Chapter 984 Balalaika <TOC> Chapter 986 The Watchtower Fortress
Translator: SumTLMan
What’s in his chest? As this thought occurred to Angel, his mind instinctively turned to the Heavenly Eye.
No one had ever noticed anything unusual about the Heavenly Eye; even during his encounter with Lord Rhine, it had escaped attention. Could it be that this Balalaika had discovered the secret of the Heavenly Eye?
While Angel was torn between apprehension and confusion, Balalaika continued: “There’s something strangely familiar about it. Could it originate from the Abyss?”
The Heavenly Eye…from the Abyss? Wasn’t it from another universe? Just as Angel was wrestling with this quandary, he realized everyone was staring at his chest, or more precisely, the pocket of his inner coat lining.
A small head was curiously poking out of the pocket, taking in the surrounding scene.
“Do you suggest that Toby is from the Abyss?” Sanders questioned.
Nonchalantly flicking a stray lock of hair from her face, Balalaika responded, “So its name is Toby? I’m not certain if it hails from the Abyss. However, there’s something in it that feels awfully familiar, could it be a descendant of an old friend of mine?”
Balalaika raised her gaze, locking eyes with Angel.
“How about it? Hand over your right hand, or this little fellow called Toby, in exchange for me fulfilling your wish.” Pausing briefly, Balalaika exhaled a bewitching plume of smoke, “Even if you wish to immediately breakthrough… what you call a formal wizard, I can make it happen.”
Once Balalaika finished speaking, all eyes converged on Angel.
Especially those apprentices within the Frost Cathedral, peeking at Angel through the cracks in the door, their eyes flickering with envy and greed. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity they craved, yet for Angel, it was merely a choice laid out before him. How could they not be green with envy?
Even Madeline and the others were silently observing him, awaiting Angel’s decision.
However, Angel was far from consumed with such thoughts. Instead, he felt a sense of relief. The anxiety that had gripped him, fearing the anomaly of the Heavenly Eye had been detected, evaporated. It turned out she was referring to Toby.
Subconsciously, Angel stroked Toby, who in return, issued a soft, somewhat aggrieved chirp.
“Don’t worry, I neither have the right, nor the intention to decide your destiny.” Angel had never considered Toby as a bargaining chip. Furthermore, he didn’t think the promise of granting him the status of an ‘formal wizard’ by Balalaika was necessarily beneficial to him.
Just as the Crowned Clown—a peerless Demon Lord from the Abyss—holds firm to the principle: what one gains must equate to what one sacrifices.
Gifts from the sky, if not a deception, they’re often laced with venom.
Toby would never be replaced by Angel, as for his right hand. Actually, prior to the discovery of the Wilderness of Dreams, Angel had always been wary of the metamorphosis of his right hand. Sanders even once proposed: if it truly worries you, you could sever it and opt for a transplant.
Angel had profoundly contemplated Sanders’ proposition, showing his readiness to let go of the right hand if need be.
However, currently, his right hand is tied to the power acquisition from the Wilderness of Dreams. Despite his lingering apprehension, he refuses to part with it in an exchange.
Hence, confronted with Balalaika’s proposition, Angel decisively rejected it without hesitation.
“For now, I have no intention of cutting off my right hand, and I won’t treat Toby as merchandise,” he asserted.
Balalaika arched his eyebrow, somewhat surprised by Angel’s choice, yet without exerting any force, he just nodded and stated, “If you reconsider and wish to exchange in the future, you can find me in the Resting Ground.”
After finishing his statement, Balalaika turned around, humming an unknown tune and stepped back into the tavern.
At this point, all eyes were back on Angel. A mere apprentice, Angel’s ability to resist Balalaika’s temptation elevated their regard for him.
Were it any other apprentice in the Frost Cathedral, every single one would likely yearn for the trade, perhaps even prepared to relinquish their soul if the need arises.
Sineva gazed profoundly at Angel without interrogating.
Madeline, on the other hand, patted Angel’s shoulder. While she did not understand Angel’s choice, she deemed it unnecessary to worry as an outsider since Sanders had offered no comments.
Bruen, however, shared a cryptic remark, “I indeed have not misjudged.” It was unclear whether he referred to Angel’s right hand or Angel himself.
Velite, nevertheless, flashed a mysterious smile at Angel before retreating to one side, leaning on his walking stick.
As Angel was still somewhat dazed, he heard a “clip-clop” noise before him. Looking up, he saw Sanders descending from the sky, landing before him with a gentle breeze.
“Mentor…” As soon as Angel began to speak, Sanders snorted coldly, forcing him to quickly close his mouth.
Rather than questioning why Angel had come to the Abyss, Sanders turned his attention to Sineva, “Prepare to depart. The trade has been executed, she has opened the way out of the Resting Ground.”
“I am intrigued, what trade do you speak of?” Sineva fixed her gaze on Sanders.
“Merely received an interesting piece of information.” Sanders stated indifferently, “If you’re curious, the former owner has mentioned, you could search for Soul Returning Sand to trade with her.”
Sineva wished to inquire further about the Soul Returning Sand, the identity of that woman, and the nature of the Resting Ground.
However, these questions were not appropriate for this time and place.
“How do we exit from here?” Sineva asked about their immediate concern.
“Move ahead, cross this night, and you’ll find the exit.”
Cross this night? Sineva did not understand the implication in Sanders’ words, but he pointed in a certain direction.
Sineva replied, “Regardless, let’s first leave this place, and then we’ll discuss the rest.”
With those words, a gust of wind blew past, stirring up some dust, but causing no other disturbance.
Sineva furrowed her brow, “Duchess Bel, it’s time to move!”
Responding to her was a thunderous snore. Unbeknownst to them, Duchess Bel had fallen asleep on the ground! They were all previously engrossed in the precipitous turn of events and had utterly ignored Duchess Bel’s condition.
Sineva’s forehead pulsed with visible veins of annoyance, her fists clenched, flames wrapping around them, even coinciding with Duchess Bel’s snoring frequency.
“Damn it!” Sineva raised her fist, just about to let it fall, but in the next moment, Bruen dashed over and held her arm.
“Calm down, calm down… If you punch her, it might kill her. Let me handle this.” Bruen managed to convince Sineva to retract her fist, he then extended his mental energy, piercing it directly into Duchess Bel’s brain.
As her psyche was injured, Duchess Bel jumped up in pain the very next moment.
After a stretch of torment, Duchess Bel, tears clouding her gaze, eventually mustered the courage to set off towards the direction indicated by Bruen.
They passed a vast graveyard, walking by numerous closed coffins, each lying silent and undisturbed.
They also passed the tavern situated at the graveyard’s core. The breeze stirred by Duchess Bel’s movement fluttered the drapes of the tavern, offering a glimpse inside where Balalaika was idly reclining on a lounge chair. In her hand was an unusual triangular string instrument, her delicate fingers gently strumming it, creating a melody that was beautiful yet tinged with melancholy.
Balalaika didn’t hinder their progress, instead continuing to pluck the mournful tune, as if narrating an untold story.
They departed the graveyard, unimpeded by the light wall, and successfully saw the wilderness ahead.
As they passed by a cliff, they beheld an expansive, unknown sea stretching into infinity.
Duchess Bel didn’t pause, continuing her forward journey.
Although they had yet to see the so-called exit, everyone noticed something strange—the darkness of night seemed to be gradually lightening. It was as if a ladle of clear water had been added to a rich ink, causing the dark color to slowly dilute and spread.
“Isn’t the Abyss always devoid of day and night? Why is there a night here?”
Upon hearing the query, Sanders turned his head to see Angel cautiously approaching. Although the lad hadn’t changed much over the past year, he had lost a touch of boyish innocence and seemed to have gained a bit of maturity in his eyes.
“The Abyss isn’t devoid of night. Deep within its layers, there is a cycle of day and night,” Sanders replied nonchalantly. “As for the night here, it is not the night of now.”
“Just like that sea, it’s not the sea of the present,” Sanders said, looking at the sea beneath the cliff, his eyes flickering as if he were seeing something beyond the serene expanse.
The fact that Sanders was willing to answer his question let Angel breathe a sigh of relief; given Sanders’ cold demeanor earlier, he was worried he might receive a beating.
“Do you mean to say that the night and the sea before our eyes are both illusory?” Angel asked.
As Angel inquired, the others were also pricking up their ears to listen—they were eager to understand the situation here as well.
Sanders paused for a moment, then shook his head: “Not illusory, just not existing in the present.”
“This night… is from the Longest Night of Bygone Days before the gods of old fell,” Sanders’ voice grew softer, “After the gods fell, the night retreated into the inner layer. Only here, has the night from those times been frozen, along with the people from back then.”
During the age of yore, the Great Dissolution bore witness to the downfall of gods, orchestrated by the Profound Demon Lord from the Abyss. Its workings remain shrouded in mystery, yet the remnants of this celestial catastrophe lie scattered far and wide. These remnants occasionally bestowed bountiful opportunities to wizards who chanced upon them.
The tidings shared by Sanders were undoubtedly a closely guarded secret!
“Lord Phantom Master, are you suggesting that the lady in the tavern, Balalaika, is a survivor from before the gods’ downfall?” Bruen asked, a note of surprise resonating in his voice.
Sanders glanced at Bruen, his visage adopting a colder hue as he curtly replied, “No.”
“Then who is she?” The question emanated from Sineva, her eyes concealing a spark of suppressed anger. Balalaika’s sudden onslaught had clearly ruffled her feathers.
“You can perceive her as a purveyor of trades. She deals in precious information about the deeper layers of the Abyss and trades unique artifacts. Her presence in the Resting Ground is merely to awaken a dormant soul,” he expounded.
Awakening a dormant being? Sineva seemed to connect the dots, “Is the existence of Soul Returning Sand for this purpose?”
Sanders merely nodded in affirmation. As to who was being awakened, he was as clueless.
However, his informant had hinted that the soul in question was a being that predated even the celestial downfall.
“I wish to understand, what connection does she have with the Immortal Brigade? Why would she, a mere merchant, attack us upon our entry? And why did her demeanor alter subsequently?”
Chapter 984 Balalaika <TOC> Chapter 986 The Watchtower Fortress