The arrival of the new guest caught the attention of everyone residing in the All-Knowing Tower, and upon hearing the thud from the platform, the Dwarves also paused their work.

The Demon Statue Norton flew over lightly, and the first thing he saw was the barely alive griffin. Compared to the knight, the poor creature elicited more of his sympathy. Although the griffin struggled several times, the eight steel tentacles of the Demon Statue firmly held it, taking it to a resting room lined with soft grass and promptly brought the freshest meat. However, it was Norton's words that truly calmed the griffin: "Don't worry, that Knight is being cared for by the best Priest."

Morgan was summoned by Zilvra because the Dark Elf felt that the knight's armor looked familiar. Red Beard took one glance and immediately recognized the wounded man's emblem. This was a Quasi-knight from the Holy Pate, definitely one of Wislin's men.

"Because they're based there, iron ore is very scarce, so it's impossible to equip everyone with the best steel armor," Morgan explained. "However, as a result, they invented this combination of chain armor and scale armor. Also, the mark on his shoulder is quite telling. Anyway, I think Wislin is currently in danger."

"Perhaps you're right, but only Lynch can change the flight path of this tower right now," Zilvra said coldly, casting a glance at the injured man groaning on the sickbed. "Whether he survives depends entirely on himself. However, lowly creatures always have a stubborn life force."

"I think this guy must be a messenger," Morgan fumbled under the Knight's armor. "Maybe we can find out why he was running south."

The Dwarf's strong hands elicited painful groans from the patient, yet he remained unconscious. Big Beard paid no heed to the pain he caused, for his face was full of excitement. "Found it!" he exclaimed, pulling his hand out quickly, clutching a wax-sealed letter. The writing on it was somewhat obscured by sweat and blood, but the envelope's material ensured that its contents wouldn't be affected.

"Shall we open and take a look?" Morgan waved the letter in his hand, like flaunting a trophy. "Perhaps Wislin wrote a lot of greetings inside."

"That's impossible, the letter's not addressed to you," Zilvra said, eyeing Morgan. "Or maybe it's because your hair has grown to your chin that your brain has dropped into your stomach?"

"Hmph!" Morgan's big beard twitched. Just as he was about to speak, a thunderous explosion outside startled him.

"I knew this guy was carrying bad luck!" Zilvra pulled Soka and hurried outside, where they immediately felt a wave of intense electric shock and paralysis. The air vibrated violently, with every wisp of wind brimming with immense energy. The place felt like an underground tunnel filled with a putrid smell, ready to ignite with a single spark. The two of them halted, afraid that vigorous movements might trigger a chain reaction.

Soka's feathers stood on end from the static electricity, and her hair seemed to be following suit. The little companion curiously touched her head, wondering if this was why other people often did the same thing.

A thick plume of smoke emerged from the direction of Lynch's laboratory; the magically reinforced door had been blown completely away, leaving only a charred door frame dangling crookedly from the wall, stubbornly clinging on. A column of lightning surged out from the doorway, shining brightly across the sky. Since the sun had begun to set, the light trail lingered for a long time before gradually fading away. The elemental shields of the entire All-Knowing Tower activated on their own, sensing the immense power nearby, wrapping themselves in a storm.

Zilvra was worried that Lynch had made some mistake. Experiments with new spells were reportedly very dangerous; many mages were unable to control the power and were ultimately consumed by it, losing their lives. In such perilous moments, people usually imagine the worst scenarios. However, the mage's staggering silhouette emerged from the blasted door, coughing incessantly, with hair and face covered in soot. He appeared to be unharmed.

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