Chapter 570
In normal circumstances, this conceptual assault would have been a mere annoyance to the shielded minds of the mages. But nothing about their current situation was normal; their minds were already stretched thin, barely protected as they desperately held the psychic barrier in place.
The ceaseless, high-frequency assault forced the mages to funnel immense magical energy and mental fortitude into shoring up the shield’s integrity against the unnerving, internal vibrations. Yet, this was merely the prelude. The insidious high-frequency nature of the Demon Queen’s attack birthed a vicious psychic feedback loop within the very core of the barrier. This generated an escalating torrent of mental static, like a screeching feedback from an overloaded amplifier, making telepathic communication a torturous effort and splintering their collective focus.
The male mage at the heart of their formation bore the crushing weight of this onslaught. The moment the loop ignited, the dark, misty psychic creatures swirling beyond the barrier surged, striking with renewed, frenzied intensity. This left the central mage terrifyingly vulnerable. His mind, already stretched taut, snapped. He was forced to abandon her hold on the failing barrier, but not before shoving a desperate, urgent order into the minds of the fifth-tier mages and Kaelen: they were under attack.
A heartbeat later, Kaelen’s booming, guttural roar ripped across the fortress, cutting through the growing panic. "Get in position, now!"
The fifth-tier mages, having abandoned their tents, now ascended into the night sky, a massive magic circle shimmering above each of their heads. This was an experimental magic they had been developing, designed to alleviate the immense mental strain on the sixth-tier mages upholding the primary barrier. As that grand shield flickered and fell, the newly formed circles from the fifth-tier mages seamlessly took its place. The exhausted male sixth-tier mage was left behind, slumping to recover, while her two counterparts flashed outside the new barrier. There, they were met with the disquieting sight of the torn space and the unsettling, web-filled realm beyond it.
Instantly, a shield woven from their own domains encased them, a protective shimmer against the unknown. They glared cautiously at the gaping rift. The enemy was clearly visible before them, and there were only two of them. All that remained was to surge forward, to jump into the fray. Yet, an invisible force held them back; they were hesitating.
The enemy’s actions were entirely unforeseen, a move they hadn’t accounted for or planned. Vorenza’s maneuver was abnormal and seemed to serve no logical purpose. Intelligence reports had clearly stated she was injured, yet here she was, brazenly taunting them to come.
There was a high chance she was bluffing, but an equally unsettling chance she wasn’t. Faced with such an unfamiliar situation, the true test of their loyalty to the Empire now hung in the balance. There was a high probability that if both of them charged in, only one would emerge. But who would it be? They were sixth-tier powerhouses, reaching a realm most beings could only dream of glimpsing in their lifetime. Could such power, such existence, be so easily thrown away at a moment like this?
Meanwhile, back in Rattan’s tent, the instant the fortress’s primary shield shattered, Rattan’s eyes went blank, his consciousness receding as Phantom took over. Chief watched, mouth agape in silent astonishment, as a shimmering, ethereal construct of Phantom’s true figure materialized behind Rattan, standing like a silent, ghostly sentinel.
Phantom didn’t risk spreading his senses to encompass the entire fortress; his massive consciousness would certainly draw immediate attention. Instead, he employed a unique form of sight, one that only he possessed.
In Phantom’s perception, the fortress was suddenly awash with a massive, intricate web of threads. Each thread, unseen by mortal eyes, extended from the very flame of ambition burning within every creature in the fortress. Whether that ambition was hidden deep within a soldier’s heart or openly displayed by a commander, it was utterly transparent to him.
With one incorporeal hand, Phantom reached out and delicately grasped these countless threads. His other hand flipped open, revealing a perfect, miniature replica of the fortress, glowing faintly as if carved from starlight. With a smooth, decisive motion, Phantom brought his hands together, merging the threads of ambition with the glowing replica, beginning to create a stage of dreams.