Round Two: The Mage Tower

The red-robed mage and her followers struggled through the swamp.
She believed her prophecy spells could not fail—hidden in this vast, nameless swamp was a powerful mage, one who was now gone forever.
The problem was, how could she find that place and inherit all the mage’s legacy?
The red-robed mage raised her head; magical tattoos covered half of her delicate face. Her three guards were growing impatient—they were tired or afraid of wandering through this muddy wasteland. After all, they had started as a six-member team, and now half were missing.
Even if they found the mage tower, who knew what awaited them inside?
At night, the exhausted warriors fell asleep, leaning on each other. They dared not light a fire—most wild creatures feared fire, but some did not, and might even be drawn to it—creatures often far stronger than those afraid of fire.
The red-robed mage stared into the distance. She carefully scanned the darkness, pushing aside the mist bit by bit, trying to locate the mysterious mage tower. This task had taken over a dozen nights, leaving her nearly exhausted. If she still found nothing, she would have no choice but to give up.
Suddenly, her attention was drawn to something. A vague, distorted shadow appeared in her mind. If unattended, it might easily be mistaken for part of the corrupted forest. It seemed to possess some power to block external exploration—though after so long, its protective spells were fading.
The red-robed mage smiled. She had finally found her target.
The rest of the journey was easy. A day later, she stood before the mage tower’s door, smiling at its twisted emblem.
A nameless yet powerful mage was finally to have an heir.
Forty-seven also noticed these intruders.
He was surprised—and somewhat delighted. He even stopped working on transforming himself into a Transformer and watched with interest. Guarding the mage tower? That job was better left to that simple-minded guy.
Morrill and his group were nearly cornered by the Shieldwardens—
until Morrill, under the cover of the warriors, predicted the location of the Shieldwardens’ amulet and cast his last magic missile, which shattered the small box beside the mage’s bed. Only then did this seemingly invincible giant stop moving.
The red-robed mage was so weak she could barely hold her staff. She managed to pull out a small bag of gold coins from her bosom. After thinking for a moment, she took out two vials of healing potion as well. “Go. This is what’s left. I no longer need you.”
The thief in the group took everything—stowing the gold coins and the healing potions—then turned to help his injured companions. Now only he and the barbarian remained. The other warrior was beyond saving—he had first been hit by a weak magic ray, and then his helmet was crushed by a heavy stone arm; his brain inside was in no better condition.
Morrill was glad that weak magic ray hadn’t been aimed at him.

The red-robed mage stared at the withered skeleton on the bed. It seemed this mage had failed in her attempt to transform herself into a lich… If she had succeeded, she probably wouldn’t have even had the courage to probe. But now—
The red-robed mage suddenly felt a fierce sense of danger. With all her strength, she turned aside and used her staff to block, causing the otherwise fatal dagger to only slice her shoulder.
“You wretch! What have you done?” she screamed, her anger almost tearing apart that traitorous attacker, yet she couldn’t recall any spells—she had exhausted all usable spells.
“Of course, I killed you,” the thief said. He hadn’t expected the mage to dodge the attack and jumped back abruptly, only relaxing when he realized she had no ability to retaliate—her poor barbarian companion, whom he had gone to help, hadn’t been saved by any healing potions; instead, there was a huge wound in his throat.
“Do you know what happens when you go against a red-robed mage?”
“Hmph… You’re just a victim of power struggles… And in your current state, do you even deserve to oppose me?” The thief, confident, held the dagger back, looking for an opportunity, though he didn’t seem in a hurry now, certain that the mage no longer had any offensive spells. He clearly preferred this cat-and-mouse game.
“You don’t have to do this,” the red-robed mage calmed down and began to persuade. “All I need is the knowledge in the mage tower. You can take everything else… even all the magical items. If you stop now, I swear I won’t pursue this matter. How about that?”
“Do you really think I’d believe a red-robed mage’s promise?” the thief sneered. “And… how do you know I’m not interested in the knowledge here? Do you think I’m content to be a sneaky thief for life? It will be me who inherits this mage tower!”
A strange expression appeared on the red-robed mage’s face.
“Intruder,” a metallic voice rang out.
The thief turned around in terror.
Forty-seven wore a tattered robe. Though he couldn’t be considered male or female, upon realizing the red-robed mage was female, he instinctively felt he should wear something.
Two pinprick-like red lights burned on his blurred metallic face, forming eyes—other than that, every inch of this metal humanoid, taller even than an orc, exuded a terrifying aura. Sweat streamed down the thief’s face.
“Don’t move,” the red-robed mage said calmly, sitting leisurely beside the mage’s remains. “This construct isn’t something you can handle… Who knows what his mission is?”
“He must be protecting the valuable items and spellbooks in the mage tower… You despicable bitch!” the thief cursed, slowly crouching down and placing the dagger on the ground.
Since this construct could speak… and hadn’t attacked immediately… the only way out was to show sincerity by leaving right now… Maybe there would be a glimmer of hope—
As soon as he put down his weapon, Forty-seven grabbed him. His icy fingers pressed against the thief’s face and skull, tightening slowly as if cranking a walnut with pliers.

“Wait—” The thief uttered a hoarse syllable as a bloody blade emerged from the back of his head.
Forty-Seven dropped the thief’s body, the sword in his hand retracting with a clang. Then he turned to the red-robed mage.
“Welcome, mage.”
The red-robed mage was taken aback. Then she smiled. “I’m Moriel. It’s nice to meet you.”
Forty-Seven quickly found new amusement—in spying on the new owner of the mage tower. He accepted his role as the red-robed mage’s successor without hesitation. He had no objection to having a nominal master; in fact, to some extent, he still needed someone to give orders to him, as dictated by his programming—of course, nothing to do with those idealized Three Laws.
Moriel was actually surprised to see Forty-Seven. She had never seen or heard of a construct with such a complex structure. The runes on his body might be some kind of magic storage mechanism… though unfortunately, she couldn’t use them yet. She pondered this and expressed sincere admiration for the former owner of the mage tower for leaving her such a valuable legacy—though it only lasted for a short time, as Moriel soon realized that the complexity of this creature stemmed entirely from his own peculiar quirks.
Forty-Seven stood silently in the corner, like a pure construct.
Moriel struggled to flip through the enormous spellbook that covered almost half of the table. After just a few pages, she seemed exhausted. The pages, filled with spells and symbols, seemed older than time itself, emitting a tangible chill.
Forty-Seven stepped forward. He snapped the book shut and gave the helpless mage an expression he thought was very humane.
“Let’s stop for today.”
It was the same every day. Moriel slumped tiredly in her chair, wiping the cold sweat from her forehead. This strange construct always gave her a strange feeling—as if he were the real master of the mage tower.
She had been in this mage tower for over a month. The dead mage had left behind almost nothing of value except this spellbook. Moriel wasn’t interested in those messy machines. In her view, the mage was someone who was overly obsessed with construct servants to the point of obsession. His lack of savings might have been due to spending it all on this—strangely, Moriel couldn’t find the amulet box. Had the mage hidden it before performing the ritual?
Her prophecy spells yielded nothing, and she had asked Forty-Seven about it. Sadly, although she thought she had inherited the previous mage’s ownership over him, this cold construct clearly only cared about making his body more complex… and constantly interfering with her progress in magical research. Why would the former mage create such a self-aware servant? How could he tolerate him? Moriel’s thinking was still too narrow.

Moriel felt frustrated. She studied every line of spell in the grimoire day and night, only to have to discard all her previous conclusions as soon as she turned to the next page—or simply forget what she had read earlier. She didn’t dare skip any letters or symbols, as doing so would be tantamount to suicide before she could fully understand the original author’s intent. Each mage had a different understanding of the magic network, and the deeper they delved, the more they realized they were only touching the tip of the iceberg—even the greatest mages were no exception. Their perspectives were so vastly different that, even without malice, a portal created by Mage A could be a death trap for Mage B…
Perhaps it was time to put aside such futile research. Moriel stroked the rough black cover of the book, reluctant to part with it. It was too bulky, yet contained such immense magic… But without its master, the mage tower was on the verge of destruction. The once-powerful and orderly magic had dissipated, and she couldn’t continue to supply enough magic to the entire tower. If she stayed, it might attract other explorers with ulterior motives… It was better to leave first.
“Can’t you put it in a dimensional pocket?” Seiichi asked, unable to bear watching Moriel spend days after days casting protection spells on each page of the grimoire and carefully separating and storing it.