Transmigration To Magus World-Chapter 127: Night Battle

In accordance with the unspoken rules of Great Plain City, people conduct their business during the day, while ghosts roam at night.

This distinction between black and white is a rule carved into the very ethos of the martial world.

Such rules don’t require explicit clarification. The Magus, or Sorcery arts world, thrives on unspoken agreements. If laws and rules were too stringent and openly laid out, the Sorcery would cease to exist and devolve into a society governed by law, losing its essence.

The Magus World flourishes on unwritten rules—rules everyone tacitly understands. These rules form an invisible line that, if crossed unknowingly by the inexperienced or naive, will result in severe consequences.

This is why newcomers to the Magus World often struggle. Lacking experience, they fail to grasp these unspoken rules, making their journey fraught with difficulties.

Aizen understood this.

Though he was a newcomer to the Magus, he was no greenhorn.

The same implicit rules existed within the Heavenly Demon Clan. Everyone understood them without needing explanation.

Nightfall was the time for clashes between major forces.

Ordinary citizens knew better than to step outside during such times. Ordinary taverns would be closed. Even the lively brothels and red-light establishments would shut their doors early after receiving warnings.

The streets, swept by the cold autumn wind, carried a chilling murderous intent.

Rhythmic yet steady footsteps echoed through the alleys, growing louder and more distinct.

Agile figures cloaked in darkness moved like ghostly soldiers patrolling the night, converging toward a single location.

Under the moonlight, the glint of blades and swords sent shivers down the spine of anyone who might have dared to peek outside.

But tonight, no one would.

When ghosts walk the streets at night, the people remain silent indoors.

The battle between Turtle Stone Ridge and the Overseas Alliance erupted that night.

Even if Aizen hadn’t instigated it, the conflict was inevitable and would have happened soon enough.

Nathan was a man whose confidence bordered on arrogance. He had never considered either the Overseas Alliance or the Heavenly Demon Clan as true threats.

In his view, neither faction had anyone in Great Plain City who could rival him.

Only after Aizen’s arrival did the Heavenly Demon Clan gain enough weight in Nathan’s eyes to warrant some level of caution. In his estimation, the Overseas Alliance had already lost its footing.

Nathan wasn’t worried about Aizen remaining uninvolved.

Though Turtle Stone Ridge initiated tonight’s attack, Nathan knew that if the Heavenly Demon Clan tried to stay on the sidelines, they wouldn’t earn a shred of the spoils.

The notion of "sitting on the mountain to watch tigers fight" was a joke in this context. Turtle Stone Ridge was indeed a tiger, but the Overseas Alliance was, at best, three wolves.

In a clash between tiger and wolves, the tiger might sustain injuries, but the wolves would inevitably be annihilated.

And an injured tiger, now fiercer and hungrier, would claim even more territory and resources, making it an even harder prey for the Heavenly Demon Clan.

Thus, Nathan believed that Aizen would undoubtedly make his move tonight. The Heavenly Demon Clan would inevitably be drawn into the battle.

No secret agreements or alliances were necessary.

When the battle began, everyone knew their part.

This was merely the opening move of a larger game. While the Overseas Alliance was the target of slaughter tonight, no one could predict who would be left standing at the end.

Aizen had already drawn his curved blade and left the lodgings.

After tonight, he wouldn’t return here for the latter half of the night.

Because when dawn broke, people would be dead, factions would falter, and territories and resources lost would need to be reclaimed.

In the southern district of the inner city, the leaders of the Overseas Alliance factions—Ramond of the Blood Blade Clan, Esdeath Of the Purple Robe Pavilion, and Alex of the Dominating Fist Clan—gathered in a single residence.

Their expressions were grave, knowing full well the storm that awaited them.

The Chilling Night Wind

The cold wind swept through the courtyard, stirring the fallen leaves into lazy spirals. The spacious courtyard wasn’t empty; it was filled with warriors, each a rare talent among a hundred.

No one spoke. The only sounds were the whispers of the wind brushing against their robes, heightening the oppressive atmosphere.

Suddenly, someone broke the silence.

The speaker’s voice was as cold as the autumn wind, chilling to the bone.

It was Ramond who spoke.

"Tonight marks the moment when the pack of stray dogs comes for us. We’ve all waited long enough for this battle. Now that it has begun, only one side will remain standing..."

His tone grew colder, each word striking deep into their hearts.

"Some of us may die. That’s inevitable. But fear of death will only hasten your demise.

"Tonight, to survive—to ensure that we live through this night and repel these stray dogs—you must wield your blades without hesitation. Spill their blood into the blackness of the night and keep spilling until dawn!"

His words, still cold as frost, grew impassioned toward the end.

"Kill! Spill their blood in the dark—kill until dawn!"

The warriors in the courtyard shouted in unison, their roars echoing into the night.

The cries were joined by the sharp, chilling sound of blades being drawn. The sound cut through the air, a sinister promise of violence and bloodshed.

When the wind passed through the courtyard again, the fallen leaves settled on the ground. Only three figures remained.

Whispers of Doubt

"Do we even have a chance of winning this fight? If Senior Brother Liu Jie were here, maybe there’d still be some hope," Esdeath said.

A beautiful woman with striking curves and an air of refinement, Esdeath looked more like a noble princess from a royal manor than someone from the Magus World.

Though her beauty was undeniable, her words were anything but uplifting. Speaking such discouraging thoughts at a moment like this was sure to sour the mood.

Still, she wasn’t wrong.

The Overseas Alliance wasn’t afraid of a fight, but once blood was spilled, every predator in the area would descend upon them.

While they had numbers, they were also the weakest of the three forces.

Previously, the three factions maintained a tenuous balance, keeping one another in check. But with real combat on the horizon, the Overseas Alliance risked being the first to fall.

"If that man from the Heavenly Demon Clan doesn’t act, we might still have a sliver of hope..."

Alex clenched his fists, the metallic clang of his steel gauntlets echoing ominously.

None of them would leave the courtyard tonight unless Isaac arrived or the situation became so dire that they had no choice but to flee.

The courtyard was well-fortified, a place where they were confident even a ranking master from the People’s List would falter.

Once, they had looked down on the Heavenly Demon Clan. But to counter Nathan’s Turtle Rock Ridge, they had deliberately drawn closer to the Clan, hoping to deter Nathan from launching an all-out assault.

Now, the Heavenly Demon Clan no longer needed their alliance. A single top-ranking master from the Clan had already altered the balance of power.

While the strongest individual might not completely overturn the situation, they could heavily influence the tides of battle. Such a master was both a weapon and a deterrent.

The Shadow on the Wall....

A shadowy figure suddenly appeared on the courtyard’s wall.

The figure was like a ghost—silent and unnoticed until he chose to reveal himself. It was as if he had always been there, hiding in plain sight.

"You’ve come after all," Ramond said, narrowing his eyes as his pupils contracted. His hand tightened and loosened around the hilt of his blade, over and over.

Esdeath and Alex frowned, their expressions tense with vigilance.

"I was always going to come. But there’s someone missing. Let’s wait for him, shall we?"

The voice was calm, brimming with quiet confidence.

The speaker was a young man dressed in regal purple robes and a tall crown. His bearing was extraordinary, like a figure from a legend.

Unlike before, he no longer resembled a mere scholar. A massive weapon was strapped to his back—a war mace.

Its name was "Breaking Army."