Chapter 216: Chaos Reversed, Perfection Attained

The water in the cup was drained in a single motion. The cup was then gently set down on the table—but almost at once, it shattered into a heap of glittering, water-speckled shards.

“Professor Sieg, that cup wasn’t cheap.” Rudolf sighed as he glanced at the man seated opposite him. He pulled a cloth from under the wooden table and swept the fragments into a pile before snapping his fingers and summoning a small rift in the air to dispose of the debris.

“One of these is half a month’s wages, gone. Enchanted glassware may be handy, but crafting it is no trivial matter.”

“Just what do you mean by this, Rudolf?” Sieg demanded, his voice low and edged with anger. “We’ve worked together for quite some time now, haven’t we? As members of the Royal Research Association, I’d even call us friends. Did you invite me here just to trap me?”

Sieg’s normally even temper was fraying. He barely contained the storm brewing within him.

His communication device was flashing ceaselessly with urgent summons—messages urging him to act, bearing grave intelligence about the descent of the God of Terror. Yet intricate sealing arrays had woven an unbreakable barrier around this room, imprisoning him.

“Of course we’re friends. Why don’t you stay here and chat with me, rather than worry about all the fuss happening outside?”

Rudolf shrugged casually, an innocent look on his face. From beneath the table—though there was nothing visible there—he somehow produced another cup identical to the one Sieg had crushed, setting it before him and filling it with a crimson liquid that looked like wine.

“This time, try not to break it,” he said with a thoughtful frown. “It’s, ah… my second-to-last cup. I have to say, the royals’ stuff is truly first-rate.”

He drained his own cup in one swift motion, sighing in blissful satisfaction.

“…”

Sieg said nothing more. Narrowing his eyes at Rudolf, he turned silently toward the study’s door, resting his hand on the handle before jerking it..

The handle emitted a resonant hum as an invisible barrier surfaced over its surface.

Complex runes glimmered and churned within, forming intricate magical circuits compressed into an astonishingly small space. The result was a simple door able to withstand far more force than it should have. No matter how much strength Sieg applied, the handle remained unmoved.

Placing his palm against the door, Sieg found the same unseen barrier across the varnished wood itself.

Fighting spirit coursed through Sieg as he brought his full strength to bear. Yet the harder he pushed, the faster the runes spun and the fiercer the magic within raged. No matter how he tried, he could not break through.

“Your handiwork?” he asked coldly, turning to Rudolf, who lounged unbothered in his chair.

“Indeed. It’s a Cyclic Phoenix Seal,” Rudolf said with an amiable nod. “Without revealing your true form, you won’t be able to overcome it with mere human strength.”

There was no mistaking it—Rudolf knew that Sieg was a dragon.

“Did you plan this from the start?”

Sieg’s voice grew colder still, tinged with bitter disappointment.

They had known each other for years, after all. Both were professors at the Royal Research Association and scholars of exceptional caliber.

Rudolf had a particular fascination with ancient history and esoteric lore, while Sieg, unable to wield magic due to his damaged nature, had focused on alchemy and theoretical magitech.

They had often collaborated, exchanging ideas and conducting experiments together, forming a quiet camaraderie born of shared passion.

Thus, on the eve of Aleisterre’s victory against Selwyn, when Rudolf invited Sieg to his manor to study some sacred relics and alchemical constructs captured in the war, Sieg had accepted without hesitation.

“You could say that,” Rudolf admitted. “Think of it as… protection. Sieg, the capital is in chaos. If you go outside now, you’ll only draw the attention of those who shouldn’t be watching. There’s no need for someone of your stature to get entangled in the messy politics of human kingdoms.”

His words were serious, even sincere.

“And your idea of ‘politics’,” Sieg retorted harshly, “is letting a dead god descend into the heart of the capital? I don’t know what madness the royals are scheming, but at this rate, the whole city will be lost. I can’t save everyone… but I can—and must—protect my friends.”

Without waiting for a reply, intricate magical sigils flared across Sieg’s arms, each one activating in sequence, powered by his indomitable will.

Adjusting the composition of his activated circuits, Sieg channeled the power carved into his draconic flesh—magical arrays painstakingly inscribed and optimized week after week under Avia’s guidance, deep within the shelter of the Lady of the Night’s veil in the capital’s shadow.

And while that arduous process took place, Sieg would engage Avia in long discourses on magical theory. He marveled at her astonishing talent as they perfected the magical circuits being engraved on his scales.

Though not yet optimized, the vast reserves of his draconic body granted him formidable spellcasting abilities even in his human guise. Not enough to match a true dragon’s might, perhaps—but among humans, it was nothing short of extraordinary.

As he scanned the symbols woven into the barrier, Sieg swiftly deduced the seal’s nature.

It was crafted to resist only brute force and specifically tailored to trap someone like him.

He extended his hand. A delicate weave of magic gathered at his fingertips, poised to shatter the barrier—then, the next moment, a brutal, invasive surge of magic crashed down upon him, tearing the fragile construct apart before it could take shape.

“Impressive, Professor Sieg,” said Rudolf as he rose from his chair. His own magic dissipated, leaving a faint shimmer in the air. Smiling, he continued, “You’ve found a way to cast spells after all. Fascinating. Would you indulge my curiosity and tell me how?”

Sieg’s pupils narrowed, a glint of danger flashing through them.

“Do you really think I won’t strike you down?” he said, his cultured voice roughening to a growl. Draconic might began to radiate from him, an invisible pressure that made the air itself seem to warp. Scales flickered into sight on his arms and torso—he was truly furious now.

“There’s no need for that, is there, Professor Sieg?” Rudolf said hurriedly, cold sweat beading along his brow. “Surely you don’t want His attention drawn here. It would be… bad for both of us.”

“You’re welcome to test me,” Sieg rasped.

Draconic might concentrated around him, so thick it nearly had physical force. It crashed down on Rudolf like a tidal wave.

At the same time, Sieg reached out, his spirit brushing against the Prayer Network, as he took advantage of a backdoor left by Wang Yu when he had last configured the Tree of the Night.

So long as Sieg carried a small idol blessed by the Lady of the Night, he could, for a brief time, manifest his draconic form without fear of drawing the gaze of that dread god.

“Come now, Professor Sieg, isn’t this rash? If you force your way out now, it’ll only end in mutual ruin,” Rudolf pleaded, feeling the suffocating pressure intensify.

“The descent of the God of Terror must be stopped. I must return to the Nightblades and lend them my strength. What is the point of this?!” Sieg roared.

“Don’t worry,” Rudolf said. He had been prepared for this question. “The Corpse of the End has been readied. That weapon shall be used to confront the God of Terror. There’s no need for you to worry.”

“You think you can control that thing?” Sieg scowled. “You know full well that curios of that nature are beyond our ability to tame. It’s a last resort at best, not a reason to sit idly by.”

Sieg frowned. He hadn’t expected the kingdom to unveil that curio so soon, but its nascent instability only deepened his unease.

“…Your sister is safe,” Rudolf said suddenly, swallowing hard as he revealed his final trump card. “So… you needn’t worry about the God of Terror.”

As he spoke, a suffocating, bone-deep dread seemed poised to crush him.

Draconic might exploded outward, a raw and primal force that battered Rudolf’s very soul, pinning him like a bug under a glass.

“Say that again,” Sieg whispered, voice colder than death itself. “I entrusted her to someone I deemed worthy. How do you even know she exists?”

Rudolf flinched under that gaze. “Please, believe me. She is unharmed. We’ve secured her… I swear it. Once the God of Terror is dealt with, you’ll see her again—at once!”

Sieg sat back down, his frozen stare never wavering.

“You have,” he said at last, his voice like ice cracking under pressure, “one chance—and one chance only. If you lie to me, I will burn everything you hold dear to ash.”

The draconic might slowly receded. Rudolf exhaled shakily, knowing full well the price of this gambit. This was his failsafe. Once this whole affair was over, Sieg would surely…

Suddenly, a piercing sound so loud it could be heard even within the sealed room caught both Sieg and Rudolf’s attention. At once, they turned toward the window.

The hemispherical dome expanding from within the heart of the capital, the divine kingdom of the God of Terror, was slowly rising into the air. As it did so, beams of light began to tear it apart.

“It’s here…” Rudolf eyed the beams with excitement and scholarly fascination. That curio had been activated, after all.

“If Hugin wasn’t responsible, then that fellow named Wang Yu must be. Indeed, there’s no way he could have been at the heart of so many incidents without some measure of skill. The risks I took—they were all worth it for this very moment.”

Rudolf fought hard to suppress a smile, knowing that Sieg was right by his side, but the jubilation and excitement within his mind was so intense as to set his whole body trembling.

Now, let time rewind to a dozen minutes earlier…

Having sent the smoke demon away, Wang Yu descended deep into the abyss, until he reached its very bottom. Ripples of perception fanned out around him. The mental pollution here was so dense that the smallest opening in one’s defenses would provoke a reaction from the void, that unfathomable chaos possessing incalculable malice.

The only thing preventing this accumulation of negative mental energy, gathered over decades and centuries by the citizens of the capital, from triggering a disaster was the strange curio in Wang Yu’s hand: the Mirror of the Stars.

This curio, which forcibly redirected the flow of mental energy, also suppressed the communication between the pollution and the void, averting the invasion of the void’s evil gods.

Yet even the faintest seepage of pollution had already blurred the boundaries between the capital’s shadow and the void itself. From this alone, it was evident how terrifying the concentration of void energy here had to be.

However, despite the indescribable density of corruption, Wang Yu, with the Mirror of the Stars in hand, remained utterly unaffected.

He had always been like this. No force that directly targeted his mind could ever take effect. In the past, he could at least perceive such influences visually, but ever since Roland’s key had been shattered, he no longer even bothered sending out his ripples. Mental energy had become imperceptible to him.

To Wang Yu, the mental pollution around him might as well not exist.

He ran through the pitch-black abyss, not needing any light to find his way. His ripples provided him all the sensory information he needed, and his acute spatial awareness guided him unerringly toward his destination.

He was making his way toward the place where he had once contacted the will of the abyss—that nascent existence, already steeped in malignancy, yearning for freedom, for release.

After a brisk run, Wang Yu came to a halt. His ripples had detected it nearby, at the heart of the abyss.

Before him lay a region so steeped in mental pollution that it had nearly taken on physical form, a mass of congealed chaos, the very embodiment of both mental energy and abyssal will.

“So this is it,” Wang Yu muttered, gazing at the seething mass. “It’s certainly chaotic enough. And nauseating. Strangely, it doesn’t seem to sense me this time… Was it really the key that enabled it to perceive me before?”

Through his ripples, he beheld the abyssal will’s true form for the first time.

It was a roiling black mire, endlessly devouring itself like a serpent swallowing its own tail—an infinite, unending cycle.

Unspeakable malice seethed within: murderous rage, envy, greed, savagery—beyond the seven deadly sins. Every form of ugliness that could be conceived festered in that black mass.

“The pus of humanity… or perhaps the evil of this world itself,” Wang Yu murmured.

He couldn’t shake a sense of familiarity, recalling the festering filth that burst from hollows, the corrupted visages of the video games he had played on Earth. It bore an uncanny resemblance to what he was witnessing now. [1]

Yet there was little point in dwelling on it. It couldn’t affect him. His task was to invert this mass of foulness, to reverse its nature. And what would that look like? A flicker of curiosity stirred in him.

Without hesitation, Wang Yu connected his spirit to the Mirror of the Stars and focused on the chaotic being before him.

The curio responded: galaxies wheeled in reverse, and the mirrored starlight it had cast began to flow backward. What once projected illusory stars and void now churned in reverse. The reflected stars condensing into tangible celestial bodies against a deathly silent sky.

Under the artifact’s influence, the grotesque mass before him began to change. Concepts inverted themselves: ugliness transformed into supreme kindness, absolute goodness, flawlessness.

Every word of praise ever conceived by human tongue found its embodiment in this new form—a radiant, immaculate orb of light, flawless and serene, without the faintest blemish.

Unlike the intangible mental energy from before, this light was real, having been transformed into solid matter by the Mirror of the Stars. It now floated silently before Wang Yu.

Chaos inverted; perfection realized.

Such was Wang Yu’s judgment as he gazed upon the orb. And with the disappearance—or rather, the inversion—of the abyssal will, the entire nature of the capital’s shadow shifted.

The pervasive mental pollution dissipated. The strange fusion of void and the material realm faded away.

All those within the capital’s shadow who possessed wizardly talent or keen perception, the Lady of the Night and Avia among them, felt the change immediately.

The young woman turned her thoughtful gaze toward the abyss.

“Has Wang Yu succeeded?”

A gentle pressure on her shoulder drew her attention—it was the towering figure of the Lady of the Night. Her projection was already beginning to fade.

“The void within this space is retreating,” the goddess said softly. “My projection can no longer linger. Should you need my aid, pray to me. I shall be watching.”

With these words, the Lady’s projection vanished, leaving only her voice lingering in the young woman’s ears. Avia nodded slightly, though a vague unease stirred in her heart.

As she played with the vial of Supersensory Elixir in her hand, she forced down the ominous feeling.

Meanwhile, deep in the abyss, Wang Yu stared at the perfect orb, now beginning to shift. From its flawless surface, a human figure was emerging—a body, a face, limbs, forming bit by bit.

“Why… why is it taking on human form?”

It was perfect in its androgyny. It possessed the grace and beauty of a woman, the strength and handsomeness of a man. Every virtue one could hope to find in a lover was manifest in this form.

Anyone who gazed upon it would surely fall helplessly in love—it was simply too perfect.

“I suppose it makes sense,” Wang Yu mused. “After all, this ugliness was born from the minds of the capital’s people. If you invert it… the result would still be human. And… yeah, I guess it is good-looking.”

But to Wang Yu, it remained merely “good-looking.” Aesthetic taste was subjective; he wasn’t so easily impressed.

The figure cast him a glance. Wang Yu met its gaze for a brief moment. Though he wasn’t particularly skilled at reading expressions, he could still glean something: those eyes were empty, devoid of emotion, brimming only with endless indifference.

In that instant, Wang Yu couldn’t help but think that, compared to even deities like the Lady of the Night, this being possessed a truer, purer divinity.

It paid him no further mind. After that single glance, it turned its gaze upward, to where the God of Terror, another incarnation of foulness, dwelled.

With a sweep of its hand, the ground beneath the abyss began to tremble. Bedrock cracked. The earth quaked. The entire abyss began to rise, wrenching free from gravity and rising swiftly upward.

Wang Yu sprinted away from the being, wary of collapsing ground and falling debris—but none came.

The land rose in one seamless piece, carried skyward by an unfathomable force, hurtling toward the surface, toward the square where the God of Terror waited.

“This power…”

Wang Yu was stunned. Such strength, such magnificence—but from where did it come?

As the abyss brightened strangely around him, he caught sight of something embedded in the ground: a colossal form, a corpse vast beyond imagining, buried deep yet untouched by decay.

“The Corpse of the End…?”

He recalled the term. It was something Sieg had mentioned only once, a secret he hadn’t been meant to hear.

1. A Dark Souls reference. ☜

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