Chapter 471

The clash between the void and death magic created a silent distortion in reality. The air between Nick and the Shaman twisted into a sphere of inverted colors, the ether warping and folding in on itself.Nick gritted his teeth, locked in a reality-bending struggle against the undead master. The Shaman’s spear of decay was an endless torrent, screeching with the tormented wails of a hundred sacrificed souls. It sought to wither everything it touched, turning stone to dust and the little life that survived in the cold to ash.

But could not wither. It sought to consume all in its path, and consume it did.

Eldritch shadows poured from the Shard of Human Ambition, tearing impossible chasms in the ether. Whispers of unknown origin slithered through the gaps—a chorus of voices predating humanity, speaking in a cadence that made Nick’s mind throb.

He had to exert the full weight of his soul just to keep the spell tethered, forcing the hungry tear in reality forward and never letting it spread beyond what he allowed.

The Shaman poured more necrotic power into its staff, and the crystalline heart glowed even brighter. For a fraction of a second, the death magic pushed back, and the inverted sphere inched closer to Nick.

Nick refused to yield. He had faced demons and gods alike, and an undead orc would not be his undoing. He untethered a little more of his spell, letting it spread its influence further, and forced his intent into its fabric.

he ordered, and the eldritch darkness surged. It wrapped around the roaring spear of decay and swallowed it whole. The terrible screeching of the tormented souls was instantly silenced, choked by the void's nothingness.

The Shaman realized its peril too late. It tried to break the connection and retreat, but the void hungered, and the dense cluster of necrotic magic anchoring the undead creature to the world was a tasty morsel.

Writhing shadows lashed out, enveloping the dais.

More power erupted from the Shaman in a last-ditch effort to force the darkness back, but it was too late.

It simply ceased to be. The robes, the crystalline staff, and the rotting flesh were unmade, erased from both the physical and spiritual planes, until nothing of them remained.

With the target consumed, the void turned its attention to the surrounding stone, threatening to devour the plateau itself. Nick wrenched his staff upward, severing his mana connection and slamming shut the boundaries of his spiritual domain.

Reality violently snapped back into place. A shockwave of displaced air flattened the remaining dust, leaving a semicircular crater on the dais where the stone had been eradicated.

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Silence reclaimed the high pass. Not even the wind dared make itself known as the last of the eldritch darkness faded into the deepest recesses of the ether.

Nick dropped to one knee, using his staff to keep himself from collapsing into the freezing mud.

After he’d regained his breath, he pulled up his status, and its pale blue light cut through the gloom.

NICK CROWLEY

LEVEL

MANA

STR

DEX

CON

INT

WIS

CHA

Occultist/Human

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Level ninety-one. He knew he’d been very close to reaching ninety, but apparently, he’d been on the cusp, only a few hundred points away. The extra experience was very welcome, given the kinds of threats lurking in the north.

A monster like the Shaman was far beyond what regular soldier patrols could handle. Even the mercenary band they’d faced just a day earlier would have been hard-pressed to deal with it if they had known of its presence. Without forewarning, they would have been swept away by the mighty spells it could cast seemingly without end.

The triumph was soon overshadowed by a wave of severe nausea.

A sharp spike of pain lanced through Nick's temples, and a warm drop of blood slid from his left nostril. He wiped it away, his hand trembling. The physical drain of using so much mana was severe, but the esoteric backlash was far worse. The only reason he wasn’t a drooling wreck was that his soul was already crystallized, granting him far greater resilience to the void’s pull. He knew he’d pushed it, allowing the eldritch far too much leeway.

Out of the corner of his eye, the shadows cast by the surrounding rocks seemed to stretch and twist, reaching toward him with impossible movements. He could hear the faint, lingering whispers of the void echoing through the empty air, promising secrets that would shatter his sanity.

Nick forced his breathing to follow the Stalking Gait, expanding his . He swept the plateau, searching for any lingering abyssal entities or tears in the fabric of the World.

He found nothing. The ether was entirely clear.

The shadows were merely an imprint on his own mind, a psychological scar from wielding a power that fundamentally rejected existence. It was deeply unsettling. The void was a powerful weapon, but he resolved, in that moment, to wield it with extreme caution. If he relied on it too heavily, he wasn't entirely sure he would remain the one holding the leash.

"Nick!" Rhea’s voice broke through his ringing ears, and only then did he realize she’d been calling his name for a while.

She rushed across the plateau, skidding on the frost, and dropped beside him, uncorking a small vial of pale blue liquid.

"Drink this," Rhea instructed, pressing the glass to his lips. "It is a restorative, brewed to stabilize the nervous system and replenish the humors. I don’t know exactly what you cast, but it couldn’t have been good for you.”

“Thank you," Nick rasped, swallowing the bitter concoction. The liquid burned pleasantly as it went down, dulling the sharp ache in his skull and driving away the phantom whispers. He stood slowly, leaning on his staff. "Is Gaelen alright?”

He found the man seated on a nearby boulder, his cursed blade resting across his knees. One look was enough to see that the dark steel had exacted a heavy toll. Despite Rhea’s salves, thick black veins crawled up his neck, and his skin was a sickly, pale gray. He looked exhausted, the corruption fighting bitterly against his high vitality.

"I will live," Gaelen grunted, waving off Nick's concern. "But whatever spell you used robbed us of any insight. There is nothing left of the Shaman or the dais it used.”

Fortunately, Nick had managed to glean some hints from the fight, so they weren’t left stumbling in the dark. "The necrotic mana didn't originate from the Shaman," he said, more confident as his spiritual senses cleared with the potion's effect. “It was powerful, but it was a symptom, not the source. There must be an anchor nearby to keep this pass saturated in death magic even after it’s gone.”

Gaelen forced himself to his feet, swaying only slightly before regaining his balance. "Then we should find it. I don’t want to go ahead while another horde grows at our backs.”

Despite his condition, Gaelen insisted he take the lead. He was not a ranger by class, but his tracking skills were honed by years spent surviving Berea's harshest environments. That was evident, as even without physical tracks, he found a trail by searching for subtle, unnatural disruptions in the frost and blighted patches of moss clinging to the stone.

He led them away from the bowl-like plateau, ascending a narrow, treacherous rock spine that bridged the gap to a higher, adjacent peak.

The climb was silent and tense. The higher they went, the thicker the necrotic miasma grew until even a civilian might have felt it, confirming Nick’s assessment.

In half an hour, they reached the summit of the neighboring peak. A grotesque shamanic totem stood alone against the howling wind. It was built from petrified wood, wrapped in chains of dark iron, and adorned with the skulls of humans and beasts alike.

A dagger was driven directly into the center of the wooden structure.

It was forged from an oily black metal that seemed to absorb the meager light of the sky. Viscous death magic pulsed from the blade in waves, washing over the mountain pass and ensuring that any corpse left in the vicinity would eventually rise.

"That has to be the source," Rhea muttered, keeping her distance from the corrupting aura.

Nick approached the totem, though he did not dare touch the oily metal, knowing at a glance it would react explosively. Instead, he took a moment to focus, summoned , and wove the golden-orange fire around his staff before driving the blunt end directly into the center of the dark wood.

Purifying flames erupted, consuming the totem and washing over the black dagger.

The moment the spiritual flame touched the corrupted metal, forging a link between his spirit and the artifact, a violent flash of light blinded Nick, and he was drawn into a vision.

Surprisingly, he found himself in the opulent, marble-lined inner sanctum of a temple. The room even smelled of myrrh and holy incense, lending the vision even greater vividness.

Alexander stood over an altar. He held a magnificent, gleaming dagger forged of pure gold and divine silver, a holy relic meant to channel healing light.

His eyes blazed with liquid fire as he plunged the divine relic into a stone basin of boiling blood.

“The false idols offer only chains,” Alexander chanted, his voice dripping with genuine sadness and disdain. “We shall shatter the idols. We will weaponize their lies. We must claim the pure truth in the dark.”

As the holy dagger drank the blood, the gold blackened, twisting into the profane metal Nick had just found. Alexander lifted the corrupted weapon, having successfully perverted a tool of salvation into an anchor of undeath.

The vision shattered, returning Nick to the freezing summit.

The totem was reduced to ash, and the black dagger lay inert on the scorched stone. Whatever magic Alexander had wrought upon it was washed away by the fire.

"Nick?" Gaelen asked tensely, noticing his focus had shifted. "What did you see?”

“It was Alexander again," Nick said, his voice hard as he stared down at the ruined blade. "He is actively corrupting divine relics, taking the holy artifacts from any temple he encounters and twisting them into engines of necromancy.”

Rhea shuddered. "Profaning a divine relic requires immense power. If he has the resources to do that…"

“He has grown stronger,” Nick confirmed. There was little left of the kind man he’d once known. Even when he’d met him in Alluria, there had still been a light in his eyes, a spark that had let him hope he wasn’t quite lost. But the vision had shown him a man far too gone to save.

Whatever he was doing in the north, whatever his plans might be for Toneburg or for his alliance with the Ultimers, it was clear that Alexander served only one goal. The complete eradication of anything divine, even if it meant delving deeper into madness.