Book 11: Chapter 51: The Heir

Guided by the young monk, the group finally emerged from the walled corridor into the interior of Candlekeep through another magical watery gate.

Once through the gate, a vibrant and flourishing garden spread before them. This garden clearly had no dedicated caretaker, yet a multitude of marvelous plants and flowers competed in splendor, energetically displaying their best aspects to visitors.

Compared to the aristocratic courtyard gardens Qin Lun had seen before, these weren’t arranged into intricate patterns or neatly trimmed. Yet, a wild, natural beauty surged forth, captivating viewers and making them reluctant to leave.

Of course, beyond the visual feast of the garden, the structure that commanded everyone’s attention inside Candlekeep was the massive tower rising from the castle’s heart. This was the central library, the core of all Candlekeep.

The central library was a Gothic spire, soaring over twenty meters taller than the mage towers atop the six-sided walls. It was the highest structure among the islands of Candlekeep.

The tower’s ground floor housed a vast circular hall. At its widest point, the diameter neared seventy meters. A flat, gravel path led from where Qin Lun’s group stood to the tower’s main entrance.

The tower entrance was a pointed arch gate. About ten meters before it stood a raised stone platform supporting a statue of an elderly man. Clad in a pointed wizard’s hat, he held a book aloft, gazing into the distance. It commemorated the Great Prophet Alando.

More than a dozen carved reliefs decorated the stone walls flanking and above the arch. They seemed to depict the history of Candlekeep, from its founding to the present.

Filled with awe, Qin Lun and the others entered the library’s main doors. The lobby was incredibly spacious, its dome ceiling soaring dozens of meters high, likely occupying one-third of the tower’s height.

A gently curving corridor hugged the lobby’s edge, spiraling alongside the walls. Parts ascended, while others descended towards the tower’s subterranean levels – a grand split-level design.

Strangely, the spiraling corridor had no stairs, only gentle slopes. According to their monk guide, this prevented scholars lost in thought from tripping – a thoughtful precaution.

Portraits adorned the walls of the ascending corridor – humans, elves, even dwarves. Images of various sapient races could be found here.

Mastashia recognized some figures, mentioning they were famous historical scholars, mostly polymaths, from various races.

Scholars carrying books, dressed in monk robes or wizard’s cloaks, occasionally passed by. Most wore contemplative expressions, all but ignoring the outsiders like Qin Lun’s group.

“Please, this way,” their monk guide said with an understanding smile, leading them towards the spiraling corridor deep underground, unfazed by the scholars’ disregard.

“Hey! Idria! Iristin… You wouldn’t just abandon me, right?” Linda gasped, rushing toward them as they looked around.

This ageless-appearing young girl’s bonds with her companions had deepened during the adventure. Strangely, she was closest not to the Thornblood Trio, whom she often helped, but to Idria, the follower of Lady Loviatar. Next came the stunning elven beauty, Iristin.

“Ha, Linda! Didn’t your teacher punish you?” Mastashia teased playfully.

“Ugh, don’t bring it up,” Linda grimaced. “He absolutely scolded me and piled on loads of homework. Once this is over, I’ll probably be copying texts in Candlekeep for decades to come.” Her face fell, etched with misery.

“Oh? After this matter? So… your teacher allowed you to go to the Northlands?” Idria caught the implication instantly, asking with surprise.

“Yes! Teacher said maintaining global peace is everyone’s duty! Candlekeep must lend its strength. But he has no time, so I get to represent love and justice, judge that horribly evil Zhentarim!” The little girl raised her fist, her expression solemn and sacred.

“Pfft!” Seeing Linda’s serious, earnest face, the three beauties in the group burst out laughing, doubling over in glee.

Qin Lun and the two other serial killers exchanged a knowing grin. They knew Linda was lying but saw no need to dig deeper. Whatever her teacher’s reasoning, as long as Linda didn’t aid the Zhentarim, they were happy to have a powerful dragon-blooded sorceress join them.

Descending the spiral corridor, Qin Lun’s group ventured deeper underground. Despite the distance from the surface, the air remained refreshingly clean. Magical crystal lamps set into the corridor walls cast a warm, orange-yellow glow.

After some time walking, doors etched with mystical runes began appearing along the spiral corridor. According to the young monk guide, these belonged to scholars who craved quiet solitude, along with some special document storage rooms.

After roughly half an hour (double quarter-hours), they finally reached the bottom. A spacious hall opened ahead, surprisingly dimly lit. Shadowy forms hinted at ancient, heavy stone doors circling the hall’s perimeter.

“Please keep your voices down here,” the young monk whispered. “Those stone doors are the resting places of scholars who slumber eternally within Candlekeep.”

“Why place tombs here? Doesn’t Candlekeep worry visitors might disturb those sleeping?” Qin Lun murmured.

The monk glanced at him. “Deeper sections hold tombs inaccessible to anyone. These tombs here exist by the scholars’ own final wishes.

“In life, they devoted every moment to knowledge’s god, Oghma. They left no heirs or students. So, after death, they wish for visitors to Candlekeep to meet conditions and inherit their legacy.”

“What kind of conditions?” Qin Lun asked, intrigued.

“The conditions vary,” Linda chimed in, smiling. “Some left only a perplexing riddle on the tomb door. Solve it, enter, take their belongings. Others tied it to bloodline. If a descendant or relative approached, the tomb’s hidden magical mechanisms would react.”

“In short,” she continued, “any condition is possible! If you seek serendipity, your guide could walk you around here briefly.”

“Best not invite trouble,” Mastashia urged from the side. “Let’s proceed swiftly to the teleportation array.”

“Certainly,” the young monk nodded. “You’ve paid the required price. Things shall proceed as you wish.” He led the group towards the passage at the hall’s rear.

Yet, as the group passed a particular tomb, an otherwise plain, heavy stone door suddenly emitted a faint glow. Everyone jumped in surprise.

“No way! This cheesy?” Everyone, including Linda and the young monk, stared wide-eyed. By Linda’s earlier explanation, someone among them was a descendant of the scholar entombed within.

“We must pause here regardless,” the young monk declared gravely. “I must test your bloodlines. We’ll see who qualifies to inherit this ancestor’s legacy.” He insisted everyone approach the tomb door one by one.

“It won’t take long!” Linda added supportively.

“If one of us takes an item from the tomb, must we pay an additional price?” Qin Lun frowned.

“No,” the monk and Linda shook their heads simultaneously. “The items within belong to the scholars, not Candlekeep. They are private bequests. Candlekeep merely honors their final wish, ensuring their legacy doesn’t fade. That is all we can do for them.”

Hearing this, the group had no grounds to object. One by one, they stepped forward, pricked a finger, and let a drop of blood fall into a stone groove before the tomb door.

Qin Lun and the two other apostles were clearly not blood descendants. Their blood dripped into the groove without reaction. Following them, Mastashia and Iristin, both beautiful elves, also failed. Gaze’s gathered on the final person.

“Me?” Idria’s expression was complex, hesitation clear.

“It’s alright, Idria. Perhaps the scholar resting here is a distant ancestor?” Linda offered encouragement with a smile.

“Since joining Lady Loviatar’s church, I’ve let go of family and lineage. I have no ancestors left, nor do I desire any kin.” Idria sighed, refusing the test.

“Whether you acknowledge the blood or not matters little,” Qin Lun interjected smoothly, pushing her toward the door. “Retrieve the scholar’s bequest. If you truly don’t want it, entrust it to Candlekeep.”

As Idria’s blood dripped into the groove, the expected magical reaction occurred. The crimson droplet began to glow a deep red, rolling like a tiny, lustrous ruby within the groove.

Clunk… Clack… Mechanisms ground within the heavy stone door, swinging slowly inward. The group nudged Idria inside before it shut behind her.

The monk assured them the tomb held no dangers. Once Idria retrieved the legacy item, the door would reopen.

True enough, moments later, the tomb door swung open again. Idria emerged, holding a plain, ancient ruby ring, her expression peculiar.

Instead of handing it to the Candlekeep monk, she slid it onto the middle finger of her right hand. She had chosen to accept the inheritance.

Seeing the female knight unusually silent, the group wisely refrained from asking questions. It was as if the incident had never happened.