Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 913 - 848: Reinforcements of Light

"I can no longer hear his voice..." The noble Star Spirit knelt in the ruins as the crimson thunder entwining his body dissipated. Yet, in his gaze appeared not the blue rendered by spiritual energy, but a brilliant golden hue—the same as the color of his Dalram Archbishop armor. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"But I can hear everyone’s voices... Kalay, Tadarin, Nerazim... and yours too, Zeratul..." Artanis rose amidst the dazzling light, gazing at the Dark Prelate standing before him. The Dark Templar Warrior was now emitting a brilliance identical to his own, equally perplexed.

"Even with the nerve cords severed, this new Kara has connected the Star Spirits’ thoughts together." The Dark Templar Warrior’s deep voice contrasted sharply with his current radiant appearance. "His will has overshadowed Amon’s corruption! Artanis, this Kara is far more terrifying than we ever imagined! The situation has spiraled beyond our control!"

"Raymond, the new Kara gave us his name. I understand the shock Nerazim must feel right now, but perhaps this is an opportunity. Without Raymond, I might now be clashing blades with you, Zeratul."

"For Air, for everything we hold dear," Zeratul murmured.

"But now we have a better choice!" Artanis leapt to the summit of the ruins, the sacred radiance never diminishing, forming a pillar of light—a beacon. In his vision, beams illuminated Air’s ravaged lands, revealing Star Spirit warriors baptized by the Holy Light. "Look, our warriors have shed Amon’s corruption. Errors have been mended. We can reclaim the Golden Armada! In this light, I feel Raymond’s resolve—steadfast justice, fervent glory. It’s far preferable to endless hatred."

Zeratul, watching the spirited Archbishop, bowed his head in reluctant acknowledgment.

"What has transpired here has exceeded the prophecies. The future is uncertain. The Star Spirits need a unified voice. You are the Dalram Archbishop; we abide by your will. At least, a Kara that seeks aid is far more trustworthy than one that dispenses charity."

Artanis illuminated his Psionic Light Blades, responding on behalf of the Dalram Star Spirits through the mind connection forged by the Holy Light.

"In the name of Dalram Archbishop Artanis, the Firstborn of God shall stand by your side! We shall uphold justice. En taro Ramon!"

"Do not resist! My brethren, embrace this light and break free from Amon’s control!"

Red thunder once again sparked in the thoughts of all Star Spirits, echoing an unwilling voice.

"No! All Star Spirits belong to me!"

The Sea of Holy Light responded, and the radiant forces emerging from the void embraced the Star Spirit army, leading them to traverse deep space, away from the planet Air.

"The Firstborn no longer fear you, Amon. Savor your fleeting victory!"

Archbishop Artanis dissolved into the Holy Light.

"We shall return to Air, bringing new allies of the Holy Light, to bestow upon you eternal death."

...

On a barbaric planet, a towering fighter shouldered his weapon, marching toward the sanctuary foretold by the elder. The Frost Plague had descended upon his tribe; plants perished, prey sank deep into frozen soil, frost’s chill claimed the lives of the young. Silent, everyone retreated indoors as the elder’s doomsday prophecy haunted them, awaiting death’s inevitable knock.

"Alahan, you are the tribe’s foremost warrior. Go to the sanctuary, defeat the competitors, and use your martial prowess to win the gods’ favor. This is our only hope. Become the Chosen One, and our tribe will survive through you!"

Alahan believed this wholeheartedly. He endured hunger and wandered the frozen tundra alone for two years. Breaking glaciers, filling canyons, his hair and beard turned gray-white in the frost and snow. His eyes muddied, yet his palms remained firm and powerful, clutching the colossal weapon frozen to his hands that left streaks of white across the tundra.

Alahan had been raised from childhood as a candidate for the Chosen One. His martial skills honed to instinct, his mind tempered into unyielding determination. His life’s destination lay only in dying on the battlefield or triumphantly returning as the Chosen One. Though monotonous, this relentless spirit carried him through the seemingly hopeless journey.

"The sanctuary, when you reach it, you’ll understand yourself." Generational wisdom was the only clue, riddled with flaws, yet Alahan was not adept at critical thinking.

One day, he arrived at what might be his destination.

His first awareness of the anomaly was when he attempted to carve a tunnel through the mountain, only to realize the soil and rocks here were exceptionally hard. The rock walls that would normally explode with a casual punch did not budge under his strikes. Frustrated, Alahan exerted his full strength and eventually resorted to using his weapon. Despite all efforts, he made no progress, which sparked his curiosity toward the mountain.

Climbing up using natural grooves in the cliff face, he ascended ten meters, then a hundred meters, resting against the icy wall to regain his energy between bouts of exhaustion. After repeating the cycle over a dozen times, with clouds appearing as new ground beneath him, Alahan finally reached the summit plateau.

Setting foot on level ground, Alahan immediately adopted a stance of vigilance. His fighter’s instincts recognized twenty or so threats to him.

These threats were ice sculptures encircling the cliff edge. Their similar physiques led Alahan to uncover their true identity—competitors, his rivals, vying for divine favor. Long periods of waiting had condensed frozen droplets into ice layers on their bodies. Their heartbeats had nearly faded, yet Alahan’s keen hearing detected them nonetheless.

They rested, conserving energy for the impending Chosen competition.

Alahan paused briefly, choosing to rest where he stood as well.

"The thickest layer of ice—I estimate he’s been waiting here for nearly ten years." Alahan followed the voice to a nearby statue whose face remained largely uncovered by ice, exposing a cocked right eye and moss-covered big beard.

Alahan didn’t respond.

"Newcomer, did you know? The Chosen One is nothing but a complete scam. Rumor has it that the gods who bestow favor harbor hatred for our civilization. Through deception, they’ve driven our race into decline, yet fear our power. They fostered this gladiator arena society to coax the strongest youth into mutual slaughter, plunging the world into conflict. Each Chosen One’s training leads to the extinction of dozens of species. Our endless fights erode our social structure, causing the disappearance and regression of every skill except combat. It forces us to rely on this so-called divine selection for survival. This is the reality of this planet—the gods have abandoned us, leaving only annihilation ahead."

Alahan closed his eyes for two seconds.

"Are you mad? Letting frivolous thoughts disrupt your fighting spirit—I’ll kill you first."

The bearded contender erupted in laughter.

"No, these aren’t my thoughts. It’s something a lunatic from my village told me. I happened to memorize it. I don’t understand it either, but having someone mutter in my ear was kind of amusing."

"Then you should keep looking for that lunatic and stop pestering me."

The big beard guffawed heartily.

"I asked him if he could resolve the Frost Plague, but he couldn’t answer me, so I cut him down. Despite appearances, I do have some brains. If he can’t solve the Frost Plague, the gods can. Gods are stronger than lunatics. Gods are right. That means he was lying to me—he’s bad seed. Killing him enhances our village’s combat strength."

Alahan offered no further reply.

Time passed. Boisterous laughter roused Alahan from his rest. One by one, warriors burst from the ice, their eyes locked on the radiant pillar at the platform’s center.

"Hahahaha, I knew gods existed! The gods haven’t abandoned us!"

Raymond’s voice resonated in Alahan’s soul.

"No need for competition anymore? Just eliminate the designated target? Fine by me!"

"Great Raymond, I pledge myself as your Chosen One, to sweep your enemies aside completely!"

"Let the slaughter begin!"

"We, the hands of the Chosen, shall bring extinction!"

Provoked by his rivals’ murderous intent, Alahan roared in fury, leaped forward, and vanished amidst the light.

...

From countless dimensions, warriors with conviction joined the Holy Light Alliance.

Under the Holy Light, they clashed against the new races born of the [World], glowing with radiance akin to the sun.

"For Raymond! For the new Kara!"

"For the great gods, let blood flow like wine!"

From the sky fell several meteors, crashing into the battlefield, erupting into black-red and sickly green flames. Archbishop Artanis looked in astonishment at the fallen ships, lost in thought.

The wreckage collapsed; colossal Dark Executors roared on the battlefield, unleashing thunder to tear through black sludge. Green scythes charged at their energy-boundforms. Void Sharp Blades clashed against the lightning.

Layered voices screamed piercingly, seemingly shredding eardrums.

The Dark Executor greeted the Dark Templar Warrior.

"Why won’t you just die, Atusu? Surely, you must be suffering."

The Star Spirit wielding dual-bladed scythes squared into stance. "My thoughts are the same as yours, Sora Camoni An."

"Stop fighting. If we’ve all arrived in this strange Star Domain simultaneously, it means we were summoned."

The Dark Executor emitted another agonized scream, sweeping enemies away with Psionic Lightning.

"Loveday! Where are you?"

A Star Spirit emerged from the shadows.

"Here I am, my comrades. You’ve arrived just in time for the final battle."

Sora Camoni An lowered her head; her red, electrified eyes locked onto Loveday.

"Dark Exile, I hear you’ve aligned yourself with an Archbishop? Where is he?"

Atusu pointed to the golden angel at the frontline of the battlefield as a substitute answer for Loveday.

"That must be him."

"He doesn’t appear particularly impressive."

Her companion’s caustic remark amused Loveday inwardly. Addressing his companions worn by void torment, he extended his hand.

"You’ll regret saying that about Archbishop Raymond, and soon."

Sora Camoni An sneered, pressing the Lightning Talon against Loveday’s hand.

The Dark Executor entered the Divine Kingdom of Light.

Sora: "Then..."

Camoni: "Let me..."

An: "Wait and see."

The three Templar Warriors examined their slender, overlapping hands—their once-cherished noble forms they had abandoned.

Sora: "The pain has vanished."

Camoni: "This is what it means to be alive."

An: "I apologize for disrespecting myself."

In a perilous moment, they had chosen fusion, yet the void’s corruption turned their sacrifice into mutual agony. Now, they were blessed anew, restored to the existence of Templar Warriors.

Loveday gazed at the warrior rendered by Holy Light—Atusu.

"Hopefully, you still recall how to wield a Battle Blade for glory."

Atusu’s soft laugh disappeared with a charge into the leaping arcs of light.

"Every second, I remember."

Loveday revealed his Light Blade, flashing repeatedly into the enemy horde.

"Fight for the Holy Light!"

"Fight for Raymond!"