Finally, under Cipher's incessant, almost frantic urging, Phaethon, Castorice, and Cyrene were finally ready and embarked on their journey to the land of the Dead.
An indescribable sensation of weightlessness and distortion instantly enveloped Phaethon. The feeling was somewhat unfamiliar—different from the stable, controllable spatial transfer of the Infinity Gates.
Yet, it held a strange familiarity, as if in a fleeting moment imperceptible even to consciousness, they had already traversed mountains and rivers, piercing through the blurred boundary between life and death.
The surroundings churned and blended like a crazily overturned palette of paint before abruptly settling into stillness.
By the time Phaethon's senses re-anchored to reality, he found himself standing on a completely different land.
The air was filled with a cold, seemingly soul-penetrating silence.
Before him lay the ruins of an ancient city of unimaginable scale.
Its grand yet crumbling walls were built from a mix of some unknown pale giant bones and black stone, soaring into the gray, hazy sky.
The outline of the city gate was twisted and bizarre, like a natural arch formed from the collapsed skeleton of some gargantuan beast. Within lay a deep, unfathomable darkness that seemed to devour even light.
Countless jagged, massive structures resembling dragon ribs jutted from the walls and ground, pointing towards the gloomy sky—this was the legendary Dragonbone city, Styxia, the Nation of the Dead.
Phaethon had only just focused, attempting to survey this desolate land, when suddenly from behind him came—
A soft "swish—h!"
Accompanied by a faint disturbance of air, a figure appeared somewhat unsteadily not far behind him.
It was Castorice.
She seemed not to have fully recovered from the dizziness of the high-speed transport, a rare look of dazed confusion on her face.
Almost simultaneously with Castorice's appearance, another figure solidified as silently as a ghost—
Cipher patted non-existent dust off herself, looking perfectly at ease. She even had the leisure to glance around before complaining to Phaethon:
"Hey, Deliverer Chef, what are you spacing out for? This creepy place is all gloomy, nothing but wood and stone. What's there to see?"
As if suddenly remembering something, she pursed her lips. "Oh, right, transporting this 'Princess Homebody' was a huge pain! Took more than twice the time it took for you!"
She pointed at the still-recovering Castorice and explained, "Had to find a thick, big blanket first, wrap her up tight like a mummy, make sure not a single patch of skin was exposed, before I dared move her!
Otherwise, what if I accidentally brushed against her during the trip? I'd die young, turned into a cat jerky! That would be a huge loss." She looked genuinely shaken by the thought.
"Alright," she clapped her hands, her cat ears twitching as if giving a work report. "Mission two-thirds complete, just one left… finish the job, then go eat grilled fish at the Golden Eatery!"
With that, her figure blurred again, disappearing as if melting into the air.
Cipher didn't even stay to hear Castorice's apology for the trouble, or Phaethon's question about how she planned to eat at the Golden Eatery.
Then…
One second…
Two seconds…
…
A full dozen seconds passed. The surroundings remained deathly still. Apart from the wind, there was no other movement.
The expected sight of Cyrene being delivered did not appear.
"Um… Phaethon…" Castorice was now fully alert. She exchanged a glance with Phaethon, a trace of genuine concern involuntarily showing in her beautiful eyes.
She knew very well that despite her troublesome "touch-of-death" curse, Cipher's transport of her had only taken two or three seconds. But Cyrene… it had been over ten seconds now, far exceeding the normal time!
"Lord Phaethon, could it be… something went wrong? After all, while Miss Cipher is fast, no one can guarantee absolute safety in the face of an unknown Nation of the Dead," Castorice asked, her face marked with that worry.
Just as both their hearts were beginning to tense up—
"Swish—h!"
The air emitted another soft popping sound!
Immediately after, a figure was rather roughly "thrown" out, staggering slightly before steadying herself—it was Cyrene!
However, the Cyrene at this moment showed not a hint of fright or discomfort. Instead, she wore a triumphant grin!
Her smile nearly reached her ears, her eyes sparkling with victorious excitement.
And Cipher, who should have appeared alongside her?
Nowhere to be seen!
Not a shadow, not a sound, not even a complaint was left behind. Her escape was clean and swift, as if afraid something terrible would happen if she stayed a second longer.
Phaethon and Castorice only heard Cyrene, after steadying herself, pat her chest and mutter with immense regret and disappointment:
"The cat tail felt so good! Just… *sigh*! What a shame!
She was too fast. Just a little bit more… my fingertips were almost there, but I still didn't get to touch those fluffy ears! They must feel even better…"
Upon hearing this, Phaethon and Castorice instantly understood what had happened during those "long" dozen-plus seconds. They both silently mourned for the unfortunate Demigod of Trickery for a few seconds.
Only after Cipher's figure had completely vanished did Phaethon, Cyrene, and Castorice truly settle their minds and carefully survey the legendary Dragonbone City—Styxia.
An indescribable, soul-freezing sense of cold, dead stillness assaulted them.
They stood at the entrance of a wide, dilapidated wooden bridge. The surroundings were not pitch-black as one might imagine, but bathed in a faint, cerulean glow.
Most striking was the River of Souls silently encircling the ancient city.
It was not a surging torrent but moved sluggishly like viscous mercury, its surface smooth as a mirror, reflecting the eerie sky above yet emitting no trace of life's breath.
And in the sky above, there were no familiar stars. Only an enormous, heart-stoppingly large moon hung, casting its cold lunar radiance.
Its light was not silvery-white, but a desolate, pale lilac-tinged halo.
It poured its icy, merciless moonlight down, illuminating the entire dead city-state and the ubiquitous, mountain-sized dragon bones with stark clarity.
The pale white bones intertwined with the moonlight, creating a scene both magnificent and deeply chilling.
Castorice stared blankly at the cold moon, at the silent dragon remains and crumbling architecture bathed in its light.
In her eyes, which always held a hazy mist, a barely perceptible, instinctual sorrow born from life itself could not help but surface.
This was the end and final resting place of all life. The deathly aura, so potent it was palpable, caused a certain power deep within her to resonate faintly.