Cosmic Seal

A Gift From The Dead

"Yeah... that useless shadow stalker."

Alator was familiar with this shadow, which has been stalking him ever since he was a child, but it has never said anything to him or tried to approach him. Even when he wanted to approach or talk to it, it would suddenly disappear. The weirdo was only hiding and following him around. However, Alator had grown used to it; hence, he wasn't affected by its presence anymore. As long as the shadow didn't try anything funny, he was okay with it.

And just as he expected, before he could get close, the shadow vanished into the bushes without a trace.

"Well, I would like to learn that trick anyway."

After like thirty minutes of walking, the Storm Scripers Garrison, stationed in the outskirts, finally came into his view. He stopped in his tracks and gazed at the structure in the distance, thinking of his next move.

He smiled as he thought of sneaking into the garrison through the sewers, but the smile on his face was soon wiped off when he realized how hilarious the idea was. If people learned about his thoughts right now, they would probably laugh him to death.

A Dormant sneaking into a Mage Garrison and hoping not to get caught. In fact, before someone like Alator would even approach the Arched Gates, he would be spotted immediately

.

A loud horn suddenly rang out from the garrison. Scripers began to rush out of the buildings; sharp voices and yells filled the air. Within a few seconds, everywhere had descended into chaos.

The garrison was in chaos with Scripers running all around. It was night, and Alator was watching from a distance.

He didn't quite understand what was actually happening. The situation seemed like the Domain was under attack or something serious was about to happen. Alator wasn't scared to die; in fact, with his current situation, death was an easy way out for him.

As Alator was still thinking on how to get into the garrison, he suddenly felt a strong grip on his ankle. His eyes went wide in shock.

"Bandits."

Alator wasn't entirely surprised; this kind of attack was pretty common here. And this wasn't the first time he had encountered this kind of situation.

Bandits and thugs would often hide in the bushes to rob people, especially one who looked rich. But Alator knew he was far from looking rich, hence no reasonable person would try to rob him. He turned his head swiftly towards his leg and saw a hand from the bush tightly holding his ankle.

"s**t!"

Alator jerked back, desperately trying to break free, but he crashed to the ground instead. The grip on his leg was iron-tight. The hand stubbornly clung to his foot, refusing to let go. Alator scrambled backwards, as fast as he could, trying to free his leg. However, the grip on his leg was so tight that he ended up pulling the person out of the bush instead. When the figure finally came into his view, he was shocked.

There, a man covered in blood raised his bloodied hand towards Alator while muttering words Alator was finding difficult to understand, but he soon lost consciousness. His head slumped low, and his hand that was raised towards Alator dropped down on the ground. Realizing the man was no longer moving, Alator calmly pried his fingers off his leg and freed himself.

"Pheww... who the hell is this?"

Alator calmly crawled closer to the figure lying on the ground. He brought his index finger close to his nose, but there was no sign of breathing at all. The man was dead. Alator observed the dead man closely. He could see knife stabs and sword marks on his body. He thought the man must have been attacked and robbed by bandits after getting drunk. After all, he was perceiving a strong smell of alcohol from him. Alator shook his head in pity.

"Poor soul."

Just as he was about to stand up and go his way, the crest on the man's cloth caught his attention. He stopped and gave it a careful look. A circle-shaped metal ring, with a dragon coiling itself inside it. His brows furrowed as he stared at the crest. His eyes suddenly widened in shock.

The metal crest pinned to the man's clothing was the crest of the Storm House Scripers. The dead man turned out to be a Scriper from the garrison. An idea suddenly popped up in Alator's mind and his lips stretched into a wide smile. It seems heaven was on his side.

Without wasting time, Alator dragged the dead body into the nearby bush. Within a few minutes, he was all set; he had changed into the man's clothes and boots. Alator picked up a small leather waist pouch belonging to the man. He opened it, but it was empty. He sighed.

"What am I even thinking? The bandits who killed him must have already stolen his things as well."

Just as Alator was about to throw the leather pouch away, a slight red light gleamed from the pouch. Alator paused his actions and brought the pouch down. He opened the pouch again and stared at it, but the pouch was empty. He slowly slid his hand inside. He felt his hand bypassing the bottom of the pouch.

His brows furrowed in confusion as his hand entered into another opening. As he moved his hand inside, his hand clashed with strange objects, metal, steel, and all kinds of things. Alator suddenly felt a sharp pain on his index finger. He quickly pulled his hand out of the pouch. There was a sharp cut on his finger, and blood seeping out of the wound.

"What was that?"

Alator slid his hand back into the leather pouch again, but this time, he was careful. As he rummaged through the pouch, he caught a rounded object and pulled it out. He narrowed his eyes at the crystal.

"How is this possible?"

He glanced at the crystal in his hand, then opened the pouch again. Still, there was nothing inside. He stared at the Mana Crystal in confusion.