Final Regression of The Legendary Swordmaster Chapter 61

From multiple regions across the western continent, streaks of light shot upward into the sky, cutting through clouds and distance as they converged toward a single location. Each trail carried urgency and power, all of them flying toward one place where heaven and earth seemed to meet.

At the center of that convergence stood a tower so tall it appeared to pierce the sky itself. Its surface was pure white, yet not dull or flat, as if it were carved from a massive prism rather than stone. Light struck its walls and fractured into countless rainbow hues, scattering across the air in shifting colors that changed with every angle. The higher one looked, the brighter it became, until the tower’s tip burned like a second sun, illuminating the surrounding lands both day and night. Even from great distances, its presence was unmistakable, dominating the horizon with authority.

This was the White Tower, the center of magic and cultivation throughout the entire human domain. It stood at the heart of Vaeloria, the great kingdom positioned at the crossroad of the continent. Vaeloria prospered through trade, knowledge exchange, and magical research, but the tower itself did not belong to the kingdom. Though physically located within Vaeloria’s borders, the White Tower existed beyond its authority. The land within a hundred-kilometer radius around it was considered sovereign territory, governed solely by the Tower’s own laws, while still remaining officially tied to the kingdom for diplomacy and logistics.

The White Tower served as the supreme neutral ground of humanity. It was a place where kingdoms settled disputes without war, where treaties were drafted and enforced, and where laws regarding magic, cultivation, and forbidden practices were established. Representatives from every major nation, family, and academy maintained a presence within its halls. When conflicts arose that threatened continental balance, the White Tower intervened. When new magical discoveries were made, the Tower regulated their spread. When practices were deemed too dangerous, too unstable, or too cruel, it was the Tower that declared them forbidden.

More than a center of learning, the White Tower was an arbiter of order. It existed to prevent unchecked power from plunging the human domain into chaos, to ensure that no single nation or individual rose beyond restraint. Its word carried weight not because of armies, but because behind its pristine walls stood the combined authority of humanity’s greatest cultivators, mages, and scholars. To defy the White Tower was not merely to oppose an institution, but to stand against the collective will of the entire human domain.

The first to arrive in a streak of light was Klein Lodret, the head of the Lodret family, a name that carried immense weight across the western continent. His arrival was calm and controlled, his robes barely disturbed as his feet touched the ground before the White Tower. The Lodret family was widely regarded as the strongest mage lineage in the entire continent, producing generations of high-level spellcasters and researchers whose influence reached far beyond their borders. Klein himself was a living symbol of that legacy, his presence alone enough to draw silent attention from all who followed.

Moments later, another streak of light descended with overwhelming force. Duke Aurelion Varrek, the Grand Duke of the Iron Duchy, arrived like a falling star. The air trembled faintly as he landed, the pressure of his aura causing the ground beneath him to groan. He was feared throughout the continent for his mastery of the Ten Thousand Heavenly Piercing Sword Formation, a legendary technique that had once allowed him to single-handedly halt a full-scale invasion by the beastkin tribes that roamed the Empty Lands.

With every passing second, more figures descended upon the entrance of the White Tower. Heads of magical families, rulers of powerful nations, renowned archmages, sword saints, and high-ranking mages arrived one after another. Each carried their own reputation, history, and ambition, yet all of them had come for the same reason. The White Tower’s summons did not invite discussion or delay. When it called, they answered.

Soon, the space before the tower filled with an assembly unlike any other, a gathering of power that could reshape the fate of the human domain with a single decision.

From within the White Tower, seven beams of light burst outward in quick succession, each one carrying a distinct presence. They descended gracefully and took form before the gathered crowd, revealing the representatives of the seven kingdoms of the human domain.

The first bore the sigil of Aethelgard, clad in silver and blue robes, his aura calm yet deep, like an endless sea of mana. Beside him appeared the representative of Ondaris, dressed in dark ceremonial armor, eyes sharp and calculating, carrying the quiet look of a nation known for shadowed diplomacy and ruthless efficiency.

A radiant figure followed, wreathed in warm light. This was the envoy of Solterra, his presence blazing with life and vitality, his mana carrying the unmistakable purity of his cultivation.

The ground trembled faintly as the representative of the Iron Duchy emerged next. His boots struck stone with heavy certainty, his stance firm and unyielding, a reflection of a land forged through iron, war, and endurance.

A ripple of heat spread outward as the envoy of Luminaris took form, her robes lined with flame-patterned threads, her mana volatile yet controlled. Even without a word, the echoes of fire magic lingered around her.

Soon after, the representative of Vaeloria appeared, dignified and composed, wearing the white and gold colors of the central kingdom. His presence carried balance rather than dominance, the quiet feel of a nation that thrived as the heart of trade, knowledge, and diplomacy.

Last came Silvanus. Green light blossomed as the representative emerged, leaves and faint motes of life energy swirling briefly around her before fading. Her mana felt ancient and patient, like forests that had stood long before kingdoms were ever named.

Together, the seven stood in a loose formation, each one a representative of their respective nation. The atmosphere grew heavy, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Then, from the very peak of the White Tower, another presence descended.

This time, it was not a beam of light, but a figure moving through the air as though space itself parted before him. The moment he appeared, an overwhelming intent washed across the entire area. It was not hostile, yet it was absolute. Mana bowed. Space stilled. Even the strongest among those present felt their breathing slow under its weight.

As the figure approached, the representatives of the seven kingdoms moved in unison. They clasped their hands and bowed deeply, their voices resonating together.

"We greet the Lord of the Tower."

The figure did not respond immediately. He hovered above them, his white robes flowing gently, his expression unreadable. His eyes swept across the gathering below, taking in the assembled monarchs, family heads, Archmages, and warriors.

When his gaze met theirs, one by one, the people below lowered their heads.

No command was given. None was needed.

Under the silent authority of the White Tower’s master, even kings bowed.

Then something caught his attention. The supposed respondents from the Luminaris Kingdom were absent.

The Lord of the White Tower’s eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed the gathering once more. He had personally sent a transmission to every monarch of the human domain, to the heads of all great magical families, and to every Archmage-level cultivator without exception. Attendance was not a request. It was an obligation written into the very laws that governed the White Tower’s authority.

Yet no sovereign, no Archmage, no high noble from Luminaris had appeared.

That absence was loud.

His gaze shifted, locking onto the tower representative bearing the insignia of the Luminaris kingdom. The moment his eyes met hers, her body stiffened. A sharp jolt ran through her as if her soul itself had been seized. Without hesitation, she rose into the air and drifted toward him, stopping a respectful distance away. Her head lowered immediately, her posture filled with reverence and tension.

"It seems," the Lord of the White Tower said calmly, "that no one from your kingdom has shown up. Is there a valid explanation for this?" His voice was not raised, yet every word carried crushing weight. "You know the rules, don’t you?"

The sound pressed directly against her soul, forcing her breathing to steady as she gathered herself.

"Yes, my Lord," she replied quickly, her voice controlled but strained. "The Luminaris Kingdom is fully aware of the Tower’s authority and the obligation to answer its call."

She paused for a brief moment, then continued, choosing her words with extreme care.

"However, Luminaris is currently undergoing a period of great internal distress. Severe enough that the Royal Court has invoked Charter Nine."

A faint murmur rippled through the crowd below at those words.

"Charter Nine," she explained, lowering her head further, "grants a kingdom a grace period of three months before responding to a full Tower summons, should the nation be facing a crisis that threatens its internal stability. During this time, the kingdom is permitted to focus all efforts on resolving its internal matters, provided it does not endanger the human domain as a whole."

She inhaled quietly.

"The Royal Family judged that this condition has been met. They offer their deepest apologies and assure the White Tower that Luminaris will respond in full once the grace period ends."

"Since that is the case," the Lord of the White Tower said calmly, his voice echoing across the air, "I will overlook Luminaris’ absence this time. However, the Luminaris Kingdom will receive only seventy percent of its allotted spoils from this venture. Nothing more."

The words landed heavily.

The representative of Luminaris did not argue. She bowed deeply, her head lowered in full submission. "We thank the Lord of the White Tower for his understanding," she said sincerely. With that, she descended back toward the ground, returning to her place among the gathered figures.

Only then did the Lord of the White Tower shift his full attention to the entire assembly.

"Three hundred years ago," he began, his voice steady and clear, "the human domain ventured into Atlantis, the ancient realm hidden beneath the vast northern sea. It was a land ruled by depths, pressure, and civilizations far older than our own."

"At that time," he continued, "we seized magical treasures, cultivation techniques, and secret arts that were never meant for the surface world. Those gains allowed humanity to progress far beyond its former limits. Realms that once took centuries to reach were broken through in decades. Knowledge once thought impossible became common practice among our elites."

"Now, the gate beneath the northern sea will open again."

A ripple ran through the crowd.

"And just as we did three hundred years ago," the Lord of the White Tower declared, "we will return to Atlantis. We will claim what lies beneath the waves. We will seize their treasures, their knowledge, and their power."

He stretched out his arm.

Six tokens materialized in the air before him, each one glowing with a distinct light and bearing inscriptions. With a flick of his wrist, the tokens shot outward, flying toward the monarchs of the six kingdoms present. Each token halted before its intended recipient, hovering patiently until claimed.

"Five months from now," the Lord of the White Tower said, "the gate that leads to Atlantis will open. When it does, every monarch must return here with their token. You will mobilize your forces in full."

"No one below the Adept Stage is permitted to enter Atlantis. They would die before they even reached its inner layers. All Archmage-level cultivators will remain behind to guard the human domain."

"Everyone else," he continued, "excluding monarchs and the heads of the major religions, is required to venture into Atlantis."

"As for the division of spoils," he said, "it will follow the typical allocation system. Contributions will be measured not only by manpower, but by survival rate, territorial control within Atlantis, and confirmed discoveries. Each kingdom’s share will be calculated through proportional valuation, adjusted by loss ratios and confirmed claims. In simple terms, the more you gain and the less you waste, the more you keep."

Three hundred years ago, this very expedition had reshaped the human domain.

Back then, humanity had returned from Atlantis with treasures that rewrote history. Secret arts that accelerated the formation of Saint Flames. Methods that allowed cultivators to comprehend domains far faster than before. Sword arts, body tempering techniques, spell matrices, and cultivation manuals that had pushed entire generations forward.

It was because of Atlantis that the human domain now boasted more than thirty Archmage-level cultivators.

Now, history was about to repeat itself.

"With that," the Lord of the White Tower said, "I will entertain any questions for the next five minutes."

His gaze swept across the gathering once more, sharp and assessing. He read expressions, measured reactions, and noted any slight face change.

Then his eyes stopped.

"Duke Varrek," he called.

The Grand Duke of the Iron Duchy stiffened slightly, his brows furrowing as a worrisome expression crossed his face.

"Do not look so troubled," the Lord of the White Tower said mildly. "I merely noticed that you seem less intrigued than the others."

A few quiet chuckles rippled through the crowd.

"I know you," the Lord continued. "You would love nothing more than to enter Atlantis and drown yourself in battle, just as you did three hundred years ago."

The Duke said nothing.

"But remember this," the Lord of the White Tower said calmly. "Three hundred years ago, you were only at the True Mage stage. Now, you stand at the middle level of the Archmage realm. With your mastery of the Ten Thousand Heavenly Piercing Sword Formation, you are far more valuable here than you would be beneath the sea."

Duke Varrek lowered his head in acknowledgment. "I understand," he said firmly.

Silence followed.

No one raised a question.

Satisfied, the Lord of the White Tower nodded once.

"Very well," he said. "Prepare yourselves. Five months is not a long time."

With a wave of his hand, his presence withdrew. His pressure vanished, and the air loosened as if the sky itself had exhaled.

The assembly began to disperse, each figure carrying the weight of what was to come.

Atlantis was opening once more.

And the human domain was moving again.