Chapter 210: The Lone Avenger Arrives

A member of the Abyssal Gate entangled with a ferocious werewolf, swung his flail with a searing blaze. As the beast lunged again, undeterred by pain or injury, the weapon lashed out in a blazing arc.

The knight’s potential, Wrathful Flail, triggered, and the head of his flail ignited with flames. The werewolf had charged headlong, trusting his formidable physique to take care of any glancing blows—only to be struck square in the chest as the attack landed with explosive force.

Fire and shockwave erupted in unison, blasting the werewolf backwards through the air.

“The Church of Nightfall?! Impossible. How can they still wield the Lady of the Night’s power? And could that be Eunice, the Lady of the Night herself? The God of Terror has already descended—the Lady should have vanished!”

The Abyssal Gate knight glanced skyward at the looming projection of the Lady of the Night, his thoughts in turmoil.

They had known about the church erected in her name via intelligence reports, but the God of Terror now walked the world! How could she still exist?

He pulled a scroll of restoration from his belt, tore it open, and slapped it against the gaping wound left by the werewolf’s claws. Gentle light knit the torn flesh back together—but the knight didn’t linger. He turned and fled without hesitation.

Meanwhile, having been blown away by the blast, the werewolf let out a low, painful howl. Despite his immense resilience, he’d taken the full brunt of a knight’s offensive potential, not something that could easily be brushed off.

The fur and skin on his chest were scorched and quickly sloughed off. The wound beneath was grotesque, revealing cooked muscle in brutal detail. Blood trickled from the jagged gash, though not much—the silver lining was that most of his blood vessels had been cauterized by the heat.

“Thanks for the assist. Focus on healing.” Wang Yu dropped down beside the werewolf, letting blood flow from his palms to coat the injury. The blood stripped away the charred flesh, and its innate regenerative properties began to seal the finer tears along the surface.

Then, his blood seeped into the werewolf’s battered body, seeking out internal lacerations left by the blast and knitting them shut from within.

“That’s the worst of it handled. The rest is superficial. This part might hurt—bear with it.”

He uncorked a vial of viscous gel and poured it over the wound.

This was Wang Yu’s special Acid-Infused Regenerative Salve, an old friend. Its healing effects were exceptional, as was the pain.

The werewolf howled in anguish as the serum bit into his flesh. Wang Yu ignored him and looked up at Avia, who was floating in the vicinity.

She gave a firm nod, signaling that her preparations were complete.

Wang Yu burst forward, stepping into a portal that shimmered suddenly into being—the Gate of Phases, a fourth-tier spatial spell.

Space bent and twisted as his coordinates were overwritten by magic. Wang Yu vanished and reappeared behind the fleeing Abyssal Gate knight, right atop his back.

The knight reacted quickly. At the first hint of motion behind him, he spun, flail lashing out in a full-powered arc.

But Wang Yu was faster. He caught the flail’s chain and yanked it forward, closing the distance until he was pressed against the knight’s body.

Without hesitation, Wang Yu grabbed onto him with both arms.

His opponent was rather skilled when it came to fighting spirit—he was likely an advanced knight. Wang Yu’s physique was at that level, but his fighting spirit was closer to a beginner knight’s. Brute strength wouldn’t be enough against this opponent.

He would need to rely on technique. Wang Yu was slightly faster in terms of speed.

Without hesitation, he hooked both arms around the knight’s limb. Drawing on his core, he destabilized the knight’s center of gravity and caused them both to topple mid-sprint.

They crashed to the ground. Wang Yu’s legs locked tightly against each other and pinned down the knight’s chest and face. This was a new technique on his part: Crucifix Lock.

Against an opponent of equal physical strength, this move could end a fight in seconds—and Wang Yu had the physique of an advanced knight.

The knight’s arm cracked under the pressure. Loud, splintering pops echoed as Wang Yu’s grip tightened. The knight couldn’t leverage his strength at all. Even with a burst of fighting spirit, he couldn’t escape—Wang Yu had already sealed his fate, and not just with technique alone.

Wang Yu’s blood and the smoke demon were already assailing the knight’s senses. Thick smoke clogged his nostrils, while blood seeped into his throat. If he breathed in, he would choke.

Panicked and suffocating, the knight continued to thrash, but quickly weakened.

Wang Yu shifted his hold and clamped his hands around the knight’s throat.

The knight’s dying brain sparked with one last jolt of terror. His hands flailed at Wang Yu’s iron grip—but to no avail.

With a twist of the wrists, Wang Yu snapped the knight’s neck. He had killed an advanced knight in seconds thanks to Avia’s assist and his deadly ambush.

“Not bad…” Wang Yu flexed his fingers, mentally recalibrating his understanding of his own strength. Then he looked up toward the distance, where battle raged between the Church of Nightfall’s forces and the remaining Abyssal Gate operatives.

A flare shot skyward, a luminous signal trail. Wang Yu recognized it. The Nightblades used a similar device for rallying allies. This one had undoubtedly been fired by the Abyssal Gate to summon reinforcements from within the city.

But Wang Yu didn’t worry. He turned and sprinted toward the abyss. They were clearly underestimating the Lady of the Night.

Though the Lady had no divine arts for offense and was weak by divine standards, she reigned supreme when it came to concealment.

A brilliant flare surged skyward. Below it, a member of the Abyssal Gate lay tightly ensnared by a vampire’s wings, fangs driven deep into his neck. His face had turned a ghastly pale, yet as he gazed upon the ascending flare, a serene smile curved his lips.

He didn’t know what that man from Aleisterre intended to do, only that it had to be stopped. Something had gone wrong with the Lady of the Night, and if her power faltered, the God of Terror might follow. Too much had been invested in this operation in Selwyn for anything to go awry now.

That signal flare marked the highest state of alert. Once released, the grand knights of the Abyssal Gate would descend upon the location without hesitation, regardless of the cost.

These Nightfall cultists cloaked by the Lady might be able to handle ordinary knights, but a grand knight was another matter entirely.

Yet, halfway through its arc, the glowing trail of the flare vanished.

There was no explosion, light, or even sound. The alchemical device, worth more than a hundred gold coins, simply ceased to exist, as if it had been snuffed out without a trace.

It was devoured by the darkness of this underground realm, by the veil of the Lady of the Night.

The man’s eyes widened in disbelief, the light within them dimming alongside fading shock. His corpse shriveled, his blood drained dry by the vampire still latched to his throat.

The vampire finally released the corpse, shoved the limp husk aside, and stumbled away, retching.

This young, strikingly handsome vampire was the unfortunate fellow who’d been turned purely for his looks. It was his first time killing someone—he’d always been gentle by nature. [1]

“Still not used to it?” The werewolf, whose wounds had mostly healed, approached and patted him on the back.

“Yeah… still not really used to it,” the vampire rasped. “I’ve fed before, but only when people offered their blood willingly. This… instinctive thrill from deep within my body makes me feel sick.”

He wiped the blood from his fangs with a pale arm, his voice weak.

“But at least we’re helping Archbishop Wang Yu. He’s done so much for all of us in the Church of Nightfall.”

Straightening, the vampire looked toward Wang Yu’s silhouette as it disappeared toward the edge of the abyss.

“The Church is like a second home to me.” The werewolf nodded, brushing a hand over the wound on his chest, which had already almost healed.

“Let’s go. We still need to defend the stronghold. The gangs from the capital’s shadow are out to scavenge in the chaos. Can’t trust those bastards not to sneak into our territory.”

“Right.” The vampire rose, placed a hand on the werewolf’s shoulder, and unfurled his wings. With a powerful flap, the two of them took to the skies in perfect coordination.

It was almost unbelievable how well the two natural enemies could work together, but such was the Church of Nightfall: it was a sanctuary of outcasts huddling together for warmth. There was no room for enmity here.

By then, Wang Yu had reached the city’s edge. Below lay the abyss. Through the royal lighthouse, a structure built to contain the Abyss’s pollution, he would descend into its depths. Avia and the Lady of the Night’s projection were waiting by his side.

“I’ll go on alone from here,” Wang Yu said as he neared Avia. “You should return to the Church with Lady Darkness. Once I’m done with this mission, I’ll come find you.”

“Okay. Be careful,” Avia whispered, hugging him briefly. She didn’t insist on going with him. Wang Yu was the only one suited for descending into the abyss, a place warped by spiritual corruption.

“I will.” He took the metal orb Avia held aloft with wind magic, patted her head, and turned toward the lighthouse.

Inside, Wang Yu stepped into the elevator, then paused.

“You should go.” He stood with arms crossed, speaking to someone unseen.

There was no one else with him but the smoke demon, currently surrounding his body in the form of smoke-forged armor.

“I’m a demon too, you know. My mind can withstand the pressure. I can descend with you and provide protection if anything goes wrong. You’re seriously underestimating me.”

The smoke demon’s voice carried a note of indignation.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Wang Yu replied with a small smile. “You have your own task. Someone else needs you more than I do.”

A brief silence settled within the elevator.

“I’ve dealt with that thing below before. It can’t touch me. And didn’t you always say you were his partner? Then hurry back to him.” Without waiting for a response, Wang Yu pressed the switch, and the elevator began its descent.

“I can see why Sieg and Hugin have faith in you,” the smoke demon said at last. “I’ll admit that this part of you is… likable. You’re right. That useless partner of mine would lose a third of his power without me.”

As the elevator descended, the smoke armor melted from Wang Yu’s body, slipping like mist through the cracks and racing off to rejoin its “useless” partner. Wang Yu glanced upward through the observation window in the elevator, toward the darkened ceiling above.

“The abyss lies directly beneath the square where the divine descent occurred, doesn’t it?”

He could see nothing but darkness, but his sense of direction told him all he needed to know. Directly overhead was the plaza in which the divine descent had occurred.

“An unexpected distribution of seats on the Elder Council, the divine descent erupting during the festival, and the festival square being positioned right above the abyss… That’s far too convenient.”

Wang Yu rubbed his chin, his expression tinged with suspicion. He still didn’t know exactly what Aleisterre’s royals were planning, but something was undeniably amiss.

“Still, the idea is sound. A curio that inverts reality… I really am curious to see what’s going to happen once the Abyss is inverted.”

The metal sphere in his hands slowly cracked open upon sensing that Wang Yu had arrived at the destination. Within was something that defied all logic and natural order.

A miniature starry sky bloomed before Wang Yu. It was resplendent, vivid, and dotted with countless points of starlight, hovering in mid-air like a slice of night embedded into reality itself.

Within the descending elevator, dim and sinking ever deeper into darkness, the moment the sphere opened to reveal that cosmos-like illusion, the surrounding walls and ceiling were bathed in hues of wonder.

Overhead, back on the surface of the capital, the battle between the royal guard and the abruptly emerging forces of the Abyssal Gate had reached fever pitch.

The arrival of the royal guard lifted much of the pressure off the city watch and Nightblades, who were already stretched thin managing both the spreading divine domain of the God of Terror and the advancing cultists.

In the skies above, Weston Stevenson, headmaster of Stevenson Academy of Magic, hovered with his staff in hand. From its tip burst radiant flashes of elemental power. Fireballs, icicles, and lightning spears poured like rain upon the enemy ranks.

He moved like a living bomber across the sky, casting spell after spell in support of the knights below. His presence alone prevented any lesser Abyssal Gate members from even setting foot within his range.

A blinding crescent of fighting spirit cleaved through a narrow alley, splitting entire buildings cleanly at a diagonal. The rubble slid, cracked, and tumbled to the ground.

From amidst the ruins stepped Uller, commander of the Royal Guard, clad in heavy armor. He discarded his greatsword, which had begun to fracture from repeated clashes with a grand knight from the Abyssal Gate, in favor of a a slender, intricately etched sword from his waist.

With a surge of fighting spirit, the blade began to twist and transform. Section by section, it unfurled into a deadly whipblade.

The weapon hissed through the air, its edges gleaming with Uller’s fighting spirit now manifesting in the form of cutting force. Swift and serpentine, it lashed out, as the clash between the two grand knights resumed.

All across the capital, fierce battles erupted. The local factions had begun to turn the tide and were slowly pushing back the invaders.

After all, this was Aleisterre’s home turf. Even with much of its strength tied up in the army in Selwyn’s territory, Aleisterre’s capital still boasted enough defensive might to grind down these interlopers.

It was only a matter of time before the Abyssal Gate fell. The only true threat that remained was the ever-expanding domain of the God of Terror—a divine kingdom impervious to magic that was steadily devouring the city.

Its spread grew swifter by the minute. Time was running out.

With everyone’s attention consumed by the divine kingdom and the cultists, some actions that would otherwise draw immediate notice could now pass undetected.

In a marquis’ estate in the northern part of the city, far from the square and the advancing edge of the divine kingdom, servants busied themselves loading valuables into carriages. A long convoy had formed in the streets, an attempt to salvage what they could before the otherworldly corruption reached them.

There was still time, but not much.

Unnoticed by both the servants and guards, a shadow slithered through the periphery of their vision. A figure moved within the blind spots of their awareness, cloaked in silence and darkness, and slipped into the manor unseen.

Shadows pulsed and slithered across the figure’s form, allowing the figure to meld with the darkness. Unlike the power of the Lady of the Night, this was something else—a living veil.

“I’m far from mastering the shadow demon’s power, but this will suffice.”

Within the half-abandoned halls of the estate, Hugin whispered to himself. Fighting spirit flowed through his body as he activated his potential, Malevolent Possession.

Within him burned the strength of several demons, the sources of both his power and his eternal burden. Each one was his nemesis, a force he had to master or be mastered by.

A smoldering hatred flickered in his eyes. The architect of his past suffering, the one who had cursed his flesh and turned him into a host for these infernal beings, lay in that room just ahead. Today, vengeance would be served.

1. See Ch. 88. ☜

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