The deeper the trio moved through the forest, the thinner the presence of Ghouls became, and the less mist they had blocking their vision.

They crossed a thin stone bridge that arched over a stagnant river choked with black lily pads and skeletal arms reaching from the depths. After nearly an hour of weaving through roots thicker than Ember’s body, they saw it.

The Ruin, a hollow dome of ancient black-stone. Half of the ruin was already swallowed by the ear, and the other half was covered in vines, skeletal trees and veins of corrupted mana.

In the center of all of that was a Gate, a colossal arch of obsidian and silver, the frame of it etched with runes that shifted between different ancient languages.

The stone around it was cracked and burned, as though something had tried to tear its way in, or out.

Albedo slid off Ember’s back slowly, his boots landing in the moss with a muted crunch. Ember stayed still, nostrils flaring as she stared at the Gate, her flame-hooves guttering like dying candles.

The trio stood before it and Lilian finally spoke, “There it is, the Nexus Gate,”

She said and Celeste stepped forward quickly, drawing a silver token from her spacial ring, her family crest was burnt onto the token. The second she raised it, the runes around the arch flickered.

“Only nobleblood can command it,” she said, “And even then, only a few.”

Lilian pulled her own token with her family crest, tossing it toward the Gate and it hovered in the air before locking itself into one of the indentations carved into the stone base.

The two sigils pulsed side by side and the gate quickly breathed, shifting the very fabric of space in a low hum that thrummed beneath their feet, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

Albedo stepped closer, watching the inscriptions bloom like awakening veins. He recognized none of the script, but some of the meanings still reached him.

Portals to paths long buried. Highblood corridors through the Demon Kingdom, invisible to mortals and closed to most.

“Where to, prodigy?” Lilian asked, turning to him with a rare edge of sincerity in her voice. “Name your destination.”

Albedo didn’t hesitate.

“The nearest city to the Hollowglass Ridge.”

Celeste blinked, “That’s,”

“A dead zone,” Lilian finished, “There’s nothing special out there. Just ghost valleys and echo mines.”

“Yeah and I have business there,” He said, and neither of them questioned him further. They manipulated their tokens to input the command, and the Gate accepts their commands immediately.

The runes shifted, the inner circle rotating like a vault door aligning to a secret key.

Lines of glowing blue light formed a skeletal doorway within the arch. first one, then two, then dozens, overlapping and shaping into a jagged triangle that burst outward before snapping into place with a crack that shook the ruin.

The path had opened before them, wind beginning to rush from the edges.

“You’ll be sent to Vandral’s Spine, a City named after an ancient Demon Duke,” Celeste said.

Albedo nodded, “Perfect.”

Once they gave him the go ahead, he stepped forward, the light of the Gate shimmered against his face, warping his features slightly. He felt his mana ripple as the Gate reached out to read him, searching for his lineage, his blood, his purpose.

It touched the Veyth mark inside him and the sting came instantly.

A sharp, burning pain flared across his chest and arm as the Gate branded his mana signature. It didn’t stop. It tore through him, an invasive tendril of ancient will, like it was deciding whether or not to allow him through.

Celeste grabbed his shoulder.

“Hold steady. Let it take the imprint. Don’t resist it, or it’ll think you’re hostile.”

He gritted his teeth, letting the energy pass through him like a spear of molten ice. His body trembled constantly, but finally, after several heartbeats, the pain vanished and the gate exhaled.

Albedo took a shaky breath once the pain dulled to a low thrum in his chest. The Gate, now active, pulsed with ancient resonance, the jagged triangular frame warping the space within into a storm of glowing runes and shifting shadows.

Celeste still had her hand on his shoulder, her amber-gold eyes serious for once. She searched his face like she was memorizing every line of it.

“You good?” she asked.

Albedo nodded, his voice low. “I’m fine.”

Lilian stepped to his side, arms folded, her long black-gold robes swaying in the mana-wind pouring from the Gate. Her fangs peeked slightly from behind her lips, a lazy smile curling at the edges.

“Shortcut delivered. Favor repaid,” she said, brushing invisible dust off her sleeve. “Don’t go thinking we owe you anything more.”

He turned to her, raising an eyebrow and sending a verbal jab back her way, “You owed me nothing to begin with. Still, I appreciate it.”

“Tch. Don’t get sentimental, Prodigy,” Lilian said, crimson eyes narrowing in mock annoyance, “Makes you look soft.”

Celeste smirked, “He’s anything but soft. I still have bruises.”

Lilian’s gaze flicked toward her friend, “You’re still thinking about that fight?”

Celeste didn’t answer. Her tail swayed lazily as she stepped away from Albedo, spinning her token once before stowing it. “He’s strong. Dangerous. And curious. That makes him fun.”

“You know where this Gate leads,” Lilian said, her voice quieting. “Vandral’s Spine is no place for tourists.”

Albedo’s expression didn’t change.

“I’m not sightseeing.”

Celeste raised an eyebrow, clearly interested, “Then I’ll say this: survive. We’ll be wanting to meet you in the future!”

Lilian smirked, but her voice held something softer beneath the teasing, “And if you die, please leave some pieces behind for me to collect,”

Albedo just rolled his eyes and gave a nod.

“See you soon,” he said, and with that, Albedo stepped through the Gate. For a moment, there was nothing. No sound. No sensation.

Then came the pull, a sensation like being wrenched through the eye of a storm, with mana threads coiling around his body, inspecting, weighing, dragging him through a corridor of collapsing realities.

His vision swirled with impossible geometry. He saw flickers of ancient realms. Castles built on clouds of ash. Thrones carved into the bones of gods. A river that flowed backward through time.

Then, he felt himself arrive. The first thing that hit Albedo was the smell. It was a rough aroma comprised of sulfur, scorched metal, and blood, lots & lots of blood.

The air was heavy with mana, so thick it pressed against his lungs like a second skin. Black spires rose around him like fangs, buildings etched with crimson veins of corrupted magic.

The ground beneath his boots was obsidian stone layered with old runes and dusted ash, and each step echoed like a whisper in a tomb.

Above, the sky was a perpetual twilight, neither day nor night, with a sickly violet hue and a floating sun that pulsed like a dying star. Massive mana conduits snaked between the towers like veins in an exposed heart, glowing red and orange.

“So this is Vandral’s Spine huh,” He said in his mind as he looked around. The city seemed to of been built on what remained of a collapsed fortress, an immense skull sat in the heart of the city like a cathedral.

Demons of all kinds flooded the streets.

Some walked upright, cloaked in robes of flame and smoke, others slithered on six limbs, eyes glowing like lanterns. There were Vampires too, dozens, if not hundreds, drifting through the crowds like predators at ease, their elegance disguising their hunger. Crimson-eyed nobles drank mana-infused wine beneath parasols of batwing silk. Others sharpened ritual blades, licking them clean with forked tongues.

A group of Liches floated above the crowd, skeletal figures in armor made of soulglass, each one trailing a cloud of soul wisps that screamed in silence.

Mutated beasts, mercenaries, bone-horses, succubi, imps, and things that had no name passed by without sparing Albedo a second glance.

Every building hummed with enchantments. Floating sigils rotated lazily above doorways. Blood runes flickered in alleyways like security markers. Even the taverns had wards against “psychic intrusions.”

It was chaos, but it was ordered, and it made Albedo very curious. It was so different to the cultures he had experienced or seen displayed vastly in the Novel.

It was a city that did not pretend to be anything other than what it was, a stronghold for the wicked, the powerful, and the damned.

Albedo took a step forward, his boots crunching over brittle ash. The moment his foot touched the pavement, several gazes snapped toward him.

Not hostile, but curious. They could immediately tell he wasn’t a native, and that made them curious. It wasn’t that non-natives never came by, but it didn’t stop them from being curious.

However, none of them approached, since they could tell he wasn’t weak at all.

His presence was like a freshly unsheathed blade, muted, but sharp. His mana was sealed beneath layers of suppression, yet his aura carried weight. It made the lesser demons instinctively move aside.

Plus, their was his Draconic Aura that bore down, making those instinctively want to avoid conflict, sensing his power.

He passed under a bone-archway and entered the main avenue, Ravager’s Walk, a long, spiraling street filled with market stalls selling forbidden relics, ancient tomes, and harvested monster parts.

There was a creature selling Monster hearts still beating in crystal jars. Another merchant hawked bottled nightmares bound in silver chains.

But Albedo paid them no mind, as his goal was further, beyond the crowds and beyond the city, to the North Western direction where The Hollowglass Ridge awaited.

And with it, the path to Seraphyne’s Tomb.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep