Campore gritted his teeth, a sharp annoyance twisting in his chest. This fool refused to listen to reason. His fingers twitched toward the throwing knife at his belt, ready to let it fly. But he froze when Throne, who had come to a sudden halt, roared, "You dare kill me? Are you not afraid of Lord Deceiver Kil'jaeden?"
Deceiver Kil'jaeden? The name meant nothing to Campore, but it sounded heavy, like a title carved into stone. He hesitated, the knife heavy in his hand.
Throne didn't wait. In that flicker of hesitation, he sheathed his blade and vanished into the swirling dust. Campore's eyes narrowed. The interval for his Gravity Shield is five seconds, and its power is enough to push back Storm Assault. This bastard wasn't just strong—he was calculated.
Throne circled him silently, his movements deliberate. He wasn't spinning tales for the sake of it. This blue-robed sage was nearly as formidable as Oleg. A direct confrontation would end badly. So, what could he do? Disrupt his focus, bind his movements, and keep trying to analyze his tactics. The dust around them suddenly shifted, converging into a dense cloud before dissipating, leaving the hall eerily empty.
Campore raised his staff. Within the glowing magical crest, six pitch-black orbs formed, then shot toward Throne in rapid succession. Night Comet—a high-level Night Sorcery that transformed the already swift projectiles into a relentless barrage, suppressing every inch of space.
Throne's eyes widened. He slashed his dual swords at the floor. Star-frost erupted, freezing the ground as Moonveil's blade sliced through, shattering the stone. He dropped through the hole just as the comets struck. The explosion ripped through the building, debris raining down as the three-story structure collapsed into rubble.
Throne rolled out, dust clinging to his clothes. He knelt, one knee pressed into the ground, and looked up. Campore floated a few meters above, his gaze cold. "Do you really think I wouldn't dare kill you? Once Master Lusat is liberated, why would I fear some 'Deceiver'?"
Throne's lips curled into a mocking smile. "Does that mindless Lusat even dare to challenge our Pureblood faction?" Campore's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" "Master Azur has led us for five hundred years. Can Lusat last even ten?"
Azur's name hit like a hammer. Campore's eyes widened with shock. He landed on the ground, his composure cracking.
Throne pressed his advantage, rattling off terms that only Primeval Sorcerers would understand. "Do you know the twelve magical frequency variations of primeval glintstone? Are you clear on the three methods of modifying star seeds? You don't understand anything, yet you dare to stand before me!"
Campore's face flushed. These weren't just words—they were answers to questions that had haunted him for years. "Tell me! I'll pay any price!" His desperation was palpable, his carefully cultivated calm shattered.
In his mind, he saw it clearly: somewhere in The Lands Between, the Primeval Sorcerers had built a hall of knowledge, guided by a conscious master. It was everything he'd dreamed of. If he'd known earlier, he never would have allied with the Kindred of Rot.
It was equivalent to a rogue cultivator in an age of declining magic suddenly discovering that a sect still existed. He was ready to beg Throne to take him into the mountains, oblivious to the dull thump, thump, thump echoing in the background. Throne tilted his head, his golden pupils glinting beneath his bangs. "Really, anything?" "Of course."
Campore nodded solemnly. He just wanted to approach the Primeval. If he had known Throne's identity earlier, why would he have gone to such trouble to rescue Lusat? "Fine, lock that Lusat back up." "This... once the seal is broken, it cannot be restored." "Fine, then the second plan." "Please, tell me." Campore unconsciously used honorifics, leaning in to listen, and then—he heard a loud explosion.
Bang! Just like a cannonball exploding, the stone pavement was crushed underfoot. Throne, having prepared for a long time, launched a sneak attack. Storm Breath! Storm Assault; what was exhaled was himself. His figure flashed and vanished. Campore's reaction was also extremely fast, and he once again deployed gravity repulsion. Pfft. The blade touched it, but this time it didn't stop.
A stronger force forced a large hole through it, and then Throne burst inside. What? A dazzling cold light approached. Campore retreated half a step and slammed his staff into the ground. Gravity Impact—
Magic formed waves crashing toward Throne, while 'star-frost', hidden at his waist, swept upward.
The blade displayed cyan ripples, and upon touching the purple waves, it distorted them into a corridor. Throne advanced again, lowered his body, and swept his blade. The light of Moonveil flashed, and an arm spun into the sky. Swish—
With one sword strike, the hand was severed. Blood splashed onto the sage's face, making him look ferocious. He suddenly realized a serious problem.
No matter what he said or what deal he made, this person would not let him go! Damn it!! The swordsman took another step, continuing to press in. The blade, returning in a vertical slash, slammed into the middle of the kukri, forcing his knees to buckle and his face to flush red. At that moment, an iron boot slammed into his chest. Bang!! A full-force backward kick sent the man flying.
Throne looked ferocious. He had already severed the hand the man used to hold his staff; could he really engage in hand-to-hand combat now? Pursue. If he were a heavy-armored knight, he really wouldn't be able to catch up to Campore, who was back-stepping at full speed.
But Throne had transformed into an assassin; his speed was lightning-fast, even surpassing the self-destructing puppets that were in pursuit. His brain was calculating the enemy's splash range, while his blade stayed firmly on the enemy. Seize the initiative, then fight to the death! Advancing and retreating, they soon reached the end of the alley.
Having lost his magical ability, Campore could no longer intercept him. Due to blood loss, his brain had become foggy, but at this moment, Throne stopped. A blue emerald-like figure had appeared, who knows when, on top of the highest building, its golden right eye staring at the slaughter in the alley.
There was no emotional color, and no hostility toward either side of the battle; it was an aura that made him feel 'affinity'. "Forgot to tell you, Master Lusat no longer has any consciousness!" Campore's back was pressed against the wall, and with a ferocious expression, he pulled a jade-green pendant from his chest.
The pendant was about the size of a fist, like an open palm, and the energy fluctuations it emitted were the same frequency as Lusat. "It is my ladder to approaching the Primeval, and the only thing that can communicate with him." Campore gripped the pendant in his palm, revealing white teeth stained with blood, "No matter what I say, you want to kill me.
Fine, then no one gets to have a good time!" As his voice fell, he was as decisive as when he had lit the candlestick earlier. Bang. The pendant was crushed. Green fragments splattered everywhere, but Throne did not lose his composure due to the sudden situation. The bright blade light cut through the debris, enlarging in Campore's pupils.
The head spun skyward, hatred and confusion etched into its features. Throne barely glanced at it, shaking the blood from his blade. Therapy done.
Dawn crept over the horizon, but the sky burned purple. Brilliant and terrifying. Edred, the so-called Grand Sage, and his Night Sorcerers froze mid-step. Their throats tightened. "Lusat's lost control." The words hung in the air, final and damning.
The primeval glintstone unleashed its infinite magic in a single, catastrophic burst. The end of the world played out in seconds. Lusat stood at the heart of it all, a pinnacle Primeval Sorcerer, his power rivaling the greatest heroes. His tattered scarlet cloak billowed with raw energy. Throne turned, his gaze shifting a hundred meters away.
Those golden eyes still locked onto him, now clouded with a dementia-like cruelty. Lusat had severed his connection to reality, an unhinged reactor spewing violence in every direction. At dawn, the meteor would arrive. "Your trump card? Even if you fail, you'll drag Sellia down with you. Hardcore, as expected."
Throne exhaled. A headache of an enemy. Sellen's amulet was useless. Fleeing wouldn't save him. The magic scoured everything, but Throne stood firm. No retreat. Only forward.
He stepped into the gale, the vortex of magic clawing at him. Each footfall left cracks in the stone road. The movement triggered something—instinct, maybe. Those golden eyes snapped to him. The crystallized figure stiffly raised its hand. Magic rippled outward.
Dozens of orbs formed, blazing like meteors. Stars of Ruin, the legendary sorcery. Only when faced with it could you understand its terror. Each orb carried the destructive force of Sellen's Comet Azur, and there were more than ten. A single strike could cripple a dragon. Fired all at once? Not even Stormveil's walls would hold.
Throne planted his feet, gripping Starfrost tight. Come on. Cyan ripples surged around him, forming a shield. The meteors streaked toward him, one after another. Pale purple light flooded his vision.
Hum—
The impact was soft, almost gentle. Then the meteors veered off, slamming into the square a hundred meters away. Boom. Boom. Boom. The explosions shook the ground, dull and deafening. Buildings crumbled like sandcastles. Bricks, gravel, and splintered wood scattered in the blast. The shockwave hit Throne, searing his skin and rattling his armor. Cuts bloomed across his exposed flesh, but he smiled. Wide. Wild.
"Thops, you mad genius." Without the force field, he'd be dust. The explosions paused. Throne was already moving.
Bloodhound's Step. Starlight motion.
This was his full speed. The force field drained magic; standing still was suicide. Close the distance. Stick to him. He darted from the dust, leaving a ruined neighborhood in his wake. The crystallized Lusat tilted his head, confusion flickering in those golden eyes. What kind of sorcery was this?
Curiosity burned through his passive defenses. Ripples spread behind him, gathering larger meteors like some cruel experiment. Again? Throne slowed, released the force field once more, and pressed forward against the onslaught. Boom. Boom. Boom. Meteors scattered across Sellia, each impact carving deep craters where buildings once stood. From above, it looked like a rainstorm of destruction.
Fifty meters left. Throne clenched his teeth, feeling his magic drain with every step. His boots sank into the ground, heavy and deliberate. The meteors ahead grew sparse. Thirty meters. Each second stretched into eternity.
The last meteor came. Throne yanked back the force field, surged forward with a Bloodhound's Step, and vanished into the void. Boom! The shockwave hit from behind, hurling him forward. His magic control sharpened. Target—jump! He reappeared on the rooftop, right behind Lusat.
Still airborne, his right hand gripped the hilt at his left waist. Moonveil flashed free. Slash! The blade cut through the air in a blur of speed. Azure glintstone fragments danced in the air—he'd severed even the iron-hard crystals. Before he could strike again, Lusat vanished.
Starlight… movement? Particles drifted before him. Throne's eyes darted across the rooftop, searching.