What other method was there?
Jiang Yu did not answer at once.
Instead, she reached out and took a brush that a vine had curled around and presented before her.
The brush was already soaked with ink,
which glimmered with strange colors beneath the sunlight.
The witch took the brush, steadied herself briefly, then carefully signed her name in the blank space on the lid. She then pulled a small seal from her robes and stamped it beside her signature.
Jiang Yu—
The moment the seal left the surface of the box lid,
a series of fine cracking sounds, like snapped bamboo strips, came from the box. Cracks spread outward in a web from the freshly written name. In an instant, the wooden box visibly caved in and shattered with a bang, turning into a great cloud of dark brown dust scented with old wood that drifted down in flurries.
Bang—
Once the dust settled, it revealed a small black tower lying amid bright yellow silk.
No, perhaps it was not black.
Hermione widened her eyes. By the daylight streaming in through the windows, she clearly saw a deep, restrained golden gleam occasionally flow across the tower's surface, as though molten gold were slowly coursing through profound darkness. She realized that perhaps only the passage of time had made the tower appear black.
The instant the little tower appeared, the Mandala Array, which had just been as steady as Mount Sumeru, let out an ominous sound. Wisps of choking green smoke rose from the silver powder outlining the array's foundation, while the green jade piled beneath the altar-city shattered piece by piece. This was what happened when spiritual essence was drained dry in an instant and magic spun out of control.
It took less than a breath.
The Magic Array