate spatial energy?” This was what mattered most to him. Possessing spatial energy but not knowing how to harness it was like guarding a vast fortune he could never claim—a maddening frustration. Eager for answers, he asked urgently.

The burly middle-aged man glanced at Roland in surprise, clearly not expecting the question. He hesitated for a moment before responding, “The real Misius did know the method to cultivate spatial energy, but you must understand—I am no longer truly Misius. The original Misius died ten thousand years ago. I am merely an alchemical puppet forged from a fragment of his lingering soul. The method for cultivating spatial energy is not preserved in my memory.”

Disappointment washed over Roland. He had hoped that within the sanctuary of Misius he would discover the secret to cultivating spatial energy, but the being before him was only a remnant soul, and the method remained unknown.

Just as Roland was brooding, Misius’s eyes flashed, and he continued, “Although I don’t know the method, the real Misius once recorded it in a ‘Spatial Notebook,’ which he preserved.”

“It’s preserved?” Roland asked urgently. “Please, tell me—where is this ‘Spatial Notebook’? May I see it?”

Misius gave a bitter smile. “The notebook was placed in Misius’s treasure vault. Only by passing the third trial can you obtain it.”

Roland’s brows knitted in confusion. “Master Misius, earlier you said that to inherit alchemy I must undergo a trial. Is this trial related to the three trials you mentioned?”

Misius ran a hand through his greasy, nest-like hair, then sniffed his fingers before replying unhurriedly, “Hm. The original Misius left behind three trials. Each one completed grants a reward. Passing the first trial includes inheriting alchemy.”

Roland, single-minded in his pursuit of knowledge, paid little attention to Misius’s somewhat uncouth gestures. Hearing this, he gasped in astonishment. He had always assumed this ancient relic contained only the legacy of alchemy, but now it seemed the alchemical inheritance was but a minor part. Each trial bestowed rewards, and not just one.

“Master Misius, can I skip the second trial and take the third after completing the first?” Roland asked tentatively, his chief concerns being alchemical elixirs and the cultivation of spatial energy.

Misius shook his head. “I cannot alter the mechanisms Misius set. Besides, all three trials are exceedingly difficult. Whether you can pass the first is uncertain. In the past ten thousand years, one hundred and twenty-seven people have entered the sanctuary. Ninety-eight passed the first trial, nine passed the second, but not a single soul has passed the third.”

“Not one passed the third trial!” Roland was stunned. Out of more than a hundred entrants over millennia, not a single person had succeeded. What made him think he could?

Misius nodded. “In fact, when the trials were established, if someone passed all three in succession, no one else would ever be allowed entry again. Whoever passes the third trial claims all of Misius’s treasures.”

Roland’s eyes sparkled. When he was a child, his mother, Isa, had regaled him with tales of secret chambers yielding vast treasures—glittering gold coins, diamonds, emeralds, and rare marvels. Hearing of Misius’s treasures now, his mind conjured visions of piles of gold and jewels.

Seeing Roland’s expression, Misius easily guessed his thoughts and smiled. “Roland, don’t imagine that Misius’s treasure vault is full of gold or silver. Such vulgarities were beneath him. What he gathered were the rarest wonders of Aragon—each one would incite bloody conflict if brought outside. Even the wealth of a rival kingdom might not suffice to obtain them.”

Misius’s words only deepened Roland’s fascination. What could this peerless master of ten millennia ago have hidden in his vault?

Suddenly, Roland laughed at himself. Never mind the treasures—no one had passed the third trial in ten thousand years; his chances were no better. Thinking about Misius’s hoard was pointless.

Misius continued, “To speak truth, in these ten thousand years, the one with the best chance of passing the third trial was a little fellow named ‘Thomas’ over three hundred years ago. He nearly succeeded, but alas, in the end, he failed.”

“Thomas!” Roland exclaimed in shock. From the era and name, it could only be one of the two legendary geniuses of Porter Academy. Had Thomas entered the sanctuary of Misius, passed the first and second trials, and come within a hair’s breadth of conquering the third?