Black Sail
Chapter 312: CCCXII. World Devourer

Chapter 312: CCCXII. World Devourer

Magic Power flowed slowly through Celeste’s palm into Liszt’s limbs, and if it was too hasty, it would have counter-effects. He could only slowly regain vitality.

This was emergency treatment, and Celeste did not know to what extent it would work. In extreme cold, many tissues might have already necrosed, and even if revived, he would be but a half-paralyzed invalid, unable to flexibly move his limbs, and might even need amputation later.

Fortunately, Liszt had a special constitution. As the warm current flowed in, an alien black-red smoke etched the surface of his skin, and his lips gradually regained some color.

Atop the stone throne, Garscek was brainstorming, searching her mind for the so-called Demon God Da Gun.

About nine hundred years ago, she arrived here to rest, borrowing the convergence of the Heavenly Sphere from Flying Dragon Ridge, not expecting to oversleep for decades, by which time the otherworldly gate had already closed.

She captured these distant memories, yet no related images emerged. Though they felt vaguely familiar, she paid them no heed. A thousand and eight hundred years prior, this place was sealed from heavens and earth by a Nameless Warrior, preventing anything from entering unless under extremely special circumstances—not even a True God could enter, and to her, a lower member of the Demon Clan was trivial, her ancestors had consumed too many such.

Before coming here, she knew nothing of Holy Spirits, only having faintly heard of them through a friend from the high ridges—the Dragon Lord was a supreme being, even among Ancient Dragons, standing at the apex.

Ancient Dragons were said to be half-life, half-mineral, the minerals here more like some transcendent essence.

And the mineral part of the Dragon Lord transcended thought and concept, incomprehensible, stepping out of time, existing both within and beyond eternal infinity, outside the logic of cause and effect.

But this was likely false—just a legendary tale even among the ridges, taken as entertainment.

Under Celeste’s treatment, Liszt’s condition improved; his teeth no longer chattered, and his hands slowly regained strength, his vision clearer.

Gazing toward the stone throne, seeing the seated woman silent, Liszt too was overwhelmed with emotions. Was she subdued or something else?

Speaking of which, casting spells with Fafna was entirely different. Fafna needed to condense Array Seals, representing the three mainstream Magic Technique categories: arcane, Spell, and Spell.

Garscek, however, did not need to condense Array Seals; it was like language, naturally emerging with that haunting, distant murmur from the void.

Besides, this lady was eerily strange. In the wilderness outside, her Breath of fire could vitrify the land, and now it was extreme frost, a dilemma of ice and fire, seemingly switching between the two depending merely on the temperature of the water in her mouth.

Liszt, barely recovering his energy, saw Haywood standing in front of him. He somewhat felt like fleeing; Brother Hai might not withstand her.

Otherwise, he would have to use every trick in his arsenal to OTK her.

"I am Garscek, descendant of the World Devourer. Seven hundred years ago, none didn’t know this name. I do not know of this so-called Da Gun—kneel..."

Garscek’s draconic language rolled out, a sudden invisible gravity fell from the entire underground palace.

It felt like carrying a massive weight on his back, and more than that, the entire floor turned magnet-like, redistributing all the golden items evenly, clanging as they spread across the floor.

Celeste crouched on the ground, struggling to keep her entire body from being crushed.

Liszt crossed his swords above his head, the unrivaled spell power on the sword blade seeming to shred the "meaning" of that draconic language, yet he still stood upright.

Haywood’s knees frequently burst with bright red quicksand, which meant little to him, the Undying.

As the highest-ranking intelligence officer, Celeste was a treasure trove of knowledge... She already knew what type of dragon Garscek was, though it was but a legend from the Ancient Era.

Legend had it that in the Ancient Era, there was a terribly powerful Magician who admired the Strength of the Dragon Clan, whether Ancient Dragons or True Dragons transformed from the undying will imitating Ancient Dragons.

After countless replications and countless generations, the content of the books was severely damaged, yet some content about mythical stories could still be discerned.

Ancient Dragons and True Dragons were both unmatched in their uniqueness.

That a dragon claimed itself as someone’s lineage was a notion only the third type of dragon could boast of reproduction.

This so-called Garscek was nothing but a vile creation forged by a Magician, which poisoned for millennia.

Celeste, being one of the top intelligence agents in the world, naturally knew these facts. However, this dragon was truly peculiar, unlike other Magician’s creations. Communication with other Flying Dragons was near impossible; it was either you kill me, or I kill you.

Seeing that Liszt still did not kneel, Garscek grew genuinely furious, standing up from the stone chair.

The invisible gravity imposed by the Dragon Roar became increasingly terrifying. The ground beneath the trio began to crack like a spider web and sank several centimeters.

Seeing that Haywood was about to step forward, Liszt thought carefully and decided it was not advisable. This woman’s strength was beyond human resistance. Haywood might survive, but if she lost her temper, Celeste and himself would definitely not survive.

It was fine if the beautiful woman died; after all, she had been a friend for a few days, so he mourned for her for exactly four point three nine six seconds.

If he were to die, the people of the East Sea would face dire peril.

"You said you had some secret that could influence the world, didn’t you?"

Celeste too faced a dilemma. The immediate necessity was to negotiate to avoid further conflict with this dragon. Although dubbed a Magician’s creation, she seemed much more sinister than the other Flying Dragons.

Liszt, overwhelmed with thoughts, debated selling out Fafna immediately, deeming himself foolish. It had to be the last resort to foster a rapport.

"Don’t you want to know who crafted these two swords? I’ll tell you. But with this pressure, I can hardly speak clearly."

Liszt continued to resist barely.

Garscek thought it made sense and dissipated the invisible gravity; it seemed her patience had already overflowed, and she carelessly sat on the armrest of the stone chair like a rogue.

As the atmosphere began to relax slightly, both took a deep breath. Haywood remained indifferent, believing he still had a chance to slay the dragon. However, he was quite surprised; there were no books or legends about the Army Commander anywhere in the world, which was very suspicious. It was as if someone had deliberately erased them. The name Da Gun should have been known to all, akin to the Dragon Lord.

Liszt was just bluffing; he genuinely had no clue who crafted them. The historians of the Western Continent were all incompetents, unable to clarify even this minor detail, causing him immense trouble.

He simply began fabricating wildly.

"These two swords, relics of an old age, were passed down to me from my family. Even after hundreds of years, they remain as freshly cast, crafted seven hundred years ago by the Empress Engma’s request, and have been with me ever since."

Liszt concocted a rough story.

Yet Garscek was clearly confused. Crafted by Engma meant, that this youngster was a descendant of Engma?

She had indeed heard during her travels in the Western Continent that Engma had planned to commission the era’s strongest Magician to forge swords. Could it be the ones in his hands?

"Is that so? Step forward, let me take a closer look."

Garscek prepared to thoroughly inspect the Divine Artifact from up close; from afar, she couldn’t scrutinize it, the light slicing through the blade with swirling distortions.

On the surface, Liszt remained as placid as an ancient well, but inside, he was ecstatic, feeling absolutely right.

The Junlin Sword was such that one touch would turn it to dust.

While she observed, touching it and accidentally getting a cut could end in her instantaneous demise, right here by the Ganges.

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