Chapter 208: The Mirror of the Stars

“No—no, please—just let me die—krrk—!”

Within the expanding bounds of the God of Terror’s divine domain, a nobleman who had been granted a seat in the Elder Council and was invited to the celebration clutched his own throat with both hands.

His muscles bulged, veins snaked along his arms and neck. Tears streamed down his face, now mottled with purple as the force of his own grip strangled the breath from his lungs.

Blood seeped from between clenched teeth, his bitten lips trembling, his features twisted in an expression of atavistic fear. His eyes bulged wide, wild and bloodshot.

His pupils dilated, his brain refusing to register any further sight, preferring blindness to glimpsing the horror that did not exist yet could not be denied. In the end, with frenzied strength, he snapped his neck.

He collapsed backward. Even in death, his eyes were wide, staring up at the looming figure upon the domed ceiling of the divine sphere, at the god that ruled this suffocating nightmare.

He was not alone. Those earliest to fall under the God of Terror’s domain were now succumbing in waves. Under the intensifying weight of the ambient fear, one by one they turned upon themselves, dying by their own hands.

Bodies littered the square, strewn like offerings. Crimson blood pooled beneath them, seeping into the cobbles. The festival meant to celebrate Aleisterre’s victory had transformed into a tableau of horror, of darkness, dread, and death.

Then, without warning, a black hand passed over the nobleman’s unblinking eyes and gently closed them. It belonged to a shadowy humanoid figure, featureless, faceless, and utterly silent.

More of these black forms began to appear, each unique in stature but uniform in purpose. They moved through the field of corpses and closed the eyes of the dead as if performing some grim rite.

High above, the titanic silhouette at the apex of the divine dome remained still. It did not move; nor did it need to. The realm of terror continued to expand outward, and with it, the god’s power grew. Fear was both His weapon and sustenance. The attacks launched by the royal guards and the Stevenson Academy of Magic were utterly ineffective, failing to even scratch the surface of the god’s domain.

“Can’t you do something—anything? Aren’t the Nightblades supposed to be experts in this kind of thing? Don’t you have records on how to counter this sort of divine descent?”

A city guard, stationed near the edge of the expanding terror domain, shouted at a Nightblade technician, who was grimly attempting to decode the field’s magical signature.

“We specialize in the void,” the technician replied calmly, not turning his head. “This… deity appears to be a true god, not a void entity. The overlap is minimal—we’re doing what we can.”

Even as he spoke, the instrument in his hand corroded under the creeping influence of the god’s power. With a sigh, he tossed the now-useless tool aside and moved on to the next.

“Damn it, how can the Nightblades have existed for so long and still be so unprepared? Has nothing like this ever happened before?”

The city guard was clearly frustrated. His mood fluctuated wildly, and words rushed out of him in a torrent. He would be furious if he knew whom to direct his anger at.

“If everything could be solved by flipping through archives and relying on experience, the world would be far simpler,” the technician murmured.

“New phenomena always arise. We never know when we’ll encounter something beyond precedent. And today, we’re facing something entirely new. A divine realm manifesting in physical reality—I’ve never seen a single record mention anything of the sort.”

The technician kept his voice steady, suppressing all emotion to stay focused on the analysis before him.

“…Yeah. You’re right. Sorry for yelling. I just—damn it, my house is barely a few hundred meters from here. At this rate, that domain will swallow it within half an hour.” The guard struck his own chest twice in frustration, then forced an apology out between clenched teeth. “I lost control.”

“It’s alright. I understand. My home’s near the plaza too. It was gone within fifteen minutes. I don’t know if my daughter made it out.”

“…Sorry,” the guard finally muttered. Without another word, he raised his sword, pointing it at a new threat—a rogue figure from the Abyssal Gate who had just appeared in the alley behind them.

Around them lay the corpses of other city guards—and far fewer bodies from the enemy side. The battle was far from over.

Meanwhile, blood raced down Wang Yu’s arms, channeled at breakneck speed by Blood Tempest. He let the blood stream down his arms before launching the crimson streams through the gaps of his fingers.

As they left his fingertips, the rippling pulse of Material Shaping altered their nature, transforming them into five slender bloodforged swords each about the length of a forefinger.

They struck true, embedding themselves in the torsos of two Abyssal Gate operatives blocking his path. The men staggered, grunting in pain as they recoiled.

Without pausing, Wang Yu clenched his fist. The bloodforged blades liquefied inside their victims, ripping through flesh and bone with savage force.

Before either could scream, Wang Yu was upon them, his fighting spirit flaring as he surged forward with a brutal knee strike. Simultaneously, his mind linked to the Spellweaver’s Tome at his waist.

The first enemy’s sternum shattered from the impact, his heart ceasing on the spot. A fireball formed in Wang Yu’s hand and exploded against the second man’s head, reducing it to a ruin of ash and bone.

“Where the hell are all these guys coming from?” Edward muttered, shaking blood from his blade. He carried Sue on his back as he trailed behind Wang Yu, who carved through foes like a storm.

“Looks like the Abyssal Gate had this set up way in advance,” Wang Yu answered. “They’re our biggest obstacle right now. These rookies might only be knights-in-training, but that doesn’t mean we won’t run into full-fledged knights or even grand knights down the line.”

They had encountered multiple enemy squads since escaping the god’s domain. Fortunately, all the ones so far had consisted of knights-in-training, and were no match for seasoned fighters like Wang Yu or Edward.

A deafening quake rippled through the city. A colossal stone fist burst from the earth, demolishing a cluster of buildings as it rose. Then it slammed back down, reducing a swath of the capital to rubble.

A magician, staff in hand, hovered nearby, clearly locked in battle. He bore Aleisterre’s colors.

Given the timing of the divine descent and the coordinated ambush by the Abyssal Gate, it was clear whom the magician was fighting.

“They’re trying to buy time,” Edward said grimly. “If we don’t stop this, the entire city could fall. Our arcane communication devices are already failing inside the divine domain. We have to get back to headquarters. The Professor and Captain Hugin will know what to do.”

Wang Yu nodded. “You go ahead. I’ll meet you there after checking on Avia—she’s still on Redmaple Street.”

Without another word, Wang Yu veered off. Edward didn’t argue. Time was precious. He turned and raced toward the headquarters, carrying the cat-eared girl with him. It would be safe there for Sue, at the very least.

Wang Yu barreled into an abandoned home, crashing through glass and kicking down doors. Sprinting from rooftop to rooftop, he blazed a straight path toward Redmaple Street.

He grasped a tree branch to swing himself over a courtyard wall, then landed hard within the familiar confines of his own yard.

“Avia!” he called out, turning. She stood at the gate, clad in a combat-ready magician’s robe, golden hair bound in a high ponytail, staff in hand. Clearly, she was fully prepared.

“You’re finally here. Hugin has a mission for you. This package needs to be delivered into the Abyss beneath the capital’s shadow. Selwyn’s forces are scattered all along the route. I’m here to make sure you don’t die on the way—and this little magician here seems interested in coming too.”

Wang Yu had quickly noticed that Avia wasn’t alone. There was a drifting haze of smoke beside Avia: a demon, formless and flickering, its voice rasping with amusement.

“I’m coming with you.” Avia gave her staff a gentle wave. Magic pulsed out. A series of enhancement spells shimmered into place one after another, layering themselves over Wang Yu’s body.

“No problem.” Wang Yu didn’t try to persuade her to stay somewhere safe. He didn’t believe he had the right to make that decision for her.

“Did you bring the Supersensory Elixir?” he asked, glancing at her.”

“I did.” Avia nodded and pulled out a small vial that vibrated constantly in her hand. She held it up for Wang Yu to see.

“Give me the vial of Recaptured Glory, too,” Wang Yu said after a moment’s thought. “You never know, we might actually need it this time.”

“Got it.” Avia’s fingers sketched at the air as she summoned a modified Gate of Phases, a narrow rift in space. She reached into it and retrieved a test tube filled with a golden liquid, which she tossed to Wang Yu.

Blood churned in response, enveloping the vial like a second skin and adhering to his back.

That way, even if the vial shattered mid-battle, his blood would be able to inject the potion directly into his system. He still didn’t know exactly how potent it was, considering it had been synthesized using Sieg’s draconic blood, but it was essentially a supercharged adrenal serum.

This divine descent might be Aleisterre’s most dangerous scheme yet. Wang Yu couldn’t afford the slightest misstep.

“All set. Let’s move out.” Their preparations complete, Wang Yu bolted from the courtyard. Avia followed, skimming low over the ground, borne aloft by the wind.

And as it did with Hugin, the smoke demon manifested as a suit of smoke-forged armor that cloaked Wang Yu’s body. Man, woman, and demon surged toward the capital’s shadow.

One of the entrances to the capital’s shadow shuddered with a thunderous detonation. Several members of the Abyss Gate had been lying in wait for the Nightblades’ special ops team, only to find something else heading straight for them: a coordinated spell.

Flames exploded at the tunnel’s arched ceiling, sending bricks and rock raining down in a violent cascade. Dust swelled instantly, smothering the already dim corridor in suffocating fog. The glow of the mana crystal lamps embedded in the walls was rendered useless.

As the Abyssal Gate members coughed from the sudden smoke, the second phase of the spell closed in on them.

Thick stone walls erupted from the ground, cutting off all escape. The ambushers were boxed in.

“Enemies!” someone shouted, but the warning came too late. Before the last syllable left his lips, a figure streaked into the trap like lightning.

A few of the Abyssal Gate members, all knights-in-training, caught the intruder’s movement and drew their daggers, lashing out with practiced speed.

Most strikes missed. Only a few, aided by the narrow confines and well-honed prediction, found their mark. The blades struck home—only to clang against something hard. The sharp ring of metal on metal echoed through the tunnel.

“This armor really is handy,” Wang Yu said with a smirk. The daggers embedded in the smoke-forged plating hadn’t even scratched him.

But the most impressive part wasn’t the defense—it was the absence of weight. Despite the fact that it was as strong as heavy plate, the armor didn’t seem to weigh a thing. In fact, it seemed to bolster his physical strength further in certain situations.

“Duh,” the smoke demon began, smug and loud. “You think just anyone gets to wear me? I’m your captain’s partner, remember? That guy’s potential lets me run wild! Using me as mere armor is a waste of my talents—but I can take matters into my own hands if I have to.”

Wang Yu surged forward, the daggers scraping harmlessly off his armor, and crashed into the enemy line with brute force. Several Abyssal Gate operatives were bowled over.

In his hand, blood formed into narrow blades the size of throwing knives. With a flick of his wrist, they flashed red in the dust and gloom, trailing arcs of crimson through the air. Guided by his ripples, they unerringly slit the throats of every downed foe.

Others rushed to join the fray, but none noticed the strange smoke swirling through the dust-choked air behind them.

Strands of sentient smoke drawn from Wang Yu’s armor and guided by the smoke demon’s will, slithered around the throats of the Abyssal Gate operatives from behind. A heartbeat later, the smoke solidified and grew taut.

Choked cries filled the corridor as the Abyssal Gate soldiers dropped to their knees, clawing at their own necks in desperate panic.

But Wang Yu gave them no quarter. His blood twisted into a longsword. With both hands, he brought it down in a series of brutal, cleaving strikes. He dispatched the ambushers one after another.

“Not bad, kid,” the smoke demon said approvingly from the armor, voice vibrating in Wang Yu’s bones. “That combat instinct of yours is the real deal.”

Wang Yu didn’t respond to the compliment. His thoughts were elsewhere. The enemy had already reached the very threshold of the capital’s shadow. If the situation inside were worse, he might be walking straight into a nightmare.

He was strong even among regular knights, but a grand knight like Hugin would surely handle the situation better. Why did Hugin send him here instead?

He couldn’t afford to stop to ponder for long. He and Avia began descending into the capital’s shadow following the tunnel. Along the way, Wang Yu finally gave voice to his question.

“Hugin has his own task,” the smoke demon replied matter-of-factly. “This mission fell to you. As for why it was you, specifically—among the Nightblades stationed in the capital, only two have the willpower to face the Abyss without crumbling. One is Hugin, whose spirit has been tempered like steel through possession by an evil wraith. The other… is you, with that absurd mental resistance of yours that even I can’t figure out.”

It made sense. Only Wang Yu and Hugin could carry the curio into the Abyss and survive long enough to use it. The others, even with the Prayer Network’s ability to help siphon ambient corruption, would be overwhelmed by the deeper levels of the Abyss.

“So we can’t just throw the thing in?” Wang Yu asked, glancing at the metal sphere floating beside Avia.

“No. It’s a curio. It must be activated with human will to take effect.”

“A curio? A strategic-class one?” Wang Yu was surprised. Deploying a curio now, of all times—what was the goal?

“You’ve heard of it before,” the smoke demon said. “This is the Mirror of the Stars, the same curio that helped forge the capital’s shadow. This mission’s goal is to bring it into the Abyss and use it to reverse what lies within.”

“The Mirror of the Stars…?!”

He’d once wondered what Aleisterre was trying to achieve by creating the capital’s shadow—what purpose lay behind materializing and trapping that grotesque amalgamation of void energy and negative emotion into the Abyss.

He had already glimpsed what was gestating in that depth, an embryonic will of chaos, seething with madness and malevolence…

If the Mirror of the Stars were now used to invert that thing being born in the Abyss, just what would happen…?

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