Soul of Searing Steel

Chapter 663: Eve of the Decisive Battle

Translator: EndlessFantasy Translation Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

Starfall Year 837, twenty-third of March. Darkness descending upon the West Mountains.

Since the first cluster of gloomy clouds appeared over the west, more and more thick clouds unfurled from the west to the east. The radiance of the setting sun was consumed by that ink dullness, leaving a few rays that dyed the skies a deep purple. And by the edge of the Dark Forests around the West Mountains, all magical beasts lifted their eyes to the heavens, as if having picked up some terrifying scent: thunder and lightning were wreaking havoc up above since some unknown point in time even as the dark clouds stirred.

After the clouds came the wind. The vapors from the western oceanic flows charged at the mountains and the forests by the speed of twenty meters per second, although they turned into massive waves of rain after being blocked by many summits of the western region. With a sudden thundering crack, countless raindrops descended as if hail, the powerful downpour brushing everything across the world with incomparable might, washing the land.

It was the ‘rainstorm season’ unique to springtime in the West Mountains. In this period, even magical beasts would retreat to their lairs and quiet wait out the storm. Needless to say, the same hold true for humans, with even adventurers out in the wild finding a place to rest if necessary, to avoid getting lost in the dark and icy rainwater.

It was a great yet dull season. Thanks to the torrential rain, countless dried mountain path, and rift valleys would stream with water, and the streams would begin to surge in turn as time passed, becoming veins of surging rivers. Amidst the forests, countless dry and cracked land rapidly absorbed the water and bloat, finally turning into damp wetlands or swamps, with wetland monsters and insects that had slumbered in the mud rising from their hibernation.

The West Mountains of the rainstorm season and the West Mountains during the dry season were two completely different worlds. During that period, even dragons would not simply enter the mountains and the valleys for none knew what extraordinary creatures would awaken then that might possess some frightening power. Indeed, nobody would take bounties of the monsters that appear during the rainstorms, even when the rich posted bounties of up to a hundred and fifty thousand gold coins for one specimen.

However, in a season so mysterious yet grim, the shadow of a man carrying a sword walked amidst the land that were familiar yet unfamiliar for the West Mountains people.

The man wore a hooded robe, and the sword he carried on his back appeared to be forged specifically. He walked beneath the tumultuous rain, but his clothing was not damp—it was not the rainwater being repelled by some power, but rain itself seemed to pass through him: countless bulging raindrops were indeed visibly running through the man’s body as if penetrating a phantom, and yet he was not one, for there were clear and visible shoeprints where he traversed.

There was an unusual harmony even when something as paradoxical happened around him. It was if it was how all things should be.

Wherever he walked, monsters would panic and flee as if sensing something frightening, and even Gold-tier monsters and Supreme-tier monster lieges did not hesitate to do so. They were familiar with the man’s presence since he had single-handedly wielded one blade and slew all their ancestors and parents, and the land across the West Mountains still bear traces of sword marks and bloodstains where he culled cultists and monsters.

When he reached the center of the Dark Forest, the man lowered his hood to reveal his true face. He was over two meters tall, and typical well-built men would appear to be mere teenagers if they stood in front of him. Still, his build was rather slim, making his handsome yet aged-worn face to appear as if it had been cut off, in turn giving his blue eyes an even more profound stare, while his pale-purple hair was tied into a long ponytail.

Now, that same man had drawn his seemingly ordinary sword, and stood simply over the land.

The Wielder of the Holy Blade—the Sword of Silver Oak, the Lord of Mystletainn, West Mountains’ own Sacred Swordsman: La Motte Ternant stood amidst the downpour, motionless even as every beast and monster within hundreds of miles fled in terror. Thinking nothing of it, the Sacred Swordsman looked up towards the gloomy sky.

“I’m ready,” he said, as if to himself.

Soon, however, a soft-white screen appeared beside him, displaying the solemn expression of Igor, Pope of the Seven Gods Church. “Then I shall be counting on you, Ternant. The West Mountains used to be the center of the world in the past, and the seal there would be the primary core put in place by gods of ages past. Only you can do this.”

“No worries. It is my duty as a human being.” The Sacred Swordsman replied mildly, but promptly looked up towards the dull sky, muttering, “It’s coming.”

In the very next instant, a strand of pure-white light pierced the darkened heavens, parting the thick black clouds like a keen edge. It descended under the rain like pure-white stairways to heaven. Soon, more while lights appeared, streaking straight down upon the land, and within a brief few seconds the gloomy skies of the West Mountains were illuminated in brilliance, as if the infinite brightness of paradise was shooting down to the mortal realm.

Or rather, not ‘as if’—it was precisely a light from paradise and the gods themselves.

The Sacred Swordsman La Motte Ternant watched as the divine light fell from the edge of the horizon by the thousands, the faint hint of a smile appearing over his cold face. In his blue eyes, the edge of the world was slowly protruding as the space at Mycroft’s frontiers contorted, with something colossal gradually approaching the world from the Void with the intent to combine with the world itself. Endless light streaked out of the protruding dimensional rife, shining its light upon the rainy land.

It was a world—the Infinite Horizon. Beneath the push of the Great Mana Tide, the resting places of the gods that had hung at the edge of Mycroft gradually entered the physical plan. It should have been one tremendous crash that completely destroyed the world and turned the ecosphere on itself, but the adjustments by the gods of Starfall era allowed it to harmoniously fused with Mycroft.

The Sacred Swordsman slowly raised the blade in his hand at the sight, even as the ordinary black steel blade began to burn. Amidst incandescent flames, an indescribable ‘thing’ that might or might not be a blade appeared.

It was a phantom, a flat shadow, a single indiscernible line that appeared to have no thickness when viewed from any angle. The reason others could see it was because it was shining a keen light as if it could slice through anything, even as it now illuminated most of the Dark Forest now. Holding the ‘sword’ aloft, Ternant drew a deep breath. The light of the sword hence passed through his body without forming a shadow, even as the Sacred Swordsman turned the blade downwards and stabbed it into the ground.

White-hot patterns of light appeared at once over the earth, piercing soil, stone, magma and the earth’s mantle itself into the subterranean depths, to an immeasurably colossal magma sphere that appeared to be a cocoon.

The cocoon itself was throbbing as if it was the Heart of the world, pulsating along with magma. Layers of black gases wafted around the Heart, spreading curses and the presence of Chaos visible even to the naked eye, while corrupted runes appeared one after another in the sea of magma around it.

At present, it was spreading its influence, with veins after veins of undetectable information flow that were distinct only to champions being released and unfurling endlessly into the Void.

But in that very moment, a pulsating streak of white-hot light stabbed through the earth, dispelling the endless curses and black gas.

A radiance originating from the Sacred Swordsman La Motte Ternant himself descended into the earth’s core and ascended into the skies. The divine lights from the Infinite Horizon ascertained the position thanks to that radiance from that blade, and began to gather around the swordsman himself. From the distance, the phenomenon would appear as if endless beams were combining into a single vein of white line that stabbed through the heavens and pierced both heaven and earth, connecting Void and the earth’s core like a guiding signpost, lowering the entire Infinite Horizon down on a corresponding direction.

Meanwhile, in the North, the Emperor rose from his throne and walked out of the elevated observation deck, where a red-black dragon waited for him. Israel stood over the beast’s head with Dragonspear in hand, laughing as he and his dragon mustered their power and did the same thing the Sacred Swordsman had done. Then, as the blazing light of the sun descended from the blue yonder, the colossal seal beneath the North was activated.

In the Far South, the elderly pontiff stood upon the peak of the Holy Mountain and tapped the hilt of his scepter onto it. Circles of translucent halos spread, and a holy presence seeped beneath ground across ten million meters, wrapping around the colossal Mark under the Far Southern Seas.

In the Eastern Plains, the Element Maven stood upon the top of the Skypiercing White Tower. The building, an ancient magical formation, once protected by the Council of Seven and improved by White Tower Mages over centuries was in itself a wedge, driven down an incalculable depth beneath the earth. The instant the Element Maven energized it, substantial light of the elements formed a great circle that extended for hundreds of miles, reaching the edge of the earth’s core and suppressing its magics.

Blinding brightness was unleashed from the skies, illuminating the dark night of the twentieth of March, Starfall year 837. Like the first rays of dawn, the brightness shone over this era: the most monumental change brought forth by the Great Mana Tide to Mycroft was gaining in reality, for the Infinite Horizon was combining into that ancient world.

As paradise descended upon the mundane, profound darkness was dispelled even in the absence of sun.

It was sunrise.

In the dimensional regions around Mycroft, a faint tide was reaching out, although every champion’s mind sensed the forceful pounding in their minds that came from the worlds in the surrounding Void. That pounding stimulus was an oppressive sensation that overlapped across all things, a presence that could seal gods, worlds and subjugate all that existed. Like the dawn appearing in the darkness, the world of Mycroft told the surrounding gloom, evil and Order of its own ‘existence’ and ‘might’.

An ancient civilization, silent for a thousand years was awakening, reclaiming their ancient glory.

***

In the vast Void which embodied infinite worlds, thousands of civilizations with varying strengths jolted as they sensed that radiance. Thus, they dispatched sentries and set up defensive circles, intending to observe the origins of that light from the distant Void. Even Void behemoths turned their mountainous head around, while gods of other worlds kept their silence.

“That is light that once illuminated ten thousand worlds....”

“Danaros should stay away.”

“They have awakened... with the darkness, the Mana Tide had brought have new era and strife.”

“What is our path?”

In the Void, the minor few survivors of calamity shuddered in fear. They were not afraid the light, but were terrified of the darkness returning from the distance. The war of bygone days had yet to end, and already the struggles between Order and Chaos would once again commence around them, and they have no power to resist.

***

“It’s time.”

In the Sleeping Dragon Abyss, Kanor the Black Dragon King opened its eyes. With a distant gaze, it looked up at the thick black clouds above the Toxic Sea, as if it pierces the Void.

“The Dragon God is heading to the world of Mycroft. If we want in, now’s the last chance.”

Verdia the Blue Dragon King kept silent, recalling the counsel its two friends Barnil and William had given him. Bognar the Green Dragon King shook its head and did not reply either.

In response, the Sea Dragon grunted coldly, and swiftly tore space apart. When the shards from the dimensional fissure scattered, it had disappeared from the Abyss.

In the sea of Void, a colossal behemoth turned its massive body that had been wandering around the same place. As if hesitating, the beast known as Leviathan made its choice, swaying its body as it flew swiftly towards the origins of the light.

In the Sixth Abyss, a pair of shadows flew out from the Tears of Valley Fortress. Their bodies stirring with gray-black hues that moved like ink, two circles of dimensional ripples soon engulfed their bodies. Amidst the mighty presence that made all the demons shudder, the shadows vanished from the dark smog of the Lava Inferno.

Hum... Hum-hum...

In a world covered entirely in green, a huge ‘anemone’ that appeared to consist of endless moss, bacteria, and tentacles uprooted itself. Its body, larger than a mountain was now splitting apart, with one-tenth of its constitution floating beyond the world with psionic presence that would make worlds shudder. It appeared to be a hill grown full of tentacles floating in the sky, its dull and monotonous hum quaking the atmosphere, spreading immeasurably pure Steel Strength.

In another world without a world without air or land but was purely ether, a fearsome beast was circling a small planet. The planet which was entirely black was the only solid body of that world apart from the beast, which had a draconic head bearing a dozen specks of light that resembled its eyes. Its serpentine body was completely different from that of typical dragons—it heard the waves of noises from the distance even as it slumbered in the ether realm. Sensing the radiance that transcended worlds, it therefore woke up, opening its dozen pairs of eyes and flinging its tail that could wrap around the small planet, kicking a windstorm over the ether world.

Five stars were therefore moving, traversing the dark Void and closing in towards the world of Mycroft even as countless powerful beings watched their movements. They might act if the source of the light was not as power as they thought, but if truth proved otherwise, they would be leading their own citizens to flee those parts of the Void.

Tyrants are only surrounded by lackeys. There is absolutely no possibility of alliances if they were not equally powerful.

***

And in the Void around the world of Mycroft, Joshua nonchalantly looked towards the flickering starlight of worlds. No longer paying attention to Igor beside him as the pope coordinated Legendary champions around the world beside him, the warrior looked towards a corner in the Void.

There, in the heart of a shattered spatial anomaly, the Multiverse Sacrificial Grounds released silver radiance. Everything is ready now that the Multi-Quadrant Teleportation circle has been activated, and all that was left was the battle.

“The fight is starting,” he mumbled softly.

“You’re wrong about that, Radcliffe.”

Noting the warrior’s muttering beside him, the elderly pontiff shook his head. “This isn’t just some fight... it is war.”

Joshua could not help but laugh, and nodded in full agreement. “You’re exactly right.”

Turning, Joshua looked around at the various worlds that emanated distinct starlight. At present, five of that multitudinous starlight were moving, meaning that the most powerful supernatural beings of ‘those worlds’ were closing in on the world of Mycroft.

Joshua spread his arms at the Void, as if welcoming them.

It was war.

And it has come.

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