Translator: CinderTL
Within Golden Grain City, the atmosphere had reached a fever pitch.
The shouts of battle, the clang of weapons, and the thunderous explosions of combat techniques from the city wall echoed clearly, filling every street with panic.
Messengers raced through the streets with frantic urgency, logistics personnel hurried to transport defensive supplies, and squads of soldiers, spurred on by their officers' commands, rushed to reinforce critical sections of the wall. Everything was chaotic and rushed.
Yet amidst this pandemonium, some observant soldiers and transcendent professionals stationed within the city gradually noticed something amiss.
The noble leaders, who would normally be present at such a critical moment, delivering grand speeches to assert their authority, had vanished as if they had evaporated into thin air. Not a single one of these influential figures could be seen.
Their Royal Guards remained, but the commanding figures who issued orders were nowhere to be found.
This unnatural silence was more unsettling than the clamor of battle outside the city walls.
Just as this eerie atmosphere began to spread, Duke Arno appeared on the road leading to the western gate.
Out of sync with the surrounding urgency, he moved with unhurried grace, as if strolling through his own garden rather than approaching the brink of life and death on the battlefield's edge.
His face, its features now softened, showed no trace of tension. A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips as he remained utterly indifferent to the panicked crowds rushing past him.
His destination was clear: the newly completed High Tower.
The tower stood in the relatively quiet west district of the city, constructed from dark, massive stones. It dwarfed every other structure in the metropolis, its spire piercing the leaden-gray sky.
Its outer walls were carved with intricate, unfamiliar patterns that shimmered faintly even in daylight, radiating an aura of secret art that warned the living to keep their distance.
Arno paused before the tightly sealed tower gates, making no move to enter immediately.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the obscure runes etched into the tower's facade before settling on the massive metal door, its surface covered in sealing patterns.
He reached out, his fingertips lightly brushing the icy-cold metal, sensing the faint mana fluctuations emanating from it. The barely perceptible smile on his face deepened.
"The time... is almost here," he murmured, his voice as soft as a sigh, yet carrying a chilling anticipation.
Pushing open the heavy metal door, Arno stepped into the High Tower's interior.
The space inside was far more expansive than it appeared from the outside. The air hung thick with the acrid stench of sulfur, the dry scent of medicinal herbs, and an indescribable, dusty odor.
Fluorite crystals embedded in the walls emitted a pale green glow, illuminating a massive, intricate magic formation etched into the floor.
Several figures cloaked in dark robes surrounded the formation, making final adjustments.
Their robes were mostly worn and even tattered.
Hearing footsteps, one of them looked up, revealing a face beneath the hood—deeply wrinkled yet with piercingly sharp eyes.
He wore a short, grizzled beard and was the temporary chief of these wizards, named Mars.
"Your Grace," Mars greeted, his voice hoarse with fatigue but brimming with suppressed excitement. "Your timing is perfect. The ritual is prepared, and the energy flow within the core formation has stabilized."
He extended a gaunt, bony hand, pointing toward the dome of the High Tower.
Through some clever optical design, a swirling mass of magic energy, visible to the naked eye, could be seen converging at the pinnacle of the tower.
"Once the ritual is formally activated, the Guiding Prism at the tower's apex will lock onto King Monen's uniquely powerful life aura and Battle Qi fluctuations," another, slightly younger wizard added, his voice hurried and tinged with nervousness.
"The maze technique will directly target Monen himself, banishing him to an unordered labyrinth within the temporal rift. No matter how immense his strength, he will find it nearly impossible to escape within a short time."
Mars nodded, then, as if remembering something crucial, turned to Arno, his tone cautious as he asked, "Your Grace, everything is prepared. However... regarding Prince Lucius, what are his intentions?"
"Once the ritual begins, there will be no turning back. We require His Highness's final approval."
Upon hearing the name "Lucius," a fleeting, enigmatic expression crossed Arno's face.
It wasn't surprise, nor was it sorrow, but rather a fleeting, almost mocking amusement.
"Your Highness..." Arno said in an emotionless, steady voice, his gaze fixed not on the wizards but on the glowing magic formation, which he studied with keen interest.
"He has entrusted all authority to me. His promises hold true. Begin now. Do not miss this opportunity."
His words carried an unquestionable certainty, effortlessly dispelling the last trace of doubt in Mars's mind.
"As you command, Your Grace. Please observe from here; the mana fluctuations from the ritual may affect those too close."
Mars bowed respectfully, then turned to the other wizards, his expression hardening.
"Everyone, take your positions! Activate the formation!"
The wizards swiftly dispersed to the key nodes of the magic formation, raising their hands in unison and chanting arcane incantations.
Arno, meanwhile, crossed his arms casually and leaned against the cold stone wall.
Shadows perfectly concealed half his face, leaving only his eyes visible—eyes that gleamed with an inhuman luster in the dim light.
As the chanting echoed through the tower, the magic formation etched into the floor suddenly lit up.
First, a faint glow appeared, then rapidly intensified into a blazing radiance. The deep blue light flowed along the etched lines like a living entity, and immense mana gathered and pulsed within the formation.
The fluorite crystals embedded in the walls seemed to react to the surge, their brilliance amplifying to illuminate the entire hall with an eerie glow.
The concentration of mana in the air skyrocketed, emitting a low, resonant hum.
At the tower's pinnacle, the swirling vortex of energy grew increasingly violent, its invisible tendrils reaching outward, faintly pointing toward a powerful presence beyond the city walls.
Seeing the ritual progressing so smoothly and the formation's energy steadily rising, the wizards' faces lit up with uncontrollable excitement and elation.
Mars felt an even greater surge of emotion.
This group consisted of "wild witches"—those who had never had the opportunity to study at the orthodox wizarding High Tower, instead relying on deciphering ancient texts or piecing together fragmented traditions through self-study. They faced constant discrimination and lacked resources.
If they could help Duke Arno and Prince Lucius successfully overthrow King Monen, they would undoubtedly receive unimaginable rewards and status, finally escaping their days of hiding in the shadows and being scorned by orthodox wizards!
Success seemed within reach.
As the wizards' chanting grew more fervent, the mana converging within the tower reached its peak.
The eerie blue glow of the magic formation cast ghostly shadows across the sweat-drenched, yearning faces of the wizards.
Mana surged toward the pinnacle of the tower like a tidal wave, converging at the center of the swirling vortex. There, a point of blinding white light was coalescing, poised to lock onto its distant target.
In that critical moment...
Everything changed!
At the edge of the formation, an inconspicuous auxiliary node suddenly erupted with an incongruous, dazzling white light.
This light clashed violently with the formation's deep blue aura, like a red-hot stone thrown into a tranquil lake.
"W-what's that?"
A middle-aged wizard was the first to notice the anomaly, pointing in alarm at the flickering light.
Chief Mars's heart sank. An ominous premonition seized him.
He tried to redirect mana to stabilize the aberrant node, but it was too late.
The light wasn't merely an energy overflow; it was like an iron wedge jammed into the delicate gears of a clockwork mechanism.
The once-orderly flow of mana was utterly disrupted by this sudden interference.
The blue energy trails writhed and convulsed like startled snakes, and the entire formation groaned under the strain.
The unleashed mana rampaged uncontrollably within the sealed tower, colliding and dissipating, yet forcibly contained by the formation's fundamental structure. Unable to escape, it was chaotically recondensed, only to surge anew in chaotic cycles.
Collapse, coalesce, collapse again, coalesce again...
With each cycle, the magic formation's glow grew increasingly unstable, its color shifting from a deep azure to an unsettling blend of dark purple and crimson.
The sulfurous stench permeating the air intensified sharply, becoming acrid and unbearable, now laced with faint hints of blood and decay.
"No! Stabilize it now!" Mars roared hoarsely, but every spell they cast vanished like stones sinking into the sea.
Against this runaway mana storm, the wild witches' strength seemed utterly insignificant.
Just as the relentless, destructive energy oscillations reached a critical threshold—
At the very center of the magic formation, in the space where the maze technique's target should have been located, space itself was forcibly torn apart.
A point.
An infinitesimally small, pitch-black point, seemingly capable of devouring all light, materialized out of thin air.
The instant it appeared, every sound within the tower—the wizards' cries of alarm, the mana's roar—seemed to be sucked into it, plunging the chamber into a deathly silent vacuum.
Then, the black point began expanding at a visible rate, like a drop of dark ink spreading rapidly through clear water.
It wasn't a flat plane, but a deep, three-dimensional void, leading to some unimaginable distance.
A miasma of sulfur, blood, and pure, chaotic malice surged forth from the expanding spatial singularity.
At the precise moment the singularity began to widen, Arno, who had been leaning against the shadows, suddenly tensed.
He threw back his head and let out a long, satisfied groan.
The sound was devoid of any human restraint, filled instead with a primal ecstasy and liberation, like a fish stranded in shallow waters finally returning to the boundless sea.
As chaotic, corrupting energy poured through the newly established conduit, converging madly upon him, his once slightly effeminate features began to transform visibly.
His skin grew smoother and paler, his facial features sharpened into refined, angular lines.
An otherworldly, genderless allure radiated from him, striking directly at the soul.
The most striking changes occurred above his head and behind him.
A pair of curved, jet-black ram horns, etched with dark patterns, pierced through the skin beneath his hairline and rapidly grew to their full size.
Simultaneously, a slender, agile tail extended from his tailbone.
Its tip, shaped like a sharp-edged heart, flicked restlessly through the air.
His human disguise was rapidly dissolving, revealing the true form hidden beneath.
"It's a succubus! A succubus!"
The sudden transformation left the wild witches in stunned silence.
"Y-Your Grace... you..." Mars's voice trembled with terror. He couldn't fathom how a high-ranking human duke could be... a succubus! Nor could he believe that the malevolent creatures from ancient texts were now standing before him, alive and real.
Arno—or rather, the succubus—slowly turned his head. His eyes, now pure amber with vertical pupils, swept over the pale-faced wizards with a cruel, amused smile. Ignoring their horror, he inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar, intoxicating scent of chaos.
"Wandering in this energy-starved world for far too long... This unexpected 'journey' has finally revealed the channel back home."
His whisper hissed like a viper's strike, and the twisted smile on the succubus's face, no longer concealed, bloomed fully. He watched the expanding spatial singularity with satisfaction, as if admiring his greatest masterpiece.
From the depths of the widening dark hole came a cacophony of grating, teeth-grinding sounds, like countless claws scraping against stone. Then followed suppressed, guttural roars, thick with greed and savagery, growing louder and clearer as they drew nearer...
(End of the Chapter)
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