Third Implantation (9)

Vastarael realized that there were a lot of metals on the shelves and on sacks.

Divine Metals, Demonic Metals, iron, elemental crystals, mana crystals, essence crystals... it had a little of everything.

The day passed in a blur as Vastarael explored the massive workshop.

He paused before a towering object that had been catching his attention for hours: a dragon skull. It was gargantuan, easily the size of a small fortress. Its blackened bone shimmered faintly under the soft glow of the workshop's ambient light, as if it had been forged from some material that transcended mortal comprehension.

The ridges along its jaw were sharp, each spike glinting with a faint metallic sheen. Its eye sockets were massive voids and yet his Mystic Eyes detected faint traces of essence swirling within them, like echoes of a once-great soul that refused to be fully extinguished.

The skull's teeth were the most intimidating feature. Each fang was the size of a greatsword, serrated and dripping with what appeared to be a translucent, crystalline substance that gleamed like captured starlight. Vastarael ran his fingers along one of the smaller teeth, feeling the strange texture. It was smooth yet coarse, humming faintly with dormant power. He could tell this dragon had been a legend, a being of immense might and willpower. Its essence lingered even in death, and the skull exuded an almost tangible pressure.

"Looks like you were one hell of a beast," Vastarael muttered, stepping back and craning his neck to take in the full scope of it. "No way this thing got here without putting up a fight. Wonder if I'll meet something like you one day."

Leaving the skull behind, he wandered over to the anvil that dominated the center of the workshop. Up close, it was even more impressive. Its surface was impossibly smooth, gleaming like polished obsidian, yet it carried the weight of countless strikes. Vastarael could see faint, glowing runes etched along its edged. They were runes of forging, power, and creation. Every rune pulsed softly, as if the anvil itself was breathing, alive in some incomprehensible way.

When he placed his hand on it, a jolt of energy shot through him, not painful but invigorating. The anvil resonated with his soul, as if acknowledging his presence. It felt ancient, eternal, and he couldn't help but marvel at its craftsmanship. Whoever had forged this anvil—if it had even been forged at all—was a being of unparalleled skill and power.

"Bet you've seen more history than most gods," he murmured, running his fingers along the glowing runes. "Probably a lot more blood and sweat, too."

Beneath the anvil, the floor was unlike anything he'd ever encountered. At first glance, it seemed like a polished black mirror, but as he focused, he realized it wasn't solid at all.

The entire floor was a swirling pool of pure essence, contained and stabilized in an impossible way. His Mystic Eyes showed him the individual particles of energy, each one pulsating with raw, untapped potential. It was mesmerizing, like staring into an infinite ocean of power.

The essence rippled slightly under his weight, but it didn't seem to hinder his movements. If anything, it supported him, as though the workshop itself recognized him and allowed him to traverse it. Vastarael knelt and placed his hand on the surface, feeling the warmth of the energy beneath his palm. It felt… alive. Almost sentient.

"An entire floor made of essence," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Whoever made this place really didn't hold back, huh? This is insane."

And then there was the forge, the beating heart of the workshop. Its flames were unlike any fire Vastarael had ever seen. They burned in hues of blue, gold, and white, flickering and dancing as if alive. The heat radiating from it was intense but not uncomfortable.

The forge's design was intricate, its body carved from a gleaming metal that seemed to shift and shimmer like liquid mercury. Around its edges were more runes, similar to those on the anvil, but these pulsed with a fiercer, more aggressive energy. Vastarael could feel the power emanating from it, a force that could create and destroy in equal measure.

The forge roared softly as if acknowledging his presence and he couldn't help but wonder what kind of creations it had brought into existence. Weapons? Artifacts? The possibilities seemed endless.

As he continued his exploration, his attention kept drifting back to the sapphire bowl in his hand. The potato and meat curry stew within it was still warm, still fragrant, and still endless. No matter how much he ate, the bowl never emptied. At first, he'd thought it was just a curious anomaly, but now he realized the truth.

The bowl had become an artifact, infused with the infinite energy of the workshop itself.

He took another bite, savoring the rich, spiced flavor.

"Alright, infinite food glitch," he said with a grin. "You're officially my favorite thing about this Epoch Cycle so far."

As the day wore on, Vastarael couldn't help but feel a growing sense of respect for the workshop. It was a place of creation, yes, but also of unimaginable power and danger. The dragon skull, the anvil, the essence-filled floor, the forge, they were all pieces of a greater whole, a puzzle that he hadn't even begun to unravel.

And yet, as he stood in the middle of it all, his bowl of curry in hand and a grin on his face, he couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. This was his kind of challenge. A place like this wasn't meant to be feared. It was meant to be conquered.

"Alright, workshop. Show me what else you've got."

Now that he had time for himself, he decided to focus on the one thing he never focused on since he came to the Epoch Cycle.

Circlecraft.

To be honest, he got to the Second Star by sheer luck. He was born a First Star Circlecraft Mage and he got to the second Star miraculously. He knew he spent a lot of time in the spire but for some reason, he knew that his friends were safe. In fact, he didn't worry a lot about them.

All he had was to kill the Winter Labor and bring them back from the frozen state. He didn't know how Narisva and Xander were doing but he could feel that they were fine. He didn't like the strange feeling of assurance but it was good enough for him to move forward.

Circlecraft Mages can craft any mystic circle if they want as long as it fits in their line of abilities. For Vastarael, with Rune Drawing, he had a lot of possibilities.

The concept of raising the Star Level in Circlecraft was elusive. It wasn't as simple as crafting more powerful circles or stacking raw magical force into a design. It was about understanding. Deep, gut-wrenching understanding.

It was similar to trying to fathom the very fabric of existence through arcane symbols and geometry. At the First Star, Circlecraft was foundational, like learning arithmetic. At the Second Star, it expanded into complex systems, like advanced algebra. But the Third Star? That was theoretical and abstract, similar to venturing into quantum mechanics or multidimensional mathematics.

For Vastarael, the path to the Second Star hadn't been intentional. He hadn't toiled for hours over dusty tomes or burned the midnight oil refining his craft.

Instead, he'd been pushed forward by circumstance; his Nexus bloodline, his ascension and the latent abilities within him had vaulted him to the Second Star without him realizing how. And while this gave him immense power, it also left him without the foundation many other mages had spent years building. It wasn't enough to wield power. He needed to understand it.

To Vastarael, the answer was obvious, even if he lacked the formal training to articulate it. His instincts guided him like an ancient map etched into his soul. He wasn't someone who followed conventional wisdom. No, he trusted his gut and his instincts screamed one thing.

He needed to create a Control Circle.

Control Circles weren't just advanced. They were sophisticated to the point of being alive, in a way. They required harmony between form, function and the user's intent. For him, it would be an analyzing device, something that could decode and dissect the mysteries of Circlecraft itself.

The more he perfected the Control Circle, the more his knowledge would get and his Star Rank would increase. It was like a map that would only get bigger when more information was fed into it.

The Control Circle would require him to tap into every skill he'd mastered so far. He'd have to draw on the precise mechanics of Rune Drawing and his Mystic Eyes of Awareness to track even the most minuscule errors in the design. Every line, every angle, and every rune would need to resonate with a singular purpose: absolute clarity and control.

The beauty of this plan was that the Control Circle wouldn't just be a stepping stone. Once perfected, it would serve as a tool to create and refine his future circles. With it, he'd be able to analyze the flow of essence, the resonance of runes, and the intricacies of geometric power structures. Every new circle he crafted would be sharper, stronger, and more stable.

But his ambitions didn't stop there. Vastarael wasn't just interested in becoming a jack-of-all-trades in Circlecraft. He wanted to specialize. His focus?

Barrier Magecraft.

His decision wasn't arbitrary. Vastarael knew himself well. He was pragmatic, a survivor at heart. With his pending Divinity of Protection, it made sense to lean into his natural inclinations and divine affinity.

"Defense is underrated," he muttered, sketching the rough framework of a Barrier Circle on his Divine Rank Mage Book using it's quill. "People think it's all about offense, about raw power. But you know what they say? The best offense is a damn good defense."

Barrier Circles were among the most challenging to create because they required absolute precision and balance. A flawed Barrier Circle could collapse under pressure or worse, backfire and harm the user. But Vastarael had an advantage: his Mystic Eyes of Awareness.

With his Mystic Eyes, he could see the microscopic flaws in his designs, the faintest imbalance in energy flow, the tiniest imperfection in rune alignment.

The Control Circle would be his key to mastering Barrier Circles. By using it to analyze the flow of essence and the structural integrity of his barriers, he could push their durability and effectiveness to their limits. Over time, he envisioned creating barriers that could not only block physical and magical attacks but also neutralize hostile forces, redirect energy, and even trap enemies within.

Of course, this didn't mean he'd abandon other aspects of Circlecraft. He would still dabble in offensive and utility circles when necessary; his Rune Drawing ability gave him the flexibility to branch out. But his primary focus would always be on barriers.

As he worked, his thoughts drifted to the future. If he could master Barrier Circles, he could protect not only himself but also those he cared about.

And maybe in himself if he was meant to die.

A strong barrier could give him the time and space to analyze his enemies, devise countermeasures and strike back with precision.

Vastarael smirked, tapping his quill against the book.

"Alright, Control Circle. Let's see if you've got what it takes to get me to the Third Star. After that, it's barriers all the way. And who knows? Maybe I'll redefine what it means to be a Barrier Mage."

With a renewed sense of purpose, he got to work, sketching the foundations of his Control Circle. Every line he drew, every rune he inscribed, brought him one step closer to his goal. The journey to the Third Star wouldn't be easy, but Vastarael didn't care. He thrived on challenges, and this one was no different.

"Let's make some magic," he said with a grin, his Mystic Eyes glowing faintly as he dove into the intricate art of Circlecraft.