Chapter 1067 The Recompense <TOC> Chapter 1069 Mengke's Perseverance
Translator: SumTLMan
Even though Fafnir hadn’t spelled it out, Angel knew that the nauseating stench she referred to were the demons lurking in the shadows.
“Quite patient aren’t they, almost three hours before they decided to knock.” Angel’s eyes slightly narrowed, yet he remained motionless.
The sound of hushed whispers began to float up from below. Clearly, the guests had entered, but Angel was still seemingly lost in his thoughts.
Only when the chime of the wind bell, a sound that wafted from the courtyard to the attic, reached his ears did Angel leisurely descend the staircase.
As he emerged, he immediately felt several intense, purposeful gazes sweep over him. As he walked out to the courtyard to discuss financial matters with Canaan, Angel’s peripheral vision darted towards the direction of the earlier stares.
His understanding of demons was not exhaustive, and many of them had rather bizarre appearances, making it impossible for him to identify which demons were present. However, judging from their auras, none were lower than a mid-level demon.
Yet, they were not all completely foreign to him. There were exceptions.
Among them, there was one demon that prompted a name to spring to mind as soon as Angel laid eyes on it.
A slender, white-skinned demon, one that was considerably small compared to the others, it had no wings and a very common pig-like tail. This seemingly frail demon, however, enjoyed an exclusive space around it, as none of the other demons dared approach. It squatted alone under the cool shade of a tree in the courtyard, appearing rather comfortable.
“Morgheim.” In the quiet chambers of his mind, Angel slowly enunciated a name.
This name, in the Frost Moon Alliance… or rather, in the entire Wizarding World, was one that was sufficient to strike fear into people’s hearts when spoken aloud.
Morgheim’s reputation precedes it, not least because of its long-drawn-out, legendary battle against Mengke, recognized as the mightiest wizard of the Southern Region.
In this historic clash of powers, despite Mengke’s victory and Morgheim’s subsequent flight, the testament to Morgheim’s might lies in the fact that it could not only hold its own against Mengke for days on end but also managed to escape defeat.
Angel was able to recognize it at first sight because its image has been published in the Frost Moon magazine. Also, Morgheim’s flight from the battle came at the price of its left eye.
It’s not that Morgheim physically lost its eye, for if that were the case, there would be countless methods at its disposal to restore it. Rather, its left eye had been thoroughly sealed off by Mengke.
Angel could clearly see that the spot where Morgheim’s left eye used to be is now at the center of a hexagram rune, with tadpole-like patterns swirling about within — a classic symbol of a sealing spell.
“Shopkeeper, shopkeeper?” Canaan called several times, eventually pulling Angel out of his deep contemplation.
“What’s up?”
Canaan jingled a bag: “We’ve collected the payment. They paid using demon gold coins.”
Angel nodded in understanding, “Alright then, let’s get ready to start our Voyage of Experience.”
Taking a deep, grounding breath, Angel forcibly redirected his thoughts, his countenance returning to a tranquil, unruffled state. He addressed the crowd, his words fluid as a calm stream, “Our Voyage of Experience is on the cusp of beginning. I urge everyone to dismantle their mental walls, to resist not…Finally, cherish this opportunity, for this journey happens but once and will not be repeated.”
As the Rhythm of the Ocean washed over the gathered demons, reactions varied. Some were instantly drawn into the illusory domain, whilst others cautiously assessed their safety before stepping through the metaphysical door, much like those demons that Fafnir derisively described as “reeking of foul stench.”
Angel noticed that Morgheim allowed the Rhythm of the Ocean to envelope him without the slightest resistance, immersing himself in its cadence. Yet, his sealed left eye remained obstinately open, the pupil restless within its socket.
Moreover, Morgheim’s eye briefly met Angel’s gaze.
It appeared as though his left eye had been cleaved from his consciousness, forming a separate entity.
Turning away, Angel no longer focused on Morgheim but approached Fafnir instead. The moment he stepped into Fafnir’s vicinity, a gentle zephyr seemed to whisk away the impurities clinging to him, and the covert gazes of those observing him from afar or the shadows disappeared like smoke in the wind.
“You seem to harbor a particular interest in that Pig Demon,” Fafnir opened his eyes, directing his gaze towards Morgheim, locking sights with its flitting left eye. However, unlike the earlier encounter with Angel, Morgheim’s left eye reacted with surprise at the eye contact with Fafnir. With a metaphorical stumble, it skittered a full rotation before drooping the eyelid in an attempt to feign nonchalance.
So, it is indeed a Pig Demon, isn’t it?
The nature of Morgheim, what type of demon it was, had always been a point of speculation among wizards. Yet, there was no consensus, with the most popular explanation being: a Pig Demon. However, Morgheim had distinct differences from other Pig Demons, such as its pale skin, the absence of horns, and an exceptionally slender physique.
It was rather unexpected that Fafnir was the one who confirmed this, that Morgheim was indeed a Pig Demon.
“Morgheim, it’s quite infamous among humans.” Angel paused, “Its left eye, it bears the mark of a magic seal.”
“Oh, really?” Fafnir appeared somewhat surprised. She hadn’t paid any particular attention to the Pig Demon before, simply viewing it as an ordinary guest. It hadn’t occurred to her that Angel was most concerned not with those covertly spying on him, but this unassuming Pig Demon.
Fafnir scrutinized Morgheim, and suddenly, a hint of intrigue surfaced at the corner of her mouth: “Indeed, it’s somewhat intriguing.”
Angel also turned back to find Morgheim’s left eye wide open, staring intently at Canaan.
Canaan, however, displayed an expression of mild exasperation. After shaking her head at Morgheim’s left eye, she sidled away.
This round of the Voyage of Experience ended quickly, without any Omen Signs.
But Angel noticed that the faces of the demons bore strange expressions, seemingly in realization of something, before they left the shop one after another.
“I thought there’d be a fight.” Angel muttered, so many demons left without a word?
Fafnir huffed in contempt, her expression exceedingly haughty, as if declaring: As long as I’m here, who dares to make a move?!
Upon the departure of this particular cohort of patrons, Angel summoned Canaan into his presence, seeking to understand the events that had transpired between the latter and Morgheim.
“That guest,” Canaan began, a smirk spreading across her features, “was rather intriguing. His left eye could morph like shifting ink, projecting words in the Demonic Language.”
“What did he project?” inquired Angel.
“I didn’t take a thorough look,” Canaan confessed, “but I think it was something about digging something out…”
Fafnir’s voice joined the conversation at this point, clarifying: “The Demonic Language line read: Gouge out the eye.”
It dawned on Canaan then, “Yes, it asked me to help gouge out its left eye. It was clearly immersed in the Voyage of Experience, yet for some unfathomable reason, its left eye was still able to communicate. Quite fascinating, really.”
Gouging out an eye? Angel mulled over this perplexing request. Could it be that the left eye had independently cultivated a consciousness?
…
Simultaneously, outside the Gloaming Mountains in the external world, a massive shadow cascaded across the sky.
The shadow, as vast and all-encompassing as a thunderhead, cast a pall of gloom over the Gloaming Mountains.
Upon closer inspection, one would realize that this shadow was no cloud but an enormous ice floe enshrouded in a haze of ashy mist. The floe served as a platform, upon which nearly a hundred figures stood.
At the forefront of these figures stood an individual adorned in an exquisite frost robe of pure translucence, emblazoned with the impression of a crescent moon on both sides. His visage was hidden behind a silver mask, integral to the elaborate Frost Moon Silver Crown he wore, radiating opulence and complexity.
He is Mengke, the leader of the Frost Moon Alliance and a man standing at the zenith of the Southern Wizarding World.
Sineva, at this moment, is standing beside Mengke. The curse within her had been lifted by Mengke in the past two days. The contradictory energy enveloping her made her seem as insurmountable as a towering iceberg, yet as fiery as a conflagration beneath a proud sun.
Sineva’s gaze is focused on the Gloaming Mountains in the distance, the undulating silhouettes growing ever closer, their peaks melting into the obscure horizon. Beyond the vast expanse of this mountain range lay their final destination.
“Lord Mengke, what is the current situation in La Sutherland?” asked Sineva.
Mengke remained silent for a moment, his gaze piercing through the silver mask as if he could see to the ends of the earth.
It was quite a while before Mengke responded, “Our target hasn’t arrived yet.”
Sineva did some quick calculations. If their target hasn’t arrived, then they should still have time.
“However, what’s peculiar is, although our target hasn’t arrived, there’s already an uncanny atmosphere in La Sutherland,” voiced Mengke in a puzzled tone. The information he had gathered suggested that something was amiss in La Sutherland.
Mengke’s words drew the sidelong glances of the nearby wizards. Everyone, including Samantha, Canter, and Sanders, turned their attention to Mengke.
“My eye stationed in La Sutherland is currently at the heart of the vortex,” Mengke analyzed the incoming information carefully. “The energy is turbulent, the Abyss is awakening… and a mysterious little shop stands deep within the whirl of rumors.”
The bits and pieces of information Mengke had received formed a fragmented image, making it difficult to decipher the underlying truth.
Energy agitated, its essence somewhat decipherable.
Abyssal Awakening, a term unbeknownst to many a wizard. Yet, for Mengke, who for years has journeyed the inner layers, even covertly infiltrating the demon city, this concept is no stranger.
Mengke succinctly shared the meaning of Abyssal Awakening with the assembled wizards.
“So, you’re saying that once an Abyssal Awakening is bestowed, the path to becoming a lord becomes a straight and smooth road? Isn’t that on par with our legendary realm!” exclaimed a wizard, startled.
“Not quite,” countered Mengke, “The Abyssal Awakening merely bestows the demons with the ability to transcend their limits. It merely suggests that they have the potential to become a lord. What the future holds, is uncertain.”
“Is that to say, it’s similar to the Mark of the Time Thief? And yet, not as formidable as the Time Thief’s Mark.” The Mark of the Time Thief implied potential to step onto the Path of Truth. This Truth, a mere concept, or perhaps an ideal sought by wizards. Found deep within the eternal Abyss, atop unbroken clouds.
The potential for Truth, as compared to the diminutive potential of a Lord, made the mark of the Time Thief seem far more formidable.
Mention of the Time Thief’s Mark sparked a wizard to recall, “Isn’t it true that both Lord Phantom Master and Lord Mengke have been marked by the Time Thief?”
Eyes of the assembly locked onto Sanders and Mengke. Sanders, unperturbed, revealed no reaction. Mengke, however, standing apart, the brows hidden behind his mask furrowed deeply in thought.
Chapter 1067 The Recompense <TOC> Chapter 1069 Mengke's Perseverance