Final Regression of The Legendary Swordmaster Chapter 94

Far across the Northern Sea, beyond waters that never truly rested, stood the kingdom of Vaeloria.

From high above, the land looked like a dream carved from marble and light. Vast cities stretched across white stone foundations, their streets aligned in perfect geometric patterns. Every wall shimmered faintly with runic arrays carved so precisely that they glowed even under daylight. Mana currents flowed visibly through the air like drifting auroras, weaving between towers and across bridges that hung unsupported between spires.

The air itself felt alive.

Great pillars of crystal rose from plazas and channeled energy into the sky. Arcane symbols rotated slowly around them, each line of script pulsing with measured rhythm. Platforms floated between buildings, held aloft by levitation circles etched into their undersides. Mages traveled between districts without ever touching the ground, their robes trailing behind them as controlled mana fields carried them forward.

Far in the distance, the Northern Sea churned against the cliffs. Its waters were dark and restless, as if aware of what stirred beyond the horizon. Even from this height, one could see the faint distortion in the air where the sea met the sky. That was where Atlantis would open.

Vaeloria was not a kingdom of swords.

It did not pride itself on brute force or battlefield dominance. Where the Iron Duchy forged warriors in ash and snow, Vaeloria shaped minds in silence and study. Knowledge was sacred here. Mana refinement was law. Strength was measured not in scars, but in circles inscribed within the core.

Titles mattered little compared to cultivation.

A duke without mana was nothing. A commoner with eight hundred circles could command respect from nobles. Magical aristocracy ruled the nation, but their authority came not from blood alone. It came from mastery. From discipline. From the ability to bend the world through understanding.

At the center of Vaeloria stood the White Tower.

It pierced the sky like a second sun turned to stone. Its structure was colossal, far larger than any palace. The base alone covered several city blocks, carved from enchanted marble that shimmered faintly with embedded runes. Above it, layers rose in widening rings before narrowing again toward the summit. Rotating mana rings encircled the Tower at different heights, each one glowing with layered formations that shifted constantly.

Defensive arrays were active at all times.

Invisible barriers layered over one another like woven silk. Detection formations scanned the air and earth. Spatial locks prevented unauthorized teleportation. Even the clouds above the Tower moved in unnatural patterns, guided by climate stabilizing sigils etched into the upper structure.

Within the White Tower were floating council chambers, suspended in open air within vast interior atriums. Archmages sat upon hovering seats arranged in perfect circles. Mana light illuminated their faces from below, casting long shadows against the curved walls.

The reopening of Atlantis had reached them days ago.

The White Tower did not react with panic. It reacted with calculation.

In the lower halls, scholars moved quickly between archives. Ancient texts were retrieved from sealed vaults. Crystals containing preserved memories from past expeditions were activated. Research circles gathered in groups of five or ten, speaking rapidly as they compared records from three centuries ago.

Some were openly excited.

"The mana density readings alone suggest an unprecedented opportunity," one scholar said, his hands trembling as he adjusted a floating projection. "The outer rings of Atlantis contain relic signatures that have not appeared in any other Gate."

Others were cautious.

"The last time Atlantis opened, half of our expedition did not return," an elder mage replied. Her hair was silver, her eyes calm but sharp. "The mana collapse that followed destabilized three kingdoms. You speak of opportunity. I remember catastrophe."

High above them, in a council chamber open to the sky, several Archmages stood before a massive projection of the Northern Sea. The image shimmered with layered runic markings, each one representing recorded data from the last appearance of Atlantis.

One of the Archmages extended his hand, and the projection shifted to show historical logs.

"Three hundred years ago," he began, his voice steady, "Vaeloria sent twelve Archmages and forty-seven True Mages into Atlantis. Of those, five Archmages returned. Nineteen True Mages survived."

A silence followed.

Another Archmage stepped forward. His robe was deep violet, embroidered with constellations formed from mana thread. "The monsters were not the primary cause of death," he said. "Internal conflict accounted for nearly forty percent of losses."

"Betrayal," the elder mage corrected calmly.

The word hung in the air.

"The relics recovered were extraordinary," a third Archmage added. "Mana amplification stones. Dimensional stabilizers. Lost grimoires containing inscription methods no longer known. But the cost nearly fractured the Human Domain."

The projection shifted again, showing a ripple effect that had spread across the continent three centuries ago. Mana storms. Gate instability. Regions where cultivation became erratic for decades.

"The collapse was not natural," the elder mage said quietly. "Atlantis did not simply open and close. Something inside altered the flow of mana itself."

"And yet," the violet robed Archmage replied, "we cannot afford not to enter."

He gestured toward another projection. This one displayed political alignments across the seven kingdoms.

"The Iron Duchy is mobilizing. Solterra has increased its coastal patrols. Luminaries is fractured internally but will not remain passive. If we abstain, others will seize what lies within."

"The White Tower must maintain balance," another Archmage said. "If one kingdom returns with overwhelming power, the Human Domain destabilizes."

A younger Archmage, barely past his thirties yet already bearing seven hundred circles, spoke carefully. "What of the inner sanctum records? The sealed documents concerning the core chamber?"

The chamber grew quiet again.

The elder mage’s gaze hardened slightly. "Those records are incomplete. The inner sanctum was never fully mapped. Of the five Archmages who returned, two refused to speak of what they saw."

"And the third," the violet robed Archmage added, "lost his ability to cultivate entirely."

Mana currents flickered faintly around the projection, responding to the tension in the room.

"The relic known as the Tideheart," the younger Archmage continued softly. "If it truly exists, its control over mana flow could shift the balance of the entire Human Domain."

"Or shatter it," the elder replied.

Below the council chamber, bells began to chime softly across the Tower. Not an alarm, but a signal. The official confirmation had arrived from the White Tower’s coastal observatory.

Atlantis was opening.

A layered ripple spread across the projection of the sea. The distortion had grown larger. Stable. Measurable.

The violet robed Archmage folded his hands behind his back. "We will participate," he said. "But not recklessly."

"Agreed," the elder responded. "We send our finest. We observe before we act. We avoid direct conflict unless necessary."

"And we monitor Lodret’s intentions," another added quietly.

At that name, even the mana currents seemed to still.

Several scholars below stopped speaking as whispers traveled through the halls.

Lodret.

The name carried weight beyond title.

He was not merely an Archmage. He was Vaeloria’s greatest cultivated asset. A High Mage at the peak of his realm. A man rumored to have inscribed circles beyond conventional limits. His control over flame was said to rival ancient legends. Some believed he stood one step away from igniting a Saint Flame, a transformation that would elevate him beyond the current structure of power.

If Atlantis offered a catalyst, Lodret might seize it.

And if he did, the balance of the seven kingdoms would shift overnight.

In the council chamber, the elder mage closed her eyes briefly. "If Lodret ascends within Atlantis, no kingdom will dare oppose Vaeloria."

"And if he fails?" the younger Archmage asked.

"Then the Human Domain bleeds," she replied.

The violet robed Archmage looked toward the uppermost level of the Tower, where private chambers remained sealed behind layers of formation.

"Summon him," he said quietly.

Across the vast marble city, whispers spread like wind through tall grass. Scholars hurried with renewed urgency. Students gathered in courtyards, pointing toward the sea. Mana currents brightened slightly, as if the very air anticipated change.

High above, clouds parted around the White Tower’s peak.

In a chamber hidden beyond rotating rings of pure mana, a single figure stood before a window overlooking the Northern Sea.

The distortion on the horizon reflected faintly in his eyes.

Somewhere below, his name was spoken again with reverence.

Lodret.