120 Exploring the Rift

At midnight, the urgent tolling of bells echoed throughout Anya Village, rousing every soul—awake or asleep—in an instant. Trained to precision, the villagers swiftly donned their gear and assembled. Within three minutes, they had all gathered neatly in the small eastern square, each radiating a fierce intensity like unsheathed blades. When such razor-sharp focus converged into a phalanx, it forged an overwhelming aura of battle readiness, reminiscent of a tiger poised to pounce on its prey—a unique spirit honed only on the battlefield.

This fierce troop stood silently under the night’s cloak—ten minutes, twenty minutes passed without orders, without command to strike or to disperse. They remained steadfast and silent, yet no trace of frustration marred their gazes; each soldier stood tall, eyes fixed ahead.

After more than twenty minutes, two guards arrived at a run, loudly relaying an order to disband and return to camp for rest.

The sharp commands reverberated through the tranquil night, lingering before fading, and soon the officers’ voices rose in quick succession. Gradually, the soldiers slipped away quietly, returning to camp with only the sound of orders breaking the silence—no other noise disturbed the calm.

This night seemed no different from previous emergency drills. Yet at dawn, when the soldiers rose for morning exercise, a stunned silence gripped them all.

Their eyes beheld a world bathed in clarity. From the nearby training grounds to the distant ruins, and beyond to the endless stretches of azure—sky had parted. Brilliant sunlight poured over the ocean, making the waters shimmer from shore to depths. Layers of blue rippled outward, so exquisitely beautiful that eyes stung and noses tingled with emotion.

“The fog…the fog has lifted!” Someone suddenly shouted, their voice sharp and raised with surprise, betraying their normal tone.

Indeed, the fog—the gray mist that had encircled Anya Village’s offshore for over a month, swallowing thousands of villagers and soldiers alike, continuously spawning hordes of the undead—had vanished. It dispersed silently, unnoticed by all until now.

That sharp exclamation was like water thrown into hot oil, instantly igniting the crowd’s spirits. Cheers, praise, and shouts erupted, blending into a roaring chorus that pierced the sky.

Yet, amid this fervor, their leader did not join the jubilation. Anya had slipped away under cover of midnight, accompanied by a few soldiers adept with the sea, venturing into the darkness offshore. Despite the radiant blue and shining sun, his mood was grim—Lambert was missing. Since Lambert’s sudden departure the previous morning, no word had reached them. The morning bell had sounded only because patrols noticed the fog’s sudden disappearance. Lambert should have eliminated the invading phantoms and night demons by dawn, yet hours had passed without a trace.

The more Anya pondered, the heavier his heart grew, a chill radiating from him that those nearby could scarcely endure.

☆☆☆

Within the Phantom Realm, Lambert, burdened by Anya’s endless resentment, sneezed embarrassingly, drawing a host of curious eyes—human and beast alike. Feeling their gazes, he flashed his signature smile and said, “I left in such a rush, forgot to say where I’d gone. No wonder someone’s been keeping tabs on me.”

At these words, the watchers withdrew, returning to their own affairs. Theresa and the Book Spirit were engrossed in teaching and learning; Pedia continued meditating with closed eyes; Carnis lay nearby, dozing; while the wolf and eagle teamed up with two small sprites—the little demon and little fox—taking turns guiding their small boat forward.

Forward?

Yes, Theresa and Pedia had finally resolved to investigate the source of the soul-devouring demons. This decision came courtesy of the two little demon foxes, natives of the Phantom Realm, whose intimate knowledge of this world halved the journey’s length. This gave Theresa and Pedia the perfect excuse to satisfy their curiosity.

The small boat sped at full throttle, yet inside, no jostling disturbed them. Theresa listened to the Book Spirit’s explanation of the Demon Hunting Orb while attempting to channel energy into a fragment with her mental power. But no matter how she pushed and pulled, no progress was made.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” a pleasant male voice with a hint of amusement sounded behind her, causing a shiver to run through her. The fragments slipped from her fingers onto the floor. Turning in surprise, she saw Lambert sitting cross-legged behind her, chin resting on his hand, smiling.

“What do you mean wrong?” Theresa asked, recovering her composure.

“Your mental control is surprisingly adept, but your innate power isn’t strong enough to disrupt the orb’s structure. Using finesse to overcome force works only when the power remains within the limits of control; when the force greatly exceeds dexterity, sheer strength must prevail.”

Theresa nodded calmly, neither astonished nor discouraged—her expression remained neutral.

Lambert, however, grew enthusiastic. “I know a method you might want to try.”

She studied his eager smile for a long moment and then asked, “What’s your motive?”

No good deed goes unspoken of; despite his commission to lead them back, she knew little of him personally and was no naive girl to be easily tricked.

Lambert feigned innocence. “No motive at all. Though few know this technique, it’s no secret art. I’m a warrior and can’t use it myself—better to pass it on to someone who can. Or are you afraid to learn?”

Theresa pressed her lips, eyebrow arching in half-teasing challenge. “If you’re willing to teach, I certainly won’t be scared.”

Lambert nodded with growing satisfaction and began explaining the method. At first, she listened cautiously, but as his clear, detailed explanations unfolded, she grew engrossed, adopting a posture of inquiry and discussing points with him. Lambert shed his usual laziness, becoming meticulous and thorough, truly benefiting Theresa.

“Ah, now you’ve really learned it,” Lambert stretched and sighed contentedly.

Theresa smiled sheepishly, standing and bowing in apology. “Sorry for doubting you earlier.”

Her bow surprised Lambert. He hesitated mid-stretch, then slowly lowered his hand, rubbing his chin with a curious expression. “Hmm… no harm done. Just don’t blame me for meddling later.”

His words were odd. Before she could question further, Lambert stood, fetched a comfortable sleeping bag from the corner, crawled in, and soon snored softly.

Theresa frowned, puzzled, but curiosity about the method outweighed her doubts, and she immediately began practicing. Immersed in experimenting with new knowledge, she had no inkling that Lambert’s cryptic remark alluded to matters years in the future.

For those absorbed in a task, time flies. Five days slipped by quietly—neither long nor short—until one midday, the little demon guiding the boat suddenly chirped a string of sounds. Only then did the group realize they had arrived.

☆☆☆

Stepping off the boat for the first time in five days, Theresa frowned at the dim surroundings, slowly adjusting to the murky light.

“Strange, it feels much darker here than in the places we passed before,” she murmured.

“That’s the black energy leaking from the spatial rifts. It nourishes evil spirits. If you’re interested in cultivating malevolent souls, you could collect some of this black energy for study,” Lambert said from beside her. Yet when she turned to look, his figure, only a few steps away, appeared blurred—testifying to the poor illumination.

Lambert’s suggestion tempted Theresa. She took out a large container and began coaxing the thick, fog-like black energy inside. Casually, she asked, “Has anyone already studied this? Any results?”

“Haha, only one human has produced a result, and you must know him well,” Lambert chuckled warmly, puzzling Theresa and Pedia. After his laughter subsided, he added, “Huston Dagger.”

“Get out of here!” Theresa exclaimed, frowning. “Who doesn’t know the only legendary sorcerer in nearly eight centuries of human history? If he managed to produce results, and you want me to mess with it? Are you overestimating me or trying to discourage me?”

“Hahaha,” Lambert laughed heartily. “If you want, just think of it as me believing in you.”

“Whatever,” Theresa rolled her eyes, ignoring whether he could see it, sending him a blatant glare.

After the laughter, Lambert’s mood brightened. “Come on, let’s go inside. You can’t see the spatial rifts out here.”

With that, he stepped forward. Pedia nudged Theresa gently, signaling her to follow Lambert. The beasts and puppets fell into step, forming a protective circle around Theresa.

(To be continued)