Chapter 1102 Conveying the Message <TOC> Chapter 1104 The Constant Cycle of Acts
Translator: SumTLMan
“Indeed,” the man called Mumin, in accordance with the flow of conversation, affirmed with a nod.
“Then I will leave it to you,” Mengke willingly stepped back, making room at his side for Mumin.
The wizards scrutinized Mumin with questioning glances. His ostentatious attire was described as such because he was garbed in a radiant blue old-fashioned nobleman’s tight-fitting attire, a costume that, while suggestive of nobility, echoed the aesthetics of ballet, giving Mumin’s legs a firm outline, and revealing a copious portion of suppressed leg hair. A small cape of blue with a red velvet lining hung at Mumin’s back, and on his head sat a brightly-colored princely hat, adorned with a white feather. His overall style was a vivid throwback to the aristocracy of a bygone era.
No current noble house would sport such an outfit. The only place where one might encounter this kind of attire would be on the stage of a theatrical performance.
At first, Sanders was rather put off by Mumin’s attire, and found himself wondering about the man’s identity. It wasn’t until Mengke uttered the name “Kundera” that Sanders suddenly realized the significance.
Who was Kundera?
He was a true knowledge wizard who, like Mengke and Rhine, stood at the pinnacle of the Southern Region. Moreover, he was a rare member of the academic school among all third level wizards.
The wizard organization he belonged to was known as the “Torch Institute.”
Before becoming a wizard, Kundera was a stage actor. His speech and actions bristled with dramatic flair. Consequently, the wizards he cultivated often possessed this flamboyant temperament — eight out of ten of them, in fact.
Thus, when Mengke mentioned Kundera, the aura, comportment, and linguistic stylings of Mumin were suddenly clear to Sanders.
“Ah, an alumni of the Torch Institute,” he mused, “No wonder he’s dressed so flamboyantly, no wonder he doesn’t bat an eye at being the center of everyone’s attention. Likely he’s constructed a stage within the depths of his own mind, where he is the sole and shining star.”
Knowing Mumin’s identity provided a piece of the puzzle, yet it still left the others curious: what exactly could Mumin contribute here?
In a flash, Mumin performed a single-footed pirouette of 720 degrees, ending in an elegant bow towards Sanders. “Esteemed Phantom Master,” he proclaimed, “I intend to transform this place into a stage, I beseech thee to continue to delay for a moment longer.”
“A stage?” Sanders paused, mulling over something.
“A Puppet Show?” Sanders asked in doubt.
“Indeed.” Mumin’s answer was simple, but he switched between several poses, his head held high, reminiscent of a proud rooster. Sanders could swear there was a hint of defiance in Mumin’s gaze.
“So the ‘work’ that Lord Mengke referred to is this,” Sanders murmured, “I shall delay for a moment longer, providing you the opportunity to cast your spell.”
As they reached an understanding, a low murmuring could be heard amongst the wizards atop the floating iceberg.
“What sort of work is this, that even the Phantom Master believes it capable of combating these formidable demons?” Some queried in hushed tones.
“Was it not just mentioned? A puppet show,” came the aged voice of Velite of Western Demos. With a lifespan exceeding eight centuries, and a wealth of knowledge and experience to match, when Velite spoke, the attention of the other wizards was inevitably drawn.
Velite resumed, “Lord Kundera has three signature spells, which you all must be aware of, they are namely the Waltz, Circus, and Puppet Show. The most appropriate for this occasion would be the Puppet Show.”
“However, which Puppet Show it would be specifically, depends on which of Lord Kundera’s masterpieces Mumin decides to unveil?”
The audience was struck by an epiphany. Many had heard about Kundera’s three signature spells before, but it was only now they realized that this spell wasn’t referring to a single, standalone spell, but a whole framework of artistry.
Among them, Waltz leaned towards ritualistic; Circus inclined towards dexterity; while Puppet Show was an all-encompassing performance.
What they were anticipating now was, which masterpiece of Kundera’s had been handed to Mumin?
At this moment, Mumin brought out a semi-spherical object veiled by a crimson curtain. His hands danced ceaselessly over the curtain, as if he was playing a beautiful piano piece. Strange energy, transmuted into strands of thread, connected to the tips of Mumin’s slender fingers. With the movements of his fingers, the red curtain was slowly drawn back by the threads.
When the curtain was gradually pulled back, everyone discovered that what was obscured was indeed a “Puppet Stage” resembling a child’s toy.
Initially, there was nothing on the stage. Mumin’s threads continued to flutter in his hands. With the weaving of the threads, the backdrop of the stage was slowly woven into existence:
The full moon hung high, night enveloped the sky, and the black tower stood tall.
This backdrop was indeed the Black Tower Nightmare Domain created by Sanders!
After weaving the stage backdrop, Mumin seemed exceedingly pleased with his work. He cast a smug glance at Sanders, then resumed weaving the finer details…
Amazed, someone queried, “So, the puppet show is truly a puppet show?”
A spark of brilliance flickered within Velite’s eyes. “This is merely its formation stage. Once the puppet show truly takes shape, the world will be its grand stage.”
The others didn’t quite comprehend Velite’s implication, but they knew they would understand soon enough, and thus, nobody felt the need to rush for answers.
However, someone did notice the provocative glance that Mengke shot at Sanders earlier and asked in confusion, “Why did it seem like Mengke was challenging Phantom Master? Is there some sort of grudge between them?”
Others began to concur, even Mengke found himself under scrutiny.
Velite chuckled lightly, “I haven’t heard of any personal grudges, but I do have a piece of news.”
Everyone turned to Velite, anticipating his disclosure. Even Sanders perked up his ears; he too was puzzling over this. He didn’t recall harboring any ill-will towards Mengke. Could it be because of that time, a hundred years ago, when he critiqued Kundera’s taste as being classist in private and the comment somehow reached the Torch Institute? Or perhaps he had previously killed someone from the academy?
Velite didn’t keep them in suspense, “I was in the last group to arrive in the Abyss, and Mengke was on the same Wings of Cold Frost with me. Then, a shocking revelation emerged — Angel was among those sent to the Abyss by the Savage Grottoes.”
In fact, up until this moment, they were all puzzled. Why would Angel, an alchemist with boundless potential, be dispatched by Rhine to the Abyss? Why was such a promising individual, who should be nurtured with great care, assigned to a place as perilous as the Abyss?
In that moment, an idea was taking root among the other wizards that resided atop the Wings of Cold Frost, a theory that the Savage Grottoes was preparing to relinquish their hold on Angel. The assertion was daring, much like the icy winds that swept their frost-laden domicile, shocking, yet unavoidable in its clarity.
“Many a wizard has been attempting to curry favor with Angel. Of them all, it is Mengke who has been the most aggressive. Rumors whisper in hushed tones that he seeks to persuade Angel to abandon the Savage Grottoes for their Torch Institute,” Velite dropped this icy nugget of information into their midst.
No sooner had Velite’s words hung in the frigid air, a chilly laugh echoed from Sanders’ direction, seeping into the silence like a winter shadow. A cold shiver ran down everyone’s spines as if a specter had walked over their graves.
Just as they were about to formulate a response, their voices faltered, trapped in their throats. Realizing their location in the heart of the Black Tower Nightmare Domain, the wizards understood that this was Sanders’ maneuver. His authority was as unassailable as the towers in which they stood.
There was a chilling hush as everyone bit back their words. Velite merely stroked the sand rat in his hands, chuckling softly, his voice lost amidst the biting silence.
Once Sanders had quieted the crowd, his gaze fell upon Mengke. His countenance was as placid as a frozen lake, yet Mengke felt a deep-seated pressure rise from within him, as palpable as the subzero chill around them.
The wizards thanked their lucky stars that they were at a critical juncture, coupled with the constant damage to the Nightmare Domain. This was the only reason Sanders had refrained from any overt actions.
Within the Black Tower Nightmare Domain, Minotaur and Baphomet were locked in a fierce battle that was rapidly escalating. Each attack they unleashed sent ripples through the Nightmare Domain, distorting its fabric. Simultaneously, it inflicted unspeakable pain upon Sanders.
“How much longer?” Sanders’ voice was as suppressed as the freezing wind.
Mengke was currently immersed in the final step: creating the puppet show’s protagonists, Minotaur and Baphomet. Both were powerful demons and an immense challenge to create. Sweat began to seep out onto Mengke’s forehead, each droplet a testament to the struggle within. The frigid air was thick with anticipation as they neared the culmination of their endeavors.
“Give me twenty more seconds,” Mumin swiftly continued his dexterous crafting, as his nimble fingers danced across the ethereal threads like the flitting wings of a butterfly, winding and coiling, until a Great Demons’ silhouettes emerged.
With this, the elaborate composition of the stage was revealed in its entirety.
“Ah, the scenario unfolds as —The Grotesque Marionette Show—,” Velite murmured, an air of realization in his tone, “Indeed, to fetter two Great Demons, it must be the most powerful narrative.”
Only upon Velite’s utterance did everyone come to the realization that they were no longer under Sanders’s illusory constraints. Perhaps, the current pitiful state of Sanders left him unable to manage their conversation.
“The Grotesque Marionette Show is one of Kundera’s most formidable offensive and defensive mechanisms. But what’s more intriguing is that, even with the foundational groundwork of Kundera’s creations, the endeavor to script this puppet show in alignment with Kundera’s intricate storyline is no easy task. Mumin’s ability to accomplish this far is quite extraordinary indeed,” Velite mused in a hushed tone.
The hierarchy at the Torch Institute is presently heavily fragmented. Except for Kundera, the pinnacle, there are scarcely any noteworthy figures in the middle realms. Perhaps, the emergence of Mumin could alter this landscape in the future.
As Velite was immersed in his contemplations, Mumin suddenly declared, “Done!”
In sync with Mumin’s announcement, his puppet stage started glowing and spinning. Following a blinding brilliance, the puppet stage abruptly plunged into the void and vanished.
As everyone was puzzling over the sudden spectacle, Mengke abruptly looked up.
What they witnessed then was the emergence of countless thin, white threads from the high sky outside the Black Tower. Materializing out of thin air, these threads shimmered with an eerie glow, as they slowly extended down from the firmament.
Threads of silken lines pierced through the Black Tower Nightmare Domain in silence. Sanders found himself perplexed; he could physically see these threads, undeniably present within the Nightmare Domain, yet his senses utterly failed to trace their existence.
Was this the power of a wizard who stood at the apex of the Southern Region?
Upon entering the Black Tower Nightmare Domain, these threads instantly connected to Minotaur and Baphomet. Without their awareness, they were bound, like helpless puppets.
Simultaneously, Mumin turned towards Sanders, “Esteemed Phantom Master, you may dispel the illusion now.”
Just as instructed, Sanders dismissed the Black Tower Nightmare Domain. When the illusion of the Black Tower vanished, the stage for the puppet show ascended leisurely.
Accompanied by the lilting sound of a lullaby, a puppet show manipulated by thin threads materialized in mid-air.
The stage was ephemeral and elusive, the threads occasionally disappearing and reappearing. In the high altitude to which these threads led, faint apparitions of puppet masters could be seen. This puppet master was neither Mumin nor Kundera, but a massive white puppet with crimson eyes. A sinister smile graced its lips. From its mouth emerged a series of eerie and grotesque notes.
Among the entire stage, the only tangible entities were the two Great Demons, held captive under the control of the silken threads.
Chapter 1102 Conveying the Message <TOC> Chapter 1104 The Constant Cycle of Acts