Chapter 467

The sound the Ghast emitted was a physical blow of psychic agony meant to tear at their minds. Gaelen staggered, gritting his teeth as a thin line of blood trickled from his nose, while Rhea slapped a patch against her own neck, seemingly bearing it much better.That she didn’t do the same for her brother likely meant it was poisonous, and only long-term exposure could make it safe. Such were the benefits of being Ogden’s apprentice.

Nick, on the other hand, had little trouble, merely dismissing the notification informing him of ’s activation.

"Spread out!" he commanded, using wind magic to amplify his voice and drown out the wail. “And do not let it touch you!”

Ghasts did not possess a physical body, but they could affect the physical world thanks to their undead nature. It was part of what made them so annoying to deal with that they were often left alone, but unfortunately, Nick doubted this one would let them leave, even if they were inclined to do so.

The temperature plummeted further, and from the creature’s spectral maw, a volley of black ice spears erupted.

For a moment, Nick considered parrying them with a kinetic shield, but told him they were not made of frozen water but of necrotic energy meant to freeze a man's soul directly.

For that reason, he drew on his spiritual authority, weaving it tightly with his fire affinity. “.”

A torrent of brilliant, golden-orange fire roared into existence. Unlike mundane fire, this flame carried the conceptual weight of purification and could stand against the black ice, creating an explosive hiss of vapor that filled the watchtower's ground floor. Upon contact, the ice screamed as the spiritual impurities holding it together were burned away, reducing the lethal projectiles to harmless, mundane frost.

With the wail halted, Gaelen darted through the shifting vapor and hurled three throwing daggers in rapid succession. The blades, etched with disruption runes, buried themselves deep into the Ghast.

The creature shrieked as the runes flared, tearing temporary holes in its incorporeal form, but the wounds stitched themselves closed almost instantly, filled by the overwhelming surplus of tormented souls it had glutted on.

"Standard enchantments barely affect it!" Gaelen warned, landing lightly at the edge of the blood array. He reached over his shoulder and drew his main weapon, the cursed blade.

The moment the dark steel cleared its scabbard, the air in the room warped. The curse bound to the weapon hungered for vitality, but the Ghast’s overwhelming aura of death acted as a catalyst.

Black, pulsing veins shot up Gaelen’s forearm as the curse accelerated, eating into his flesh at three times its normal rate. He bit back a curse of his own, his arm trembling under the sudden strain, but he didn’t let go, facing the approaching monster with gritted teeth.

Rhea smashed a glass sphere filled with silver powder at her feet, channeling a surge of mana through the spreading dust.

The stone floor of the watchtower groaned as the silver powder reacted with the ancient flagstones, transmuting the top layer of rock into a viscous clay laced with purifying salts.

As the Ghast drifted downward to strike at Gaelen, the hem of its spectral form brushed the transmuted floor. The alchemical salt flared, anchoring the creature’s shadows to the earth and restricting its mobility.

Without missing a beat, Rhea pulled another vial—a thick, glowing amber liquid—and hurled it at her brother. It shattered against Gaelen’s pauldron, and its contents spread into a shimmering, protective dome that clung to his armor.

It insulated him from the Ghast's freezing aura and forcibly suppressed the black veins’ ravenous spread on his arm, buying him precious time.

It was good to know that Rhea had come up with some sort of counter to the corruption, but from what Nick could deduce, it wouldn’t be more than a temporary stopgap. The more Gaelen used the blade, the worse it would get, even if more slowly.

Still, it gave Gaelen a chance. He lunged forward, driving the weapon into the center of the Ghast’s shifting faces.

The curse and the undead ether clashed violently. The blade drank in the corrupted magic, dealing lasting damage, but the Ghast retaliated, lashing out with a freezing tendril that battered Gaelen back across the room, cracking his armored chest plate.

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"Keep it pinned to the clay!" Nick ordered, spinning his staff as he moved to the opposite side of the blood array.

He could have kept blasting the creature with , hoping to weaken it enough to disperse it, but Nick was too wary. A ghast was a battery of stolen souls. If he simply battered it to death, its cohesion would rupture, scattering the tormented spirits into aggressive Revenants that would forever haunt the countryside and slowly turn it into an undead region.

To end this cleanly, he had to completely unravel the binding. He had to perform an exorcism.

Driving the Shard of Human Ambition into the floor, Nick uses the staff as the central conduit. He took a deep breath, reaching into his soul and drawing on the ancient power of protective rites.

While Rhea transmuted the walls to narrow the Ghast's avenues of escape and Gaelen kept the creature's attention with vicious, hit-and-run strikes of his cursed steel, Nick began to chant.

The words were drawn from the deep well of his reincarnated memory, falling into the cadence and authority of ancient Egyptian mortuary magic, the oldest human spells meant to bind the devourers of the dead.

He didn’t have the benefit of the World supporting him, as death and undeath were as much a part of nature as life, but fortunately, the Ghast was not beyond him.

"Step back, Eater of Shadows," he commanded, feeling his very soul hum with power as he rejected the abomination. "Your mouth is sealed. Your hunger is bound in the dark.”

The Ghast shrieked as the ritual’s tether wrapped around its core. It abandoned Gaelen, hurling itself toward Nick, desperate to silence him.

Nick didn't let it stop his chant. As he sang the hymn, he raised his left hand, weaving a and hurling it point-blank into the charging horror. The impact halted the Ghast's momentum, searing a gaping crater in its chest and buying Nick the time he needed to finish the working.

"I speak the names of the hidden gates!" he continued, even as crimson light bled from his eyes and the runic circles he projected overlaid the corrupted blood array on the floor. "The scales are balanced. The feather weighs heavy against the sin. You have no dominion here!”

The watchtower trembled as power not of this world echoed. Exorcisms against the undead were not the same as those against demons, even though they belonged to the same school. Nick worried that his lack of experience in this specific field would come back to bite him, but something within the Shard of Human Ambition echoed the power he was summoning, granting it greater stability than he could have managed on his own.

Massive golden scales, ghostly yet very much real, manifested around him, and he was suddenly reminded that he’d used Eztie’s divine artifact to forge his focus.

It seemed such things left traces. He would have to meditate on it later, but for now, he could sense it would only help him.

"Return to the dust. The sun rises on your shadow. ”

Nick slammed his staff down, channeling a torrent of mana directly into the completed array.

A blinding light erupted from the floor, enveloping the Ghast. It was now trapped at the other end of the golden scale, and for a moment, Nick felt as if something vast and unseen were judging them.

However, it didn’t last long, as the result was clear from the start and the monster was judged unworthy, as he’d demanded.

The sound that tore through the tower was an echoing chorus of release. The dark magic binding the sacrificed soldiers shattered like cheap glass under a hammer, and the spectral being dissolved as the dozens of weeping eyes closed for the last time.

Dark mana was burned away as the light spread, filling the entire watchtower and leaving only a shower of harmless mist that settled gently over the cold stone.

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Silence fell over the charnel house as the last of the golden light faded, taking with it the sense of righteousness.

Gaelen immediately slammed his cursed blade back into its scabbard, clutching his arm as the amber shield slowly faded and the black veins finally receded beneath his skin. Rhea leaned against the wall, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow, then released her hold on the bubbling ground, returning it to its inert state.

Nick did not relax.

The battle was won, and he’d finally gained another level, but the ether still vibrated with the residue of the souls' departure. The energy was dissipating rapidly, returning to the World’s natural cycle, and he needed to act now if he wanted to learn anything about what had transpired here.

"Watch my back," he said, focusing. Stepping into the center of the fading array, he closed his eyes and opened his mind to the shifting eddies.

Steeling himself, he breathed in, absorbing the echoes.

The physical world faded, replaced by a ghostly recreation. Nick stood as an unseen observer within the memory of the dead.

He saw the guards before they died. Some bore the sigil of House Ultimer, while others were mercenaries. They were hardened men, shivering in the cold and alert, having noticed something in the dark. They were confused, their weapons half-drawn, completely surrounded by their own allies, and nothing seemed to be attacking.

In mere moments, it was over. Waves of dark flames washed over them, sapping their strength and leaving many crumpled on the ground, while only a few managed to remain standing, though their trembling limbs made it clear they wouldn’t be able to put up a fight.

Soon, new figures emerged from the shifting dark. They wore black robes, and what little skin was visible was marked with intricate, profane sigils. Nick recognized them instantly. The style, the power, and the sheer arrogance in their posture mirrored the madmen he had once fought in Alluria.

The guards were forced to their knees while the robed figures chanted in a guttural, dissonant language that made the memory itself static-y. Blades flashed. Blood spilled across carefully carved runes. Souls were violently ripped from the dying men, screaming as they were compressed into the horror Nick had just fought.

But it was the figure standing at the head of the ritual that made Nick's blood run cold.

The leader was the only one who did not wear a hood. He stood tall, draped in immaculate white and gold vestments that had been defaced with bloody symbols. He even held a scepter that shone with twisted magic.

Impassive, he turned his head, surveying the slaughter.

His eyes burned. They were not normal human eyes but pits of liquid fire, holding nothing but uncompromising zealotry.

Nick knew him. It was Alexander, the ex-Vicar of Sashara. The former priest who had abandoned his post in Floria orchestrated the Circle’s attacks and vanished after their failed plot in Alluria months ago.

The memory dissolved into mist, leaving Nick standing alone in the cold.

When he opened his eyes, he realized he was gripping his staff so tightly that his knuckles were stark white.

"Nick?" Rhea asked softly, stepping closer. "What did you see?”

Nick sighed, unclenching his hand. The map they had painstakingly drawn in Alluria had just been set on fire. The situation in the North was far more dangerous than anyone had realized.