327. Magic Research

John’s eyes stopped on the final line, written in clear, bold ink: John’s breath hitched. He looked at the paper, then back at Katrina, who was watching him with tears of joy shimmering in her eyes.

“Wait... Katrina? Does this mean...?”

“We’re having a baby, John,” she whispered, her voice breaking, hugging him.

Meanwhile The Mage Tower, Northern City, Kim Island, Kim Dukedom, Ancorna Empire

“Have we made any significant progress on the research?” Sarah asked, clutching a leather-bound report.

Before her, the central hall of the Ivory Chalice was a hive of activity. The mages from Otto City had integrated seamlessly into the Dukedom’s workflow, their traditional robes contrasting with the modern, sterile tools Ravenna had introduced. Researchers leaned over gleaming microscopes and adjusted brass dials on mana-meters, blending ancient magic research with cutting-edge observation.

A man in his late fifties, wearing a silver badge that marked him as the Tower’s Archmage, turned to face her. He offered a stiff but respectful nod. “I would say our progress has been unnaturally swift. Her Highness provides us with recipes and theorems so precise it’s as if she already possesses the sum of all worldly knowledge.”

“She certainly has a way of staying ahead of the curve,” Sarah noted.

“Indeed. At the moment, we have achieved a much clearer understanding of the ‘Teleportation Door’ spell utilized by the Cult,” the Archmage said. His gray hair caught the light as he gestured for her to follow him. “The upper tiers of the tower are still under construction, so we’ve been forced to share the lower laboratories with the junior mages. It’s crowded, but efficient.”

They arrived at a reinforced workstation where a glass containment box sat upon a velvet-lined table. Inside, a few delicate flower petals were suspended in a low-gravity field.

“We have made the most headway here,” the Archmage began, pointing to the shimmering mana-arrays surrounding the box. “As you know, teleportation magic hasn't been successfully utilized since the Age of Creation. The records say we simply lost the method for commanding mana to fold the fabric of space.”

“Due to the sheer volume of energy required to bridge the distance, correct?” Sarah added, recalling her briefings.

“Not just the energy, but the sheer complexity of the calculations,” the Archmage corrected. “Folding space requires a mathematical precision that would burn out a human mind in seconds. It explains exactly why the Cult’s doors are always paired with active dungeons.”

Stolen story; please report.

He paused, his expression turning grim. “The Cult isn't generating the power themselves. They are harvesting the enormous, raw discharge of energy produced during the exact moment a dungeon spawns. They’re using the birth of a dungeon nest as a battery to tear a hole in reality.”

After an initial pause he continued “From what we’ve gathered through our cross-referencing, they utilize a specific portion of the chaotic energy generated when two genetically distant flowers are crossbred, the very same energy that triggers a dungeon spawn,” the Archmage explained. He tapped a complex architectural diagram on the table, showing two points on a map being pulled toward one another. “They use that surge to fold the fabric of space between two distinct points in the world, effectively creating a doorway.”

“But what about the... organic matter?” Sarah asked, her voice tight as she recalled the gruesome intelligence reports. “The reports stated that every location where these doors appeared was covered in pulsing flesh. The Cult used human bodies in a ritual at every site. Why go through such a horrific process if the energy is already provided by the dungeon?”

The Archmage’s expression darkened, and he moved with a heavy sigh to a chalkboard. He slid a new diagram into place, showing the intricate runic structure of a flower petal.

“They use Lotus flowers engraved with predatory runes,” he explained, pointing to the jagged symbols. “These runes on this specific flower allow the plant to siphon the life force of living beings and convert it directly into raw, high-density energy. This energy is then used as a 'primer' to force the Broadleaf Arrowhead, a plant that naturally possesses space-distorting mana properties to activate. The dungeon’s energy maintains the door once it’s open, but that initial human ritual is the spark that ignites the fuse.”

“I see...” Sarah whispered, the horror of the mechanics settling in. “They sacrifice humans to pinpoint a precise location and tear the initial hole, then use the dungeon's chaotic mana to keep the spatial bridge from collapsing.”

The Archmage nodded solemnly. “Precisely. We are currently searching for a way to replicate this effect without the loss of life. Her Highness was very clear: we are to find a 'clean' alternative, or the project is to be scrapped.”

“Why can’t you just use regular mana to start the process?” Sarah asked, her curiosity piqued. “Plants already convert sunlight into mana. Why is there a specific need for life force? Isn't energy just energy?”

“It isn't just about the amount of energy, Miss Sarah; it's about the quality,” the Archmage explained, leaning over a microscope. “Mana harvested from the life force of an intelligent species carries a remnant of that intelligence. It possesses a 'calculative' property. As I mentioned before, folding space requires calculations so complex they would need days or months of writing runes. By using human life force, the mana itself performs the necessary spatial adjustments to keep the traveler from being shredded between dimensions.”

Sarah shivered. “So the mana ‘thinks’ the door into existence?”

“Exactly. A simple flower converting light into mana lacks that cognitive 'weight,'” the Archmage said. Then, a sudden, boyish smile broke through his weathered features. “However, we have just made a significant breakthrough recently. We have a working theory on how to open a teleportation door without a dungeon spawn or a human sacrifice!”