The Legendary Mage (Alavin)
Chapter 53

In the dead of night, Alavin once again approached the base of Botanic Haven, where the stifled roars that had been momentarily quelled once more stirred to life, echoing through the deep reaches of the mystical grove. From a distance, the glimmer of gold and the churning of mist could be seen, and the distant rumble of the earth splintering underfoot was faintly audible.

Alavin took a few tentative steps forward, and the roaring intensified, shaking the entirety of Botanic Haven as if it quivered in response.

"What in the name of the ancient gods is imprisoned within?" Alavin grew uneasy. What manner of beast or spirit could this be? And did it truly beckon me here to seize the Shadowbringer from my grasp? "It's you again!" Mariela appeared, her tone far from courteous.

"What lies within?" Alavin inquired.

"Ask not questions that are not yours to ask. Stand down!"

"The mighty Cobalt Strike cannot contain it? Why do you let it roar?"

"Stand down!!"

"It's disturbing my sleep; you had the best deal with it." Alavin gestured towards Botanic Haven and turned to leave.

Mariela was left speechless, but as soon as Alavin departed, the roaring ceased abruptly.

The following morning, after completing his deliveries, Alavin found himself once again beside Botanic Haven, hoisting a stone urn. His presence stirred the roaring anew, which, though not as fierce, was enough to disturb the nearby mountains and rouse a thousand Protégés.

Many grew restless; previously, the unrest occurred only at night. What had changed today?

After awakening Botanic Haven, Alavin left, and soon after, the roaring stopped, and all was quiet.

For several days, Alavin would visit the vicinity of Botanic Haven at irregular intervals, each visit provoking the mysterious roar. He was sending a message: Cease your calls. I shall not enter! Meanwhile, he prodded the Elders of the Cobalt Strike to resolve the nuisance. But to outsiders and even many Elders, the situation was perplexing, inciting whispers of whether the force within was truly uncontainable. Should extraordinary measures be taken?

Today, a special delegation arrived at the foot of Cobalt Strike Mountain.

Eight men and women rode upon eight magnificent black steeds, halting before the organization's gates, gazing up at the towering peak upon which the mighty words "Cobalt Strike" were etched with resilience.

"Cobalt Strike, 'tis my first journey hither," declared the young leader, resplendent in noble attire. His regal cloak flung wide in a gesture of wild abandon. His tall figure, bronzed skin, and sharp, deep-set features were accented by a sly grin.

"Cobalt Strike, one of the Eight Orders of the Northlands, though unassuming, has thrived for centuries with profound foundation," said a man to his left. His hair was silvered yet meticulously groomed. His garments were immaculate, betraying no sign of travel. His countenance was youthful, and his demeanor seemed efficient.

"I come for the matter of Celesse, hoping it shan't disappoint," the young noble spurred his steed forward.

Protégés at the main entrance took notice of the newcomers, moving to intercept them with a stern cry, "Halt! Dismount! This is Cobalt Strike."

The young nobleman continued on his black steed, which pranced proudly, showing no intention of stopping. His entourage followed closely, their demeanor equally haughty, ignoring the admonishing Protégés.

Just as the Cobalt Strike Protégés were about to unsheathe their swords in warning, a Senior Protégé at the lead recognized the distinctive emblem embroidered on the visitors' cloaks: "Lord Viperbane?"

The youth presented a golden badge at his waist. "Inform your Commander, Marak, on behalf of Lord Viperbane, seeks an audience."

The old man besides him smiled faintly. "Neasilis, at your service, requesting an audience with the Commander of Cobalt Strike."

At the Sanctum of Cobalt Strike atop the primary peak, the Commander and several Elders awaited personally.

Lord Viperbane's influence and strength were not inferior to Cobalt Strike, and in terms of status and heritage, they held even greater esteem.

"Greetings, it has been too long," the man with silvered hair spoke softly, bowing to the Commander of Cobalt Strike seated at the head of the sanctum.

The Commander's expression was aloof, and after a brief glance at Marak, he spoke indifferently, "Brother Neasilis, well met."

"Thanks to your concern, I fare well," Neasilis seated the young noble beside him and nodded to the other Elders across the way, "I've not returned to Cobalt Strike in over a decade. My Fellow Protégés, do you still remember me?"

A female Elder spoke tersely, "One of the Seven Champions in Lord Viperbane's mansion, 'The Solar Lupus' Neasilis."

The man chuckled lightly. "I refer to my identity within Cobalt Strike."

A portly Elder sipped his water gently. "From the day you left Cobalt Strike, you ceased to be one of us."

"Whether Cobalt Strike acknowledges me or not, I've always regarded it as my home, and you all as my fellow Protégés." "Is that so?" the portly Elder's eyes sharpened.

"Twenty years hence, no matter where I roam, I've always held in my heart that I hail from Cobalt Strike, my first true home."

"Enough." The portly Elder's cup shattered in his hand, scalding water spilling across the table. "When you maimed the Elders and attacked the Cobalt Strike magical ore mines, did you forget you were one of Cobalt Strike's own?"

"That was all over a decade ago. Didn't I apologize afterward?"

"Your so-called apology was to send back a severed head?" The portly Elder rose abruptly, pointing an accusing finger at Neasilis.