The world no longer resisted him.

  Eo had changed. His body, mind, and very essence had undergone a transformation so profound that he no longer felt separate from his surroundings. The weight of the air, the subtle shifts in the world's natural energy flow—he was now a part of it, woven into the fabric of the surface world in a way that went beyond mere adaptation.

  His movement did not stir the air unnaturally. His presence, once an anomaly that disrupted the balance of everything around him, now blended seamlessly into the world's rhythm. It was a level of control that even humans, with all their intelligence and complex techniques, could not achieve. They moved with purpose, their actions shaped by instinct and experience. But Eo had surpassed that.

  This was not just adaptation—it was mastery.

  Each shift in his form, each silent motion, was perfectly synchronized with his environment. His body responded not just to his will but to the world itself. Magic flowed through him effortlessly, not as a separate force but as an extension of his existence. The concept of "hiding" was no longer about suppressing his presence; he had become invisible simply by existing in harmony with everything else.

  And yet, despite this newfound equilibrium, his curiosity remained unchanged.

  A formation lay before him, glowing with faint traces of magic.

  It was intricate, complex—an elaborate web of interwoven symbols and energy, refined and precise. This was not the crude, instinctive magic of the monsters he had encountered, nor was it the simple enhancements humans used in battle. No, this was something deeper, something built upon countless years of understanding and refinement.

  Eo observed. He dissected it with his mind.

  The formation was constructed through layers of magic, each serving a distinct purpose. Containment, suppression, reinforcement—each thread of energy was woven with intent. It fascinated him. Unlike raw magic, which simply existed in a state of constant flux, this was a deliberate manipulation of power, structured into something functional. It was not wild or chaotic; it was designed.

  A fleeting thought passed through his mind—what if he could replicate this?

  If humans could use formations to trap beings stronger than themselves, then this structure represented something profound. It was not about power alone but about methodology. Humans, despite their physical and magical limitations, had devised ways to control forces beyond them. It was proof of their cunning.

  But what truly caught his attention was the blood at the center of the formation.

  A single droplet.

  Yet, it pulsed.

  It should not have been alive. Blood was merely a biological substance, a carrier of nutrients and energy. Even his Elemental Blood, which he had painstakingly created and refined, functioned as both magic and life force—but it did not act on its own.

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  This was different.

  Eo did not understand why it moved, but his instincts whispered of something beyond the ordinary. This was not human blood. It was something more.

  His focus deepened. He examined the blood as he would any other anomaly, breaking it down with his thoughts.

  There was a density to it—a presence beyond mere matter. It was not normal blood; it carried something within it, something that defied simple explanation. Magic, perhaps? No, it was older, more refined than just a simple infusion of energy. It held a structure, much like the formation itself, as if it was crafted rather than merely existing.

  Eo had encountered beings stronger than humans before. The creatures of the Abyss, the remnants of ancient magic—each held their own mysteries. But this was different. This felt deliberate.

  Had it been placed there for a reason? Was it a key to the formation?

  His mind raced through possibilities.

  If the blood was tied to the formation, then it was likely a catalyst, an essential component that allowed the magic to function. That meant whoever had created this formation had access to something—someone—powerful enough to leave behind a trace of their essence.

  Eo did not react with caution or fear. Such emotions were meaningless to him. But his curiosity, his endless hunger for understanding, burned brighter.

  The formation. The blood. Both were anomalies. Both were worth studying.

  He had already seen glimpses of human ingenuity, but this was something new. A fusion of knowledge and power, crafted with a purpose he did not yet comprehend.

  A thought lingered in his mind.

  What would happen if he took the blood?

  Would the formation collapse? Would it react?

  Would he learn something?

  For the first time in a long while, Eo hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but out of calculation. He did not yet understand the full mechanics of this structure, and disrupting it without proper knowledge could lead to unpredictable results.

  And so, instead of acting recklessly, he observed.

  He blended further into the world, allowing himself to become nothing more than a silent witness. His body, his presence, even his magic—everything adjusted to the environment until he was no different from the air itself.

  Time passed.

  The humans continued their preparations, unaware of the unseen entity watching from just beyond their reach.

  Eo remained still, absorbing every detail, every flicker of energy, every unspoken intent.

  He had already evolved beyond simple instinct. Now, he would learn.

  Eo temporarily disregarded the blood. Though curiosity lingered, his attention shifted to the hushed conversation between the humans. They stood in a loose formation, speaking in low voices, glancing around every now and then as if waiting for something unseen. Their tension was palpable. Were they expecting an attack? Or were they simply wary of their own trap?

  His gaze swept over them, reading their movements. Then, a reaction.

  Frid.

  A faint twitch ran through his shoulders, as if he had felt a phantom touch. Slowly, a grin stretched across his skinless face, his teeth glistening under the moonlight. His hollow sockets gleamed with eerie amusement, and his lips moved—not addressing those around him, but whispering to someone who wasn’t there.

  "Ah, my dear Agatha…" His voice was a rasp, audible only to himself. "I feel it. Watching. Lurking. It’s close, isn't it?"

  None of the others paid him any mind.

  Aelith, standing at the formation’s edge, studied the intricate lines carved into the earth, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "This… this is unlike anything I’ve seen before." She glanced at Antru, a hint of awe in her voice. "Even in the Celestial Archive inside the Holy Church, there’s no mention of a formation like this."

  Antru’s expression barely shifted, but his gaze carried an unspoken warning—some things should remain undisturbed.

  He exhaled, voice calm yet firm. "Don't ask unnecessary questions."

  His reasoning was simple. "I don’t want the Magical Academy to suffer damage."

  But deep down, his concerns lay elsewhere.

  What truly mattered was the Underground Chamber. His place of worship. His sanctuary. The academy’s fate was nothing compared to that.