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Chapter 567: The Mysterious The Hermit
“This…?”
Heloviz lifted her head, her violet eyes flickering with surprise.
Before her, from the sky not far away, descended a middle-aged man clad in a gray cloak, wielding a bronze staff. His expression was calm—almost casual—as he raised his scepter and effortlessly conjured a shimmering barrier spanning a hundred meters, sealing in the entire caravan guard and cultists alike.
Whoosh—
In an instant, the black mist choking the ground dissipated completely. The terrifying psychic void above the sky cracked and collapsed, vanishing as if it had never existed.
Heloviz instinctively clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering, “So… powerful.”
The sudden arrival of this man—like a figure summoned by her own silent plea—sent a shiver through her. Even the “Great Sage” Tralfranlo she’d once visited with her father at the Arcane Hermitage, years ago, hadn’t carried such overwhelming power or such profound mystery.
“Who are you?”
The black-cloaked bishop lifted his face, revealing a distortion mask beneath—its form eerily resembling that of an octopus. His voice trembled, laced with fear and fury.
—Because this man was not part of his plan. Not even foreseen in the revelations of the so-called “All-Knowing” God of Dominion.
“Hmph. You ask who I am?”
The man laughed lightly, his tone dismissive.
“The worm about to be crushed has no right to know my name.”
“No… impossible! The Great God of Dominion is omniscient and omnipotent! You must be within His design—I know it! You’re a demon, sent by false gods to disrupt our plan, to stop the return of the God of Dominion!”
The bishop shook violently, his head bowed, whispering incoherently. His voice rose, escalating into a frenzied shriek.
“Demons! I will not let you succeed! The God of Dominion shall descend upon this world!”
He raised his bone staff high, the black eyes within it glowing with unnatural energy.
A deafening scream erupted from the spines of his ears, and a wave of crushing spiritual energy surged forth—aimed directly at the gray-cloaked figure in the sky.
Whirr—
Even the aftermath of that psychic shockwave sent the caravan guards sprawling, clutching their ears in agony, blood trickling from their mouths and noses.
Heloviz pressed her hands to her ears, yet still forced herself to lift her head. “Be careful—”
But the man in the sky merely raised his bronze staff slowly, as if amused.
“Boring. Just the same old tricks.”
Boom—
From the tip of the staff erupted a blinding flash of lightning—so intense it burned the air. A thick, searing beam of electricity erupted forth, annihilating everything in its path without mercy.
Even the psychic energy wave shattered instantly beneath the force of that elemental storm, unable to withstand even a second’s resistance.
“Impossible!”
The bishop screamed, his black eyes wide with disbelief.
Yet survival instinct took over. He activated a spirit-energy teleportation—distorting space with his mind—and vanished from the spot, reappearing a hundred meters away.
His subordinates were not so lucky.
As thunderbolts rained down, and electric arcs danced from his spines, the massive lightning beam struck the cultists head-on.
The pitiful creatures didn’t even have time to scream. The high-voltage current reduced them—bodies and robes alike—to ash in an instant.
Boom!
Behind them, the rock itself cracked and charred, debris cascading down the slope.
The man in the sky gently swept his scepter. The lightning beam swept across a hundred meters in a single, sweeping arc—devouring hundreds of cultists in one fell stroke.
“Haven’t cast a spell in ages… my hands are a little rusty.”
He ended the spell, then blew lightly at the bronze staff, which now emitted a faint trail of smoke.
Fine electric arcs still danced along the staff’s length, the air crackling with residual energy—still humming with the memory of its devastating power.
On the earth below, electric arcs still flickered across the ground. The hundreds of cultists were now just ash, their remains puffing thin wisps of smoke.
And on the distant Mar mountain, a charred, gaping wound stretched hundreds of meters across the rock—like a giant blade had carved open the hillside.
“By Helheim above… this is…”
Marvin, captain of the guard, stared in stunned silence, rifle nearly slipping from his grip. The battlefield was now a wasteland of scorched remains—once enemies, now nothing but ash.
Far away, the black-cloaked bishop fixed his gaze on the man floating in midair, panting heavily, grinding his teeth.
“You won’t stop the Church’s plan,” he spat. “The glory of the God of Dominion will succeed. Wait and see—when He returns, you’ll all be cast into the endless hell. Warriors of the God of Dominion! Hold him! Your souls will ascend to the True Heaven!”
With a wave of his hand, the mercenary army behind him—Goblins, bear-like goliaths, wolfmen—charged forward in a frenzy.
The bishop gripped his bone staff and prepared another teleportation, ready to flee.
This caster was outside their calculations. He needed to consult with the Church’s elders—only then could they devise a strategy worthy of welcoming the God of Dominion’s descent.
“Who gave you the courage,” came a cold, mocking laugh, “to escape right under my nose?”
A ripple tore through space. The air shattered.
Before the bishop could react, the man was already above him—bronze staff raised high.
The sky had turned dark, thick with storm clouds. The gloom pressed down like a weight. Within the clouds, faint glimmers of light pulsed—coiling with terrifying power.
The bishop looked up, trembling, muttering:
“No… no… the God of Dominion will protect me. These sinners can’t kill me.”
Boom!
A thunderclap split the clear sky—like a divine hammer falling from heaven.
A lightning bolt the size of a large bowl tore through the clouds, splitting the sky like a spear, descending with the fury of divine punishment.
The bishop’s spiritual shield flared into existence—strong, impenetrable—yet it shattered like paper beneath the onslaught.
“No—!”
The blinding lightning engulfed him.
When the light faded, only ash remained on the ground.
Yet the man in the sky still stood, staff raised. The dark clouds churned and expanded, swallowing the entire monster army in their oppressive shadow.
“By the gods!”
“The bishop… the bishop is dead!”
“Kill him! Kill the human spellcaster! The God of Dominion will protect us—make us new bishops!”
“Yes! Tear him apart! For the God of Dominion!”
Frenzied monsters hurled arrows, stones, spears—some even lunged at him, the wolfmen trying to drag him down.
But an invisible force field surrounded the man. Arrows and spears veered off course, impaling their own wielders.
“The God of Dominion? This thing dares call itself a divine being?”
The man looked down with contempt at the mad throng, pacing calmly through the sky—unmoved by their chaos.
His voice, calm and clear, cut through the storm and the monsters’ screams, echoing across the wasteland.
A hurricane swept the earth, hurling creatures aside—Goblins lifted into the air, spinning like leaves.
Finally, the man lowered his bronze staff.
The storm clouds above swelled. The thunderbolts gathered. The wind howled. And for a moment, the world fell silent.
High above, a woman—Heloviz, daughter of the Silver family, seasoned and observant—recognized the spell.
She had read about it in the ancient texts of the Arcane Hermitage.
Heloviz stared up at the dense storm clouds covering the earth, murmuring:
“This… is the ancient Nine-Ring Spell.
Revenge Storm.”
The next moment, her pupils were filled with blinding lightning. The sky flashed white. Every face in sight was lit in stark, ghostly pallor.
Boom!
Boom! Boom!
Thunderbolts roared like a furious beast. Countless torrents of lightning crashed down from the heavens—divine punishment incarnate—reducing the monster horde to dust.
“God of Dominion!”
“I don’t want to die!”
“This is divine punishment! He is His envoy!”
“The world is ending!”
Surviving Goblins, bear goliaths, wolfmen, gray dwarves—evil creatures of every kind—wailed in terror, fleeing in panic.
But escape was impossible.
The storm raged on. Lightning struck again and again, chasing them down.
Then, from the clouds, a downpour of bone-eating corrosive rain began.
Craters bloomed across their backs and heads. They collapsed, screaming, their bodies eaten away from within.
“Ah!”
“God of Dominion!”
“It hurts! It’s killing rain!”
Finally, a gale swept through, followed by freezing rain. The last of the wounded monsters were frozen solid—cracked ice blocks, their life forces utterly extinguished.
When it was over, the storm clouds slowly dispersed. Sunlight returned, bathing the earth once more—like nothing had ever happened.
Only the broken spears, the scattered remains, and the charred scars on the ground remained—silent witnesses to the cataclysm.
A thousand-strong monster army—gone.
And the man who had wrought it all stood motionless in midair, expression serene, as if he’d merely flicked away a fly.
His gray cloak stirred without wind. The bronze staff glinted under the sun.
But no one noticed—deep within his sleeve—a grotesque, writhing larva, wrapped in a luminous membrane, vanishing into nothingness.
“Gods above…”
“Phew…”
“Thank the gods… we’re still alive.”
“I can’t believe this actually happened. Was it a dream?”
“Yes… the sudden arrival, the spellcaster…”
The members of the Silver family collapsed to the ground, trembling, exchanging hushed words of relief.
All eyes turned skyward—fixed on the mysterious savior.
Silence fell.
Yes… the danger wasn’t over.
Whether they’d survive, whether they could leave—was still uncertain.
And that spellcaster… was he friend or foe?
The events of the day were too bizarre, too overwhelming.
First, an ambush by cultists and a monster army—targeted by the so-called “God of Dominion.” Then, salvation by this unknown spellcaster.
Now, the man stood on the ground, motionless, as if waiting for something.
Heloviz spoke, voice low and firm:
“Marvin, keep watch over the clan guards. Under no circumstances are they to move. I’m going to thank the gentleman.”
Marvin hesitated. “Miss… this might be dangerous. Perhaps we should—”
Heloviz didn’t look back. She strode northward, her voice sharp and resolute:
“I am the head of the Silver Family caravan. You follow orders.”
Marvin realized resistance was futile. He bowed his head.
“Yes, miss.”
Heloviz studied the man.
He looked in his forties or fifties—neat beard, old gray cloak. An aura about him made him the center of the world, as if everything else revolved around him.
Though aged, his face was striking—deep-set eyes holding a familiar emotion: contempt.
She knew that look well. The effortless superiority of a master toward his subordinates.
“A spellcaster this powerful, yet so humble? That’s… unnatural.”
She approached, lifted her dress, and bowed deeply, eyes lowered.
“Heloviz Silver, of Victoria Harbor. Greetings, and my deepest thanks. Noble sorcerer, your generous intervention saved us from annihilation. The Silver Family will reward you handsomely—for this.”
The man paused, slightly surprised.
“You can tell I’m a sorcerer?”
She answered honestly:
“Only a sorcerer of such power could carry such presence. But I’ve never seen one at your level.”
A knowing smile crossed his face. He chuckled.
“Too long away from ordinary people. I forgot how obvious it is. Still… I’ve never heard of Victoria Harbor. Must be a new port in the Silvermoon Bay region.”
Before he finished speaking, his aura vanished—suddenly, unassumingly, like that of any mortal.
Heloviz froze.
Victoria Harbor had been founded over four centuries ago. At that time, the Silver family’s ancestors were just unknown fishermen.
And yet, this powerful, ancient sorcerer—had never heard of the city’s name?
Who was he?
She lowered her head further, earnest.
“Sir… you are our savior. How may we address you?”
The man—Kai Xiusu—smiled warmly.
“Heloviz, wasn’t it? Stopping those insects was nothing. As for a name… you may call me… The Hermit.”
(End of Chapter)
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