The Chernobyl Islands didn't stand a sliver of chance.
No declaration of war, no grand heralds—only the quiet arrival of shadows gliding through mist and storm.
At the vanguard marched Aerial Hunter Killers, sleek, unyielding platforms of alloy and firepower, dropped down figures that blurred the line between man and machine: liquid‑metal T‑1000, combat‑shifting TX, the dual‑core Rev‑9, and matter‑phase T‑3000 units.
Behind them strode John's own legion of Augmented Knights and towering Augmented Great Knights, every fibre reinforced, every weapon forged from nanoforged steel and woven through with magi‑tech enchantments.
Their domesticated direwolf mounts from the Great Plains of Death have also been augmented not just with speed and strength but also to synchronize and fight along their rider.
What occurred was not war.
It was an execution.
A takeover that was as smooth as a baby's ass.
Fortresses that had held for centuries opened gates or crumbled in minutes; pirate fleets vanished beneath coordinated strikes; clan lords and wild wizard apprentices who drew steel found their spells dissipated, their strongest blows shrugged off, their strongest warriors outmatched, outsped, outthought before they even understood the fight had begun.
Every arrow, every barricade, every desperate burst of fire or lightning was met, neutralized, and repurposed.
Resistance changed nothing, it only added more inventory to the harvest: more captives, more beasts of burden for the matrix.
Flora, fauna and men alike were put to their knees before the tide that is Farlier.
Flags changed hands, borders were redrawn, governors appointed, but for the people, almost nothing truly improved.
Taxes shifted, quarrels were suppressed, order was absolute and cold.
Unification brought peace, yes, the peace of a locked cage.
No great public works rose, no lands were tilled better, no lives truly lifted.
All the wealth, all the rare crystals, all the strange ores, every drop of energy drawn from land, sea and living things flowed silently, steadily downward, into Leylin's vaults, his forges, his expanding networks.
The islands were not conquered for their people.
They were harvested as a foundation.
Resources piled high.
Data accumulated.
Candidates for Mass Transmigration began to be sifted from the millions of population by the thousands.
While most of them only have first and second grade aptitude, it wouldn't matter anymore when every cell in their bodies begins to passively absorb ambient mana.
Leylin stood overlooking the mist‑wreathed harbours, reports scrolling calmly across his vision.
"Secure the supply lines," he said softly. "We have everything we need… now the real work begins."
When the envoys of the South Coast academies stepped onto the sands of Death Beach, they stopped in unison—staring, their words dying in their throats.
This place was meant to be wild, windswept shoreline: jagged rock, bleached driftwood and empty dunes where they traditionally gathered untamed talent from the outer isles. Instead, a whole orderly city sprawled across the coast—wide paved avenues, sturdy pavilions, glowing lantern posts, clean stone plazas stretching far inland, perfectly laid out and already bustling with activity.
Banner‑bearers stood waiting, calm and polite. No crowds pressed chaotically; no disputes marred the air.
"Welcome," the lead steward said smoothly "Recruitment grounds have been prepared in advance. Each academy has been allocated its own designated quarter—fully furnished, shielded, and reserved exclusively for your order. Your quarters, storage and screening facilities are already set up exactly as your requirements specify."
The mages exchanged baffled, wary glances. Some had traveled this route for decades—nothing like this had ever existed here.
"Where… did all these people come from?" one elder envoy asked, gesturing outward.
As far as the eye could see, lines of young men and women stretched in perfect rows—standing straight, quiet, orderly. Every face held focus; every age and range of potential was represented. It was not a mob gathered by chance. Every eligible candidate across the entire archipelago seemed to be present. Not one missing, not one unaccounted for—gathered, vetted, organized and delivered right to their doorstep.
No scrambling through villages, no long searches, no fighting over promising finds. The Farlier had already done it all.
"Respected wizards from the South Coast. With all due respect, I present to you all of those with magical affinity within the Chernobyl Archipelago,"
The knights who spoke walked forward respectfully as he explained the situation.
"They've been catalogued, screened, transported, and presented. You may begin your assessments whenever you wish. We simply wished to ensure neither your time nor talent was ever wasted."
The envoys murmured among themselves, some are grateful, impressed, or entirely without care.
"That's much better, I'd hate to stay another day in this mana starved region."
Said a man in embroidered robes who came down followed by a retinue of apprentices.
The official recruitment then promptly began, scrying crystals glowing, and apprentice mages in fine robes calling forward candidates by the hundred.
They tested the aptitude for each applicant which spanned from grade 1 (worst) to grade 5 (best).
Then they tested their affinities with the elements.
Although Leylin already knew everything from the beginning, he still had to follow procedures so he advanced through the lines without fuzzing.
Leylin drifted through the lines, one face among thousands, turning a simple dark ring slowly between his fingers.
It was nothing special at a glance—chipped, unpolished, left behind by some long‑dead wizard apprentice; something John had saved since his youth.
"The wizard told me to take this to anyone from Abyssal Bone Academy if a descendant of mine ever showed talent in magic." his father had told him once.
The ring is a relic, a faint hope from poorer, harder days.
Now it was almost laughable, with the wealth and resources House Farlier commanded, buying his way into nearly any academy would barely make a dent in his reserves.
Yet he followed the flow naturally.
First to Sage Gotham's Hut with their polite, rigid, values 'purity of spirit' above all else.
His readings were deemed "unbalanced, too broad, and lacking harmony" the result was getting rejected outright.
Then Ennea Ivory Ring Tower also declined with a smooth, practiced excuse: "We have already filled our quota for this intake."
Mercifura Academy and Wetland Gardens also declined after learning of his shadow and darkness affinity.
So he walked on, until he stood before the rough, stained canvas of Abyssal Bone Forest Academy.
The air here smelled of damp earth, rot and strange sharp herbs, less grand, less proud, far less choosy.
"The Abyssal Bone Forest Academy welcomes you!" In bold letters written in blood.
Overseeing the line was a grand knight in black with sharp eyes.
"Next!" he called flatly.
Leylin stepped forward.
"He he he what do we have here... You're the 30th recruit, and by far the most talented knight... Let's see... Third grade was it? What a shame... We've already reached out quota for this recruitment."
Dorotte muttered the last part as if musing to himself out loud.
"I have this." Leylin placed the ring on the table, his previous thoughts of buying his way through now became the jinx that held him.
"Oho... This changes things. I can get this off your hands for fifteen magic crystals. The fee is thirteen, here's two plus the enrollment card."
Leylin took his leave promptly.
Every academy that had turned him away had simply pruned themselves from his list.
Abyssal Bone may be rougher, more arrogant, more open to what others dismissed, but it would be his entry point.
None of them knew that beneath those four affinities lay a fully‑integrated cellular runic weave, passive mana‑harvesting systems, and a network of seeded apprentices already waiting to rise.
He was not here to be taught.
He was here to take root.
*****
Inside the cabin of the flying airship, Leylin sat cross‑legged, slowly cycling his personalized knight breathing technique.
When the final cycle faded, he opened his eyes and called up his status display.
[Leylin Farlier
Strength: 9.9
Agility: 11.2
Vitality: 12.5
Spiritual Force: 4.6
Status: Healthy]
He studied the numbers calmly.
Since breaking through to Grand Knight, progress had ground to a halt—these values had remained unchanged for weeks, stubbornly fixed no matter how many cycles he ran or how much energy he poured into training.
The physical or material limits of this path had been reached; raw cultivation alone would push him no further.
Knight methods have reached its ceiling.
'Further growth now lies entirely with magic, material refinement… and the new foundations I build from here.'
*****
Under the Mass Transmigration program, thousands of selected recruits moved through the academies—most carrying that quiet, burning conviction they were sons and daughters of destiny.
They kept apart, held themselves slightly aloof, driven by silent certainty and the faint, hidden enhancements humming deep within them.
Prominent among them was Jayden, a sharp, ambitious youth who stood out instantly after securing the coveted position as Dorotte's very own personal disciple on the day of recruitment.
Through shared sessions, exchanged notes and subtle, unremarked comparisons arranged effortlessly through the linked network, Leylin obtained a complete copy of the official meditation technique taught by a formal Magus to his disciple.
He laid the two frameworks side‑by‑side in his internal processing.
Structure, mana flow rhythm, core accumulation rate…
[Analysis Complete — Cross‑Reference Results:]
[Leylin's optimized version & Official Magus technique — share identical fundamental principles and final effect benchmarks.]
[Difference: Official method remains rigid, padded with redundant cycles, safety margins and outdated conventions.]
Leylin nodded slowly—confirmation, not surprise. Now possessing the authentic, standard foundation, he began the next layer of refinement—merging proven magical principles with his mathematical optimization, runic resonance data and passive harvesting logic.
[Updating Meditation Framework… Removing inefficiencies. Integrating cellular‑weave synergy. Recalibrating resonance curves.]
[Calculation complete.]
[Result: New technique — efficiency ×72 greater than the one Dorotte still taught and practiced.]
Tens of times better. Not a small improvement—an order of magnitude leap built upon the very foundation the academy thought was exclusive.
Jayden would continue learning, advancing steadily, believing his good fortune and natural talent were carrying him forward. Dorotte would be pleased with her new disciple's rapid progress. Neither had any idea—they had simply become stepping stones, their most precious knowledge taken, dissected… and utterly surpassed.
Leylin closed the comparison files, his expression unchanged.
[Structural Analysis Complete.]
Fine silver nanites drifted silently from the shadows, flowing over skin and fabric before seamlessly merging back into Leylin's frame—absorbed without fanfare, every measurement, runic pattern and material property fully logged.
He stood at the railing, gaze tracing curves, support beams and energy conduits as if seeing straight through the hull to the blueprint beneath.
This vessel was Abyssal Bone's pride—built to brave storms and mana‑winds, sturdy and enchanted to standards far above ordinary craft.
If he intended to leave the Chernobyl Islands' sheltered waters and expand toward the South Coast, vessels of equal or superior build would be required; common ships would shatter or vanish halfway across the Death Sea.
[Deconstructing Aerial Vessel Design…]
[Core Strength: Reinforced hull formations, buoyancy runes, wind‑channeling arrays, mana‑shield integration.]
A plan formed clearly in his mind—merge this proven magical architecture with his existing forces.
[Hybridization Concept: Integrate these structural runes, lifting formations and stabilization arrays directly into Hunter‑Killer airframe designs.]
[Result: Enhanced aerial units — 180% greater lift capacity, resistance to environmental interference, mana‑storm survivability, extended operational range.]
[Feasibility: 100%. Once refitted — fully capable of sustained crossing of the Death Sea.]
[Materials...]
Leylin looked out toward the horizon where mist and dark water met endless sky.
'Materials and material limitations... I swear I'll splurge on it when I'm finally rich.'
*****
Six months after departure, the airship drifted down and settled gently onto Abyssal Bone Moor.
An amplified voice boomed out, echoing across stone quays and gnarled woodland:
"Disembark in orderly fashion! Collect your belongings and proceed single file. Do not linger!"
Leylin and the other recruits followed Dorotte down the gangplank.
The journey had been unusually peaceful, save for the occasional packs of mindless cretins, mutated beasts or scavenging monsters that struck at twilight.
Every threat had been dealt with swiftly, crushed by recruits already trained as knights or the quiet, overwhelming strength of the few Grand Knights scattered among their number, Leylin's transmigrators, unflustered and deadly efficient.
"Welcome to your final resting place! The home of shadow and death! Abyssal Bone Forest!"
Dorotte called out, delivering the time‑worn introduction with a dry, unamused snicker, voice flat and bored. "Our Academy was constructed by Merlin Falek Driwilcovick in the Gregorian Year 324…"
He marched them onward, talking non‑stop, dumping an endless stream of facts, history, rules and locations onto the crowd until many recruits' eyes began to glaze over.
He spoke of ancient foundations, danger zones, resource rights, hierarchy and penalties, all standard, necessary, and mostly ignored by those burning to begin their training.
Unknown to him, everything has been captured, recorded and mapped by Leylin's AI.
At last they arrived at the assignment square.
Dorotte gestured to rows of listed names and disciplines.
"Pay one magic crystal to select your preferred mentor personally or take the random free assignment we give you."
"Choose now,"
Leylin scanned the lists calmly. Rune mastery and magic crafting were nowhere to be found as it would seem that unlike other academies those tracks were reserved for higher ranks or other branches entirely in here.
He picked his path deliberately and cautiously a man named Professor Kroft, a specialist in medicine, herbalism and energy neutralization.
Potioneering can offer a quiet enough environment for him to grow peacefully, and the skills he'll get are essential enough to prevent getting sent out front in times of war.
Low‑profile, unlikely to draw unwanted attention, yet rich in knowledge he could refine and exploit perfectly.
He stepped forward, paid his crystal, and confirmed his choice.
At his subtle, unspoken lead, the tens of Mass Transmigration recruits moved too, spreading naturally, dividing themselves across every available mentor, faculty and discipline.
No clustering or suspicious concentration, they scattered perfectly, embedding themselves deep into every corner of the academy's structure for maximum reach, maximum coverage, and absolute efficiency.
"Follow the shadow slave and do not stray or bear the consequences yourself." Dorotte instructed with grave warning before sending Leylin away.
Leylin followed silently as the shadow slave drifted onward, gliding through winding stone corridors, past storerooms, work chambers and humid arched halls opening onto sun‑dappled gardens thick with strange, fragrant and sometimes sharp‑smelling flora.
Finally they halted before a heavy wooden door; the servant simply phased straight through the solid surface, leaving Leylin standing waiting in the quiet passage.
Moments later, a voice called out from within. "Leylin, huh? Come in!"
Much to his liking, it was the opposite of Dorotte's. The voice was warm, steady and clear.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Professor Kroft stood beside a broad worktable lined with vials, dried herbs and delicate brass-likr instruments. He's a middle‑aged man with neatly combed white hair, robed in white fabric woven through with intricate golden patterns.
As his gaze fell upon Leylin, his irises flared with a bright sapphire glow, scanning him thoroughly from head to toe.
"I'm Kroft. The shadow slave has already passed along your details."
He spoke calmly, though his eyes lingered thoughtfully on Leylin's athletic, well‑built frame, clearly comparing what he heard against what he saw, silently wondering if the listed age could possibly be accurate.
"So, um.. Leylin, are you willing to become my apprentice?"
Leylin bowed respectfully, his manner composed and entirely appropriate for a new student.
"It would be my honor, Professor."
"Good! Then I'll accept you as my disciple!"
Kroft announced while scratching his beard in what seemed like helplessness.
"Alright! That settles it. Let us begin with the ancient rites! It's very simple, you don't need to worry. You just have to give me your hand."
Leylin extended his arm calmly.
"Abiding by the rites of ancient times, I will now guide you, Leylin Farlier, onto the path of a magus!"
Kroft declared solemnly.
"Repeat after me!"
"I swear to forever be in the pursuit of truth!"
Leylin spoke the words, strange, rolling syllables of an alien tongue that should have been incomprehensible, yet he understood every nuance perfectly and reproduced the pronunciation flawlessly.
"I will not reveal any information my mentor passes onto me without permission, I swear!"
Teacher and student continued through the full sequence of oaths, their voices blending until they rose in an eerie, resonant harmony.
Beneath their feet, faint lines flaring deep violet traced themselves awake, forming a complete formation that blazed steadily with them standing right at its glowing center.
The light faded gently as it ended.
"Congratulations on formally becoming an acolyte! I've already unlocked the meditation technique for you. You can check it when you go back to your lodging. You're expected to report back here tomorrow at six. You can leave now, but for your own good please don't wander around like an idiot. People die young in these halls just out of curiosity." Kroft warned plainly, his tone shifting back to practical seriousness.
"I'll do as you bid! I'll be going then, mentor!"
Leylin bowed properly, turned, and departed already mentally queuing up the new technique for immediate cross‑reference and optimization.
Leylin summoned a HUD, the progress bar was steadily creeping upward as the mapping of all accessible places within the Abyssal Bone Forest Academy appeared on it, his sleeper agents quietly feeding back every corridor, chamber, hidden path and restricted zone across the entire academy grounds.
Satisfied, he turned and walked straight toward the trading post.
He had no intention of purchasing anything today; he merely needed to verify stock, availability and pricing.
Most importantly, checking if this place held the exact materials required to clear his backlog of upgrades.
[Materials Needed:
Silver‑Mana Alloy Dust
Star‑Iron Particles
Blue Copper Filings
Deep Crystal Shavings
Mithril Powder
Thunder‑Jade Grains
Shadow Gold Dust
Fire‑Ruby Sand
Verdant Jade Extract
Liquid Adamantite Residue]
He scanned the shelves, stalls and inventory lists one by one, marking presence or absence of each material in his mind.
Most common materials like the silver‑mana alloy, star‑iron, even blue copper are readily available but the higher‑grade, rarer substances like shadow gold dust, and thunder-jade grains were scarce or entirely absent.
Leylin arrived in front of the laboratory ten minutes early the next morning, finding two others already there.
The beautiful girl is named Bicky and the lanky young man is called Merlin, they are Kroft's existing apprentices.
Merlin who was very close to a breakthrough was deeply absorbed in pushing his own cultivation forward, barely looking up to acknowledge his new fellow student, so Bicky naturally stepped forward to show the new guy around.
Ironically, Leylin already held a perfect, detailed map of the entire academy grounds in his mind but for appearances sake, he accepted the gesture graciously, playing the part of a curious, grateful new student perfectly.
As they walked, Bicky pointed out landmarks, shortcuts, unmarked rules and hidden spots that even the collective surveys had missed, filling in those last blank spaces and updating Leylin's mental chart with small but vital details.
Over the next few days, Leylin moved methodically.
He visited the trading post, placed orders, negotiated discreetly, and paid exactly what was needed, true to the old saying: money talks.
With enough magic crystals offered upfront, restrictions loosened, reserved stock was suddenly made available, and rare imports turned up sooner than promised.
Piece by piece, every item from his requirement list arrived, refined, graded, and prepared down to exact nano‑purity standards.
Before the week ended, he held the complete set of materials required.
Everything was in place to upgrade his nanite swarm into a fully mana‑conductive network… and then he could finally etch those microscopic runes into every single cell of his body.