Chapter 146: Family Heritage

Although there was a temporary pass, it was a one-time-use item that would become invalid upon exiting and re-entering. Moreover, the archives shared the same nature as a library and were not open around the clock, closing as evening fell. It was completely unrealistic to expect to stay here indefinitely to "scan" through all the materials.

Therefore, after discovering the abundant resources here, and adhering to the philosophy that a thief never leaves empty-handed—well, no, rather the habit of leaving nothing behind like a flock of geese shedding feathers—Byron felt it would be an immense injustice to himself not to maximize his gains.

Since their relationship was already dismal enough, he couldn't be bothered to exchange pleasantries with Leonard and simply confronted him with brute force to save himself from any further annoyance.

Byron had so many debts that he no longer worried, just as a sheep with many ticks no longer felt the itch.

Leonard was left completely speechless by Byron's barrage of words, his complexion turning dark with fury.

Byron did not coddle him at all. Leaving aside the fact that loud noises and severe offenses like brawling were strictly prohibited in the library, the court wizards themselves were the law enforcers, and they knew the rules much better than Byron did.

As for Leonard daring to use his seniority to bully a junior, even if Count Iolum didn't deal with him, Lord Charles would certainly teach him a lesson in humility.

Seeing Leonard rendered entirely speechless by Byron's retort, the others were even less inclined to court embarrassment. Just as Byron had stated, he simply went about his own business quietly without disturbing anyone else.

[Mage Hand] was the only spell permitted for use within the library (having been originally created by spellcasters precisely so they could lie down and read).

Yet, the sheer scale at which Byron operated so many [Mage Hand] spells simultaneously was truly an astonishing display of sheer skill.

As the sky gradually darkened, a court wizard "kindly" approached to remind Byron that the archives were about to close.

Byron let out a soft breath, closed his eyes, and gently rubbed his dry, aching eyeballs. The obnoxious Leonard had long since departed, though there were still quite a few wizards around who were busy with their own tasks while incidentally keeping watch on Byron.

Even so, Byron felt this arrangement was quite agreeable: you do your work, I do mine, and everyone minds their own business.

Today had indeed been immensely fruitful. Even with Byron's rapid "scanning" method, he had managed to ingest less than a third of the collection. In particular, certain books were secured with "magical locks" whose difficulty scaled with the value of their contents; without a certain level of magical proficiency, one lacked even the qualification to open them.

However, cracking such texts consumed too much time, and since they were not urgently needed at the moment, Byron abandoned them, which inevitably resulted in many valuable materials being left unrecorded.

Byron raised his hand and gave a gentle wave, causing several open books to instantly snap shut and "fly" back to their original places.

He glanced slightly at the vast archives, silently resolving to completely "empty" the place out the next time he visited.

Without paying attention to the reactions of those around him, Byron walked straight out of the archives. Upon stepping past the threshold, he could feel that the temporary pass on his person had lost its efficacy.

It was a rather unique spell matrix; it seemed there were still plenty of fascinating individuals out there.

Several wizards trailed behind Byron as he exited, only to quickly discover that he had vanished amidst a brilliant burst of magical radiance.

"Spatial teleportation?!"

A wizard said with a rather unsightly expression.

"It seems the rumors are true. A short while ago, a massive block of ice was teleported straight to the headquarters of the Lehman Chamber of Commerce. Although the final figure wasn't clearly seen, many speculated that it was Byron Iolum."

A lean-faced wizard beside him said with a bitter smile, "To master 'spatial teleportation' before even advancing to high tier—this talent is simply terrifying. Is it truly wise to make an enemy of such a person?"

"Of course I know that. Whether or not we make an enemy of him isn't something we get to decide. If we fail to advance to the high tier, forget about choosing sides; we won't even have the right to speak. For now, we simply need to report what we saw truthfully..."

……

Space shifted, and once his vision stabilized, Byron had returned to the Iolum Estate.

Byron could now fully appreciate why his grandfather loved flitting about using "teleportation" all day long. Aside from the sheer majesty of showing off, the sensation was simply exhilarating!

Byron decided he should set up a few more "teleportation anchors" in advance and place them in various locations as backups. Perhaps he might even earn the moniker of the "Flash of Faerûn" in the future.

Not long after Byron appeared, the elderly butler, Walker, stepped out from the side.

"Master, welcome back. Would you care for some fruit juice or barley tea?"

Attired in a dark swallowtail butler's suit with snow-white shirt and gloves, Butler Walker remained entirely unchanged, as though time itself had lost its grip upon him.

"I'll have a glass of freshly squeezed fruit juice, Mr. Walker."

Byron said with a smile.

"Very well, please wait a moment, Master!"

The old butler bowed and turned to leave. Watching Walker's retreating figure, Byron's expression turned grave.

"Could he be an entity of legendary status? Or perhaps some bizarre life form?"

To this day, Byron remained unable to discern the butler's true power. According to family genealogical records, Walker had served multiple generations of heads of the Iolum family.

His grandfather certainly knew, and Byron believed that when the time was right, his grandfather would reveal the "truth" to him.

The waters of Faerûn were exceedingly deep. Not only did deities stir up trouble on a daily basis, but outer-planar deities and entities also cast covetous gazes upon the Prime Material Plane day in and day out.

They were far more patient than mortals, routinely spending decades or even centuries orchestrating their schemes.

The serpentine incident from a short while ago, combined with the underground altar his grandfather had destroyed, led Byron to deduce that it must be connected to demons or devils from the lower planes. To spend such a long time plotting in Sevinth, nurturing a serpent monster to such a grand scale, only to release it on a chosen "auspicious day" for a grand blood sacrifice—

Byron had long suspected that devils from the Nine Hells were behind the machinations, yet the previous painting titled *The Divine Servant Slaying the Serpent* reminded Byron of yet another demon, or rather, a malicious entity!

It had been mentioned previously why souls were the purest transcendent "material" while simultaneously being the easiest transcendent material to acquire.

In truth, deities, demons, and devils were all cut from the same cloth; since the earliest days of sentient life, there had existed the custom of making sacrifices.

Sacrifice offered the fastest means to communicate with a deity because souls possessed transcendent properties, especially those of intelligent beings, which were even stronger.

This was much like paying for a phone call: deities resided in the outer planes, far too distant from the Prime Material Plane. No matter how advanced a "holy symbol" might be in terms of dark technology, it still had to abide by fundamental laws, and making a call required communication fees. Since the deities certainly weren't going to pay the "phone bill," the burden fell entirely upon the worshippers. Therefore, sacrificing living beings as an "economical and efficient" method was inevitably the primary choice.

This method applied equally to demons and devils. However, unlike deities who "shepherded the world" and merely sought to shear "wool," the demons and devils of the lower planes were far more vicious. They possessed no concept of "livestock farming" whatsoever; they simply "consumed" as much as was available.

Compared to deities who sought "spokespersons" in the Prime Material Plane to propagate doctrines and bestow blessings, demons and devils were far more direct. They seduced mortals, directly granting them power or "magic items," and some shrewd devils simply handed over "technology," allowing mortals to forge "divine artifacts" themselves—sparing themselves the trouble of even providing materials—before staging a massive bloody sacrificial ritual to descend in their true forms, harvest souls, and subsequently recycle the "artifacts" for future use.

Without the sacrificial power supplied from the Prime Material Plane, even if demons and devils managed to squeeze their way through, their power would be suppressed to the level of mere curs, reducing them to literal fodder.

What worried Byron now was what other sinister plots the mastermind behind the scenes might be harboring. To be able to swallow one's pride and plot for so long meant they must have left behind backup plans; the devils' proficiency at scheming was maxed out.

Many races rested and recuperated during the winter to minimize food consumption, yet now they had all violated biological rhythms to launch assaults against Netheril's borders. If Byron could foresee this, he was certain the high-ranking powerhouses must have realized it as well.

However, none of this was something Byron could concern himself with at present. No matter how brilliant a genius or astonishing one's innate potential might be, without a certain degree of strength, it was all utterly worthless.

Could one expect a group of high-tier professionals to listen to a mid-tier professional? Without tangible strength and combat achievements, one lacked even the qualification to offer an opinion.

Such were the rules of the transcendent world!

Before long, Byron arrived at the entrance to the estate's basement. This was a peculiar door crafted from an exotic, specialized steel alloy.

Back when Byron's "craftsmanship had reached maturity," he had even attempted to pry this very door open.

Looking back now, he found his past behavior genuinely amusing. Byron placed his hand upon the door, quietly perceiving it, and discovered densely carved spell matrices etched across its surface.

"Such ancient spell matrices... Could this be... an early magically-modified version of elven spellcraft?"

Byron was immensely shocked. "Weren't those deemed failures and abandoned?"

In its earliest days, Netheril had learned its magic primarily from the elven race, but neither the incantation pronunciations nor the structural composition of the spell matrices were truly suited for humans.

Yet early Netherese humans did not abandon their yearning for magic. At the time, certain individuals attempted to refine elven spellcraft, though the results were far from ideal. The spell matrices suffered from severe flaws, and numerous spellcasters perished due to spell matrix turbulence.

Consequently, upon the subsequent discovery of the Nether Scrolls, those immature, modified spell matrices were promptly discarded in favor of studying the magical arts inscribed upon the scrolls.

As for the magically-modified elven spellcraft, the Netherese upper echelons had directly destroyed the vast majority of documentation to prevent later generations from tampering with them recklessly. Byron had only managed to uncover fragments of information concerning them within ancient texts.

"Yet judging by this spell matrix, it is clearly quite complete. Why would they claim it was a failure?"

With a sense of eager anticipation, Byron moved to open the door, flipping his hand to reveal a peculiar moon-shaped block of iron.

This was the key to the door, and one could see that this strange key and the door itself were forged from the exact same material.

Click!

Byron inserted the key into the corresponding recess on the door. The spell matrices on the key seamlessly filled in the missing portions of the door's carvings. As the pattern completed itself, a soft, pale green radiance flickered into existence, quickly coalescing into the shape of an oak tree.

"Is this a divine symbol?"

Byron frowned slightly, for he recognized it instantly as the holy symbol of Rillifane Rallathil, a deity of the elven Seldarine pantheon.

Rillifane Rallathil: Intermediate deity, god of wood elves and woodlands, and also a deity worshipped by druids.

Yet how had His symbol come to appear within the world of TorRil? This entity's portfolio potentially conflicted with Ghaunadaur's; nowadays, all druids worshipped Ghaunadaur. How had He managed to develop a following on the Faerûnian continent—and one of those followers happened to be his own ancestor?

Even His elder brother Corellon Larethian (the elven chief deity) wouldn't dare provoke Ghaunadaur, yet this younger sibling had dared to "poach believers" right under His nose.

Was He valuing "faith" more than His own life?

If Ghaunadaur discovered this, wouldn't He obliterate Him within minutes!

However, Rillifane Rallathil was considered the most steady of the elven pantheon, rarely taking the field personally and preferring to dispatch priests instead. Judging by the current state of affairs, His attempt at "poaching" had ultimately failed.

He knew that a powerful druid had once appeared among his clan's heads; it seemed that this ancestor had caught the eye of the elven woodland god.

No wonder she had been able to improve "Awaken"; it appeared that this ancestor had a hand in modifying the elven spellcraft after all. Byron would stake his life on the fact that the elven pantheon had left its fingerprints all over this.

Moreover, judging by the condition of the grand door, the endeavor should have succeeded. Why, then, was it never publicly disclosed?

While Byron was filled with questions, the oak tree pattern projected a beam of light that enveloped him.

"Beep. Unknown capability intrusion detected. Shall we shield it?"

The chip's voice resounded.

Byron immediately denied it, realizing that this was likely a spell matrix designed to verify bloodlines.

"System, record the spell matrix model and scan the overall architecture!"

Though it was an obsolete ancient spell matrix, it still possessed reference value. Moments later, the heavy door swung open.

A stale, slightly moldy scent washed over him. Utilizing a faint source of illumination, Byron took in the sight before him.

It was simply a basement; aside from the high-tech door, the interior layout was no different from an ordinary underground wine cellar.

This was entirely logical, as the estate had been constructed during the early Netherese era. While the main manor above could afford to hire elves to assist with construction, this basement had likely been excavated by his ancestor with their own hands.

Furthermore, that ancestor had apparently been somewhat unrefined. Although they had inherited elven druidic lore, they had apparently acquired no other aspects of elven culture and possessed zero artistic refinement. Much like Byron himself, they were a pragmatist who valued sturdy underground architecture above all else; aside from a few large wooden chests, there wasn't a single item of genuine value to be seen.

The iron plating on the wooden chests was severely corroded, and Byron easily unlatched the clasps.

Opening them revealed aging books and rolls of parchment. Byron casually picked one up to inspect it; they were not his grandfather's notes. He proceeded to open the remaining chests, only to find that the handwriting in each differed entirely.

Byron now understood: these were the accumulated knowledge and collections gathered by multiple generations of the Iolum family.

Although compared to his grandfather's entire study, the materials here were relatively modest, Byron knew that it was precisely through this accumulation across generations that his grandfather's generation had been able to soar to such heights. This was the true heritage of a family.

True heritage was neither a formidable "divine artifact" nor gold and jewels; only knowledge was something that could never be taken away by others.

……

(Let's count this as a chapter; I'll do my best to make up the deficit tomorrow.)