The cavern where the altar stood was deathly silent and crystal clear. Most of the seawater had frozen into blocks of ice, and the "Deep Blue Guardians" who had been protecting the altar were encased in frost, frozen rigid in place—some clutching tridents, others gripping coral staves, each locked in a different pose. Every last scale was rendered in exquisite detail, like the most delicate sculptures imaginable. Only the ring of deep blue water immediately surrounding the altar remained unfrozen, shielded by supernatural force, undulating gently.
Lucian stepped across the vivid crimson coral and walked to the boundary where this water met the rest. He reached out and pressed his palm against the wall-like plane where the two bodies of water met.
Incantations rolled from his lips amid the sound of splashing water. Within the layer of deep blue, the complex structure of a Magic Circle materialized—mysterious, uncanny runes cycling ceaselessly. According to Rhein's description, avoiding the hidden alarm traps within the altar's defensive Magic Circle would require at least three to four minutes of painstaking, careful decryption. But at this moment, Lucian was utterly unconcerned. Following the shifts produced by his incantations, he traced a series of elaborate hand gestures, and in concert with those gestures, his spiritual energy rippled outward—directly prying the defensive Magic Circle open.
Wooo! The crimson coral surrounding the altar suddenly emitted a piercing shriek, sending waves of ripples cascading through the cavern, echoing back and forth. Under normal circumstances, the High Priest stationed nearby would have sensed the alarm immediately and rushed over to eliminate the intruder. But amid that shrill wail, the surroundings remained deathly still and bitterly cold—without the slightest stir of movement. The High Priest, Brant, was trapped inside "
This allowed Lucian to pass through the deep blue water barrier with effortless ease and set foot on the altar forged from precious sea lapis stone.
The operation just now had been slightly risky, but it was still simpler and safer than painstakingly devising a way to lure the High Priest away from the altar for four to five minutes. After all, once the priest discovered someone trying to open the altar, he would never let his guard down again or leave matters to his "Deep Blue Guardians." For most intelligent beings, a slow approach and a rushed approach were two entirely different situations calling for two entirely different responses.
Moreover, if they couldn't catch the High Priest off guard and force him to activate the altar at full power, Lucian—who had already infiltrated the altar's perimeter—had considerable confidence in breaking out through the relatively weaker interior defenses. It should be known that the seventh-rank Koutao merfolk High Priest, lacking Divine Arts bestowed upon him by the slumbering God of the Sea, relied entirely on his own innate talent for spellcasting. He was unable to use many forms of Arcane Magic at all, and his repertoire was quite limited. Under conditions of advance preparation, even if Lucian couldn't trap him with the "Scepter of the Sun," he had more than enough ability to escape before the altar could fully take effect. For an Arcane Magic practitioner, knowing an opponent's spell capabilities in advance and making the appropriate preparations could dramatically boost one's combat power—enough to kill an opponent far above one's own rank.
At the center of the altar was a deep blue pool, within which stood a towering merfolk statue. Apart from the pool at its feet, there was not a drop of moisture anywhere around it.
Lucian studied the God of the Sea, Ambora, and saw that it had been carved with extreme ferocity—six arms, each gripping a trident. He shook his head with a smile. As expected—the primitive aesthetic sensibilities of early religious art.
Without wasting any time, he cast "Bull's Strength" upon himself, stacking "Bull's Might," and downed a potion of arcane enhancement. Then, gripping the wooden-handled Pale Justice in one hand, he drew the filth-encrusted sphere of blood from his storage pouch and placed it into the pool.
He watched it dissolve rapidly, staining all of the deep blue "holy water" the color of rust. Lucian stood and began reciting a lengthy incantation directed at the statue of the God of the Sea. The surrounding seawater trembled in response to the labored, halting syllables. The trembling grew more violent, and the rust-colored "holy water" quickly spread across the entirety of Ambora's statue, coating it in a layer of bloodstained hue.
Only now—wearing the "Crown of the Sun"—could Lucian sense two twisted spatial rifts within the statue. One belonged to the Netherworld, as expected. The other emanated a pale hue, carrying a thick aura of death, yet simultaneously exuding a faint warmth. It gave Lucian a feeling that was both familiar and utterly alien.
He was still in the middle of the incantation—there was no time to think. Lucian struggled to focus his concentration even more. As the spell neared its end, the bloodstains merged into the statue and the "holy water" gradually cleared.
Suddenly, the towering Ambora statue's six arms began to move. An aura of supreme, overwhelming power descended from some unknowable source.
With a resonant hum, at the very instant he finished the final syllable, Lucian felt as though he had plunged into a world between reality and illusion. Through his right eye, he saw a frigid, lifeless space rendered in black, white, and gray, where a colossal merfolk nearly ten meters tall lay quietly in a pale pool. Its eyes were tightly shut, every scale drained of color, as though it had already died. Yet even so, merely beholding it through this illusory vision was enough for Lucian to feel a crushing pressure—an inexplicable sense of sacredness.
Through his left eye, he beheld a desolate wasteland where countless undead creatures wandered. At its center stood a palace constructed from enormous bones. It seemed to grow translucent as Lucian gazed upon it. Surrounded by drifting wraiths, specters, skulls, and corpses, an ethereal monster clad in black robes materialized. In its hands it held a long scythe. Its face bore only a layer of desiccated, decayed skin stretched over a skull, its eyes pale and utterly vacant, devoid of any spark of life.
The monster turned its head slightly. Its gaze seemed to pierce through layer upon layer of spatial barriers and collide directly with Lucian's own.
A bizarre chill arose from deep within him, and Lucian felt uncontrollable numbness spreading rapidly throughout his entire body. His life force drained outward like the tide. At this rate, Lucian suspected that in just seven or eight seconds, he would become a rotting corpse. But apart from his soul's ability to think, both his body and his spiritual energy seemed completely paralyzed—utterly powerless to struggle free.
At that moment, warm and gentle energy suddenly flowed into his body from both his left hand and his chest. The numbness and cold receded swiftly. By the time he could move again, Lucian couldn't help but shudder. In an instant, the illusory world before his eyes—the bizarre visions seen through both his eyes—vanished completely. All that remained was the altar carved from sea lapis stone, the lifeless statue of Ambora, and the deep blue pool water. As though everything he had just done and witnessed had never happened at all.
"Was that just now the Bone Wastes?" Lucian's "Demonology" was fairly solid, and his foundational knowledge was up to par. He quickly identified the wasteland he had seen. "Was that one of the Demon Lords—Aposmos? Hasn't he been missing for over a thousand years?" Aposmos ruled the 123rd floor of the Infinite
Shaking his head in puzzlement, Lucian began methodically erasing the traces he had left behind. He then departed the altar, calmly transforming into an ordinary contaminated fish and slipping back into the sea without a sound. Only once he was far away did he activate his invisibility, rising into the air and traveling at high speed.
Three minutes later.
Lucian was already far from the contaminated waters. Only now did he think to himself with a mix of disbelief and amusement: "Every single time I've done something in the past, complications arose—even extremely dangerous turns of events. Never has it gone as smoothly as infiltrating the merfolk altar." "Things can change for the better or the worse. A mix of smooth sailing and setbacks is what's normal. If I only ever ran into bad turns, I'd start thinking I was cursed with misfortune."
……
In the dark night sky, countless brilliant stars shone. When the Koutao merfolk High Priest Brant flew toward one of the stars, he discovered it was not a real celestial body but a fragment of a star chart—and impossibly complex at that. Brant's breathing grew heavy immediately. He realized he had encountered the most "vicious" of the bizarre labyrinth spells.
Although his own magical abilities were not particularly versatile, having lived as long as he had, his experience was far from negligible. He knew that an ordinary labyrinth spell worked by warping space into a complex maze—the trapped person simply needed to find the exit to leave early. But the various modified forms of labyrinth spells transformed the "maze" of the path into a "maze" of an entirely different kind. In the case of this particular labyrinth, the path itself was simple—it required no searching. All one had to do was correctly complete several fragmented star charts, and one could leave.
For the vast majority of powerful beings, this was the most vicious category of labyrinth spell—because they understood absolutely nothing about star charts! To escape, one either needed power exceeding the caster's, to shatter the labyrinth by brute force, or to wait for the spell's duration to end—typically three to fifteen minutes.
Agh! Two minutes later, Brant let out a howl of anguish, angry sparks blazing in his eyes. He yearned to tear the fragmented star chart to shreds—just moments ago, he had suffered a devastating blow to his intellect. If Brant knew that after learning about "
Three minutes later, Brant watched in utter despair as the stars vanished and the night sky shattered.
"It's over. The altar must have been destroyed—and the royal family will never admit it."
"In a straight fight without the altar's support, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to defeat that high-ranking mage either. The items he possesses are simply too extraordinary."
"Could it be equipment lent to him by the prince?"
He still believed Lucian to be a merfolk—the transformation was completely undetectable.
The space shifted, and Brant returned to the cavern. Just as he was surveying his surroundings in anguish, he noticed that the frost had long since melted. Apart from a few Deep Blue Guardians who had been frozen into serious injury, there were no casualties. They were all staring blankly around them, seemingly perplexed that they were still alive.
"What in the world happened here?" Brant hurriedly looked back at the altar but saw no changes whatsoever—as though what had just happened had never occurred, as though no high-ranking merfolk mage had ever broken in. He carefully inspected the altar once more and found nothing suspicious. Brant looked at the Deep Blue Guardians in bewilderment, muttering to himself, "What exactly did he break in here to do?"
If not for the groaning of the seriously injured Deep Blue Guardians, he would have thought he had been hallucinating. A nearby merfolk mage who had also thawed out spoke hesitantly, "Perhaps... perhaps he went to the wrong place, realized something was off, and withdrew."
Went... to the wrong place?
Brant glared at the merfolk mage. Though he really didn't want to believe such an absurd explanation, he felt he simply couldn't find a better one. That high-ranking mage had tyrannically frozen every Deep Blue Guardian in the entire cavern, trapped the only seventh-ring mage—and then left without doing anything. Left, just like that…
……
After spending several days, Lucian successfully flew back to the harbor. From the castle of a "noble" in the Galler Duchy, he re-entered the "Plateau of Night." He then secretly abducted a vampire Viscount, transformed into his likeness, and under the pretext of gathering materials, entered the Dark Mountains through a spatial node guarded by another vampire Marquis. Using Count Nour's identity to jump between spatial nodes too many times would certainly arouse suspicion. And Lucian would never again use the spatial node within Rhein Castle's projection—Prince
Towering trees blotted out the sunlight, and the surroundings were rotting and dark. Lucian transformed into a vampire bat and, following the safe routes Rhein had told him about, evaded the various powerful creatures of darkness, creeping silently toward the distant Observer's Fortress. This time went smoothly as well. Two days later, the Observer's Fortress appeared in the distance before Lucian's eyes.