Chapter 452: Phainon's Support
Castorice listened in quiet contemplation. Although March's energetic recounting glossed over the more harrowing, blood-pumping details of the encounter, the seasoned warrior could easily picture the suffocating pressure of fending off an endless barrage of lethal tactics within that shifting, unknown space.
Her gaze shifted toward the pink-haired archer, softening with a touch of genuine admiration and pleasant surprise. "I see... I truly did not expect Miss March to not only wield such potent ice abilities, but to also master such highly unconventional methods to counter her opponent. You are remarkably impressive." Her praise was straightforward and grounded, entirely devoid of polite exaggeration.
March 7th rubbed the back of her neck, a faint blush dusting her cheeks under the direct compliment. She waved her hands dismissively, her signature bright smile returning. "Oh, it's really nothing! I was just doing what I could. It was mainly because Stelle and Dan Heng were there to hold the front line..."
While the Express crew exchanged lighthearted banter, their boots crunched over the brittle, ash-gray leaves of the withered forest bordering the Garden of Enlightenment. The towering, decaying canopy gradually gave way to the distant, imposing silhouette of Okhema.
Miles away, deep within the fortified walls of Okhema itself, the atmosphere was far less relaxed.
Tribbie remained hunched over a massive, sprawling parchment map spread across her wooden desk. A stick of charcoal rested lightly between her fingers as she studied the complex topography. Suddenly, her small ears twitched. Her head snapped up, the charcoal snapping in two under her sudden grip.
The focused curiosity on her face vanished, instantly replaced by a heavy, suffocating solemnity. A sharp spike of anxiety pierced her chest, making her heart race.
"Garden of Enlightenment... under attack... very strong enemy..."
Intermittent, chaotic fragments of psychic feedback from Trianne flooded directly into her perception, painting a blurry but terrifying picture of clashing steel and overwhelming malice.
Without a single second of hesitation, Tribbie discarded the broken charcoal. She bolted out of the study like a localized hurricane, her footsteps echoing rapidly down the stone corridors as she made a beeline straight for the Garden of Life, Aglaea's usual sanctuary.
"Agy! Something is terribly wrong!" Tribbie's frantic voice echoed through the lush foliage, reaching Aglaea long before the girl herself burst into the clearing.
Aglaea stood alone amidst the serene flora of the Garden of Life, her eyes closed as she passively sensed the subtle ambient energies flowing through Okhema. A delicate porcelain teacup rested in her hands, the liquid inside having long gone cold while she remained lost in deep thought.
Hearing the sheer panic in Tribbie's voice, the Goldweaver turned gracefully. Her expression remained a mask of regal calm. "Master Tribbie, catch your breath. Speak slowly. What exactly has happened?"
Tribbie braced her hands on her knees, taking a massive gulp of air. "I sensed Trianne! They were ambushed near the Garden of Enlightenment, and the situation is incredibly dangerous! The enemy... the enemy's aura is completely unfamiliar and overwhelmingly powerful. It is absolutely not like the ordinary Black Tide creations we usually deal with!"
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to articulate the sheer, paralyzing dread that had bled through the psychic link.
Aglaea's perfectly sculpted brows pulled together instantly. A rare flash of genuine shock broke through her composed facade. "The Garden of Enlightenment?"
Her voice dropped an octave, carrying a chilling weight. "Has that sanctuary... truly fallen?"
The Garden of Enlightenment maintained a constant, secure line of communication with Okhema. For Tribbie to receive a distress signal through a psychic link rather than official channels meant the Garden might have been entirely overrun or subjected to a total blockade in a matter of minutes. The invaders had struck so fast that the defenders did not even have the chance to sound the alarm. The terrifying implications of such a rapid breach hung heavy in the air.
"Can you sense if Trianne is safe right now? What are the specific visual characteristics of this enemy?" Aglaea pressed, her mind already shifting into a cold, tactical gear as she calculated potential countermeasures.
"Trianne seems to be... out of immediate danger?" Tribbie frowned, struggling to decipher the fading, muddled sensations. "They are currently on their way back. But they absolutely just survived a brutal, high-intensity battle."
She tapped her temple, forcing the blurry images into focus. "The enemy's features... a black robe... a mask... wielding a massive greatsword... incredibly strong."
A sharp, dangerous light ignited in Aglaea's eyes. Those specific descriptors struck a very particular, very bloody chord in her memory.
Her decision was instantaneous. "I understand. Master Tribbie, I will notify Phainon immediately. He is to select a vanguard of elite Holy City Guards and ride for the Garden of Enlightenment at maximum speed to provide support!"
Meanwhile, within the quiet confines of his personal quarters, Phainon sat on the edge of his bed, methodically wiping the broad blade of his longsword with an oiled cloth.
His movements were sluggish, lacking their usual crisp precision. Deep exhaustion was etched into the lines of his face. Having recently survived the grueling trial of the 'Strife' spark, his body was battered, and his mind was still reeling from the residual shock. He was supposed to be strictly resting, per Hyacine's firm medical instructions.
When the urgent summons from Aglaea arrived, Phainon frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. Why would the Goldweaver assign a rapid-response mission to a man explicitly ordered to remain on bed rest?
"Master Tribbie, Aglaea, she..." Phainon began to ask through the communication artifact, only to be abruptly cut off.
"Little Phainon, it involves Trianne and the Express crew!" Tribbie's voice crackled with urgency. "They encountered a terrifyingly strong enemy at the Garden of Enlightenment! It is a mysterious, incredibly powerful swordsman wearing a black robe and a mask!"
Phainon's hand froze. The oiled cloth slipped from his numb fingers, landing silently on the stone floor.
Erimythia. His beautiful, burning hometown. The idyllic, peaceful life he once knew, shattered into ash and cinders amidst roaring flames and agonizing screams. And standing at the center of that inferno, branded into his soul like an eternal nightmare, was a black-robed figure wielding a grotesque longsword.
"It is him... he has finally shown his face again..."
Phainon's voice was a low, guttural rasp. He shot up from the bed, his hand closing around the hilt of his longsword with bone-crushing force. The searing pain from his half-healed wounds barely registered in his mind.
He asked no further questions. He completely discarded any thought of his physical limits.
The all-consuming inferno of vengeance, coupled with his absolute duty to protect his allies, drowned out every ounce of reason. The architect of his suffering, the monster he had hunted through his darkest nightmares and sworn upon his life to slaughter, was finally within reach.
Moments later, Phainon tore out of Okhema's gates at the head of a heavily armed elite squad, their mounts galloping furiously toward the Garden of Enlightenment, kicking up a massive trail of dust in their wake.
However, fate proved to be a cruel mistress, entirely unwilling to quench his thirst for vengeance so easily.
When Phainon's vanguard finally intercepted Stelle's returning group along the withered path, the anticipated clash of steel never came. The clearing was empty of any black-robed monsters. There was only the Express crew, looking battered, covered in dust, but largely intact.
"Partners! Are you all alright?" Phainon shouted, pulling his mount to a harsh halt and leaping down before it even fully stopped. After Stelle offered a casual thumbs-up, Phainon stepped forward, his eyes darting frantically around the treeline. "Where is the black-robed swordsman?"
"Got away," Stelle replied succinctly, crossing her arms. A flicker of genuine annoyance crossed her usually carefree face.
"He sustained injuries during the clash and used a specialized spatial ability to force an escape," Dan Heng added smoothly. The archivist's sharp eyes tracked the micro-expressions flashing across Phainon's face.
The young warrior's features twisted into a chaotic storm of emotion. Bitter disappointment warred with boiling anger, eventually settling into a cold, hardened resolve.
Phainon stood in absolute silence for a long moment. He gripped the hilt of his sheathed sword so tightly that his knuckles turned a stark, bloodless white. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he forced his spiraling emotions back under control and offered a stiff nod to Stelle and Dan Heng. "That bastard... he is truly a cunning rat."
His eyes darkened, staring past the Express crew toward the horizon as he made a silent vow. "However, since he has finally chosen to step out of the shadows... next time, I will ensure he never escapes so easily."
The return journey to Okhema was entirely uneventful, devoid of any further ambushes. The support mission concluded without a single blade being drawn.
Throughout the march, Phainon did not press the crew for the tactical details of the fight. Yet, his suffocating silence and the heavy, brooding atmosphere surrounding him spoke volumes about his deep-seated obsession with the monster known only as the 'Flame Reaver'.
Upon passing back through the towering gates of Okhema, the adrenaline finally crashed. Phainon prepared to return to his quarters to resume his interrupted recovery. The compounding toll of the consecutive trials, his fresh injuries, and the violent emotional whiplash he just endured left him looking incredibly hollow and physically drained.
"Hey, Phainon!"
Stelle's voice cut through his dark thoughts. He turned just in time to see her casually lobbing a small, entirely unremarkable jade bottle through the air.
Phainon caught it reflexively. The smooth jade felt strangely warm against his palm, radiating a faint, soothing pulse of cool spiritual energy that immediately eased the throbbing in his temples.
"Take a few of those when you get back to your room," Stelle instructed, pointing a finger at the bottle. Her posture was completely relaxed, but her golden eyes carried a clear, obvious warmth.
"This little thing is called a 'Soul Nourishing Pill.' It is... well, let's just call it a local specialty from our side of the universe. It works wonders for treating mental trauma and soothing a restless, battered soul. You just barely survived a brutal trial and then immediately sprinted all the way out here. Your face is as pale as a sheet of paper, man. Go replenish your energy."
The small bottle of pills was actually a rare consumable they had acquired from a bizarre Chat Group activity during their initial exploration of Amphoreus.
In a strange twist of fate, after traveling across dimensions and going around in massive circles, the mystical medicine was now being used directly on their fiercely loyal partner from Amphoreus itself.
[Inorin's Note:
Enjoying the story? Dropping a quick review, comment, or Power Stone means the world to me and keeps these daily updates flowing!
Want to read 50 chapters ahead or just want to help keep a shameless translator alive? (My livelihood actually depends on this, haha 😭). You can support me directly here:
(P.S. Just remove the brackets and replace the [.] with a regular dot . to use the links!)
✨ Patreon (50 Advanced Chapters): patreon[.]com/InorinTL
☕ Ko-fi (Support / Sponsor): ko-fi[.]com/InorinTL
Thank you so much for reading and keeping this project alive!]