Pillar of Yita

’Regret is like poison, gnawing at the heart—’

’Dominion over legions’

Such an ancient Magic Guided Conductor.

This was Fang Hong’s first exclamation.

The second doubt was about the last three lines of text on the scepter’s attribute list; they appeared among the attributes list, clearly having their own significance.

But apart from the first line of text, which he could understand, he was baffled by the rest.

”Shall we go up?” Hilveld asked, looking at the staircase.

Fang Hong set down the Scepter of Authority and nodded.

As they went up to the second floor, a sobbing sound came head-on.

Then came a voice even more compelling, ”She trapped you in this place, yet you still think of her? Wake up, Jeffrey, you know who it is that for everyone in this Phantom Realm, go do as I say—”

”No, I can’t do that, I can’t make another mistake, Lord Nikopolas.” The young man cried tearfully, pleading.

”Heh, you think I’m asking you? Jeffrey, you’ve already sold your soul to the demon, it’s too late for regrets now. Do you really think you’re still a pure and flawless man, a prodigal?”

”But, Lord, I—”

”There are no buts.”

The voice said even more sternly.

The sobbing became deeper and intermittent.

”Go now, do as I say, Jeffrey, I will give you redemption, you are my man, no need to seek anyone’s forgiveness.”

”Take this, go take that thing out—”

Fang Hong saw two long shadows at the end of the dim corridor.

One knelt on the ground, sobbing miserably.

The other stood tall and proud, exuding an air of arrogance.

The latter handed something to the former, and Fang Hong saw clearly—it was a brooch emitting a faint luster, the Zealot’s Mark of Sacrifice; only then did the former stand up sobbing.

”It’s all too late, Jeffrey, just do as I tell you.”

The woman laughed triumphantly.

Then, the shadows gradually faded.

A closed door appeared ahead, with a bronze plaque hanging on it, inscribed with characters in the Colin Kingdom style; if translated to Earth’s writing, it would be a simple line of Arabic numerals:

3007.

Fang Hong didn’t hesitate to push open the door.

This was his first time seeing the room the Papalarians had previously stayed in, plain and unremarkable compared to other rooms.

A bed, a small bedside table by its side, one side against the window, the other a somewhat mottled wardrobe.

The room was empty, you could say there was nothing else in it.

The door automatically closed behind them.

But nothing happened.

No phantoms, no sounds—

Fang Hong looked at the bedside table, which was empty. He remembered the rumors about this room and seemed to think of something. But Hilveld was one step ahead of him, taking a brooch from her embrace and placing it there.

Upon closer inspection, Fang Hong realized it was the Martyr’s Mark of The Faithful.

He looked at Hilveld in some astonishment; he remembered he had personally handed the object to the little dwarf—Parker: ”How is it with you?”

”Of course, Parker gave it to me.”

”He met you?”

Hilveld nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

”But why would he give it to you? I distinctly told him—”

”Does the Captain not trust me?”

”Of course not that, but...”

Hilveld smiled slyly, ”Just kidding, don’t be so tense. I traded the ’Treasure Map’ with him. Mr. Parker is greedy for money, of course, he agreed.”

”Treasure Map?”

”Do you still remember that floor plan of Hustings Cathedral?”

”You kept it?” Fang Hong suddenly realized.

”Tianlan kept it; I asked that adorable girl for it before you let them leave.” The noble lady’s eyes narrowed into crescents, giggling.

Fang Hong looked at her speechlessly. ”How is it that nothing gets past you, Hilveld.”

”Attention to detail is an alchemist’s foremost virtue,” Hilveld cited proudly: ”Besides, hasn’t it come in handy? Who told you not to hand that mark over to me? After all, you still don’t trust us, Captain.”

Fang Hong was no match for this sharp-tongued noble lady and quickly admitted defeat.

The two were conversing when, unbeknownst to them, the door behind them had silently been pushed open.

A young man with a panic-stricken look snuck in from there, his face as white as a sheet, forlorn and desolate, as if just fished out of water, drenched from head to toe, with his soft blond hair sticking to his pale forehead.

He leaned against the door frame, as if it took all his strength just to stand there, looking around the room—it hadn’t changed one iota from what it was like during his lifetime.

It was as if everything was still, frozen in time, right before the day of the celebration.

If only, if only things could be reversed.

The young man, recalling all the regret he experienced in this prolonged darkness, couldn’t help but cover his face with his hands, tears streaming through his fingers.

He sobbed and wept uncontrollably.

Until a voice outside said, ”Hurry, Jeffrey, don’t you want to be free? Freedom is right there, within your grasp.”

But what freedom was there to speak of?

The young man understood in his heart that everything he had done was only sending him further into the abyss.

Yet, he couldn’t resist, holding something in his hand, he slowly approached. Fang Hong and Hilveld turned aside, allowing him to pass between them, closer to the bedside table.

Only then did the two see that there was now a sword atop the bedside table.

Fang Hong cried out involuntarily upon seeing it—

”The Fairy Holy Sword, Galapea!”

The scabbard of the sword.

The hilt of the sword.

The shape of the sword.

All identical to the one he had once seen in Mazak’s hands, even the scratch on the green gemstone on the counterweight hammer was exactly the same.

It was clearly the very same sword.

”That’s it!” the dark shadow outside screamed anxiously, ”Jeffrey, take it and give it to me! Hurry, don’t hesitate!”

The young man wavered for a long while.

Only then did he place the object in his hand on the cabinet, Fang Hong saw the precision of its placement, perfectly coinciding with the Martyr’s Mark of The Faithful on the bedside table.

He turned back, using his body to block the mark, then slowly picked up the sword.

A light burst from the sword, rippling out like a shockwave, startling Fang Hong inside the room. The shadow outside screamed and leaped backward several feet.

After the apparition, the brilliance of the sword diminished, as if tainted, turning dull and lightless.

”Right, that’s how it’s done!” the shadow outside exclaimed joyously, ”Quick, Jeffrey, hand it over to me.”

The young man hesitated, ”Lord, you promised me freedom.”

”I promise, give it to me, and you’ll be free. I have no use for your soul; you should understand that,” said the voice from outside.

”I’ll trust you one more time, Lord.”

”You’re doing the right thing, Jeffrey,” said the person outside with gentle affirmation.

That gentle voice, identical to Hes’s in timbre.

Then all the phantom illusions vanished.

There was no longer a young man inside the room, nor that twisted, flame-like strange shadow outside.

All sounds returned to silence.

Only the brooch, with the Unicorn’s mark on it, shone faintly in the dark—the only thing Jeffrey left in the room.

Fang Hong looked at the brooch, yet only confusion filled his mind.

”Why would it be The Faithful’s Martyr’s Mark?”

”Shouldn’t it be The Zealot’s Mark of Sacrifice here?”

”What exactly happened in between?”

As he pondered, he picked up the mark.

The name of the mark had also changed—

Seal of No Regret (Magic Ornament, Equipment Level, D++)

Basic Attributes: Perception +12, Analysis Ability +21, Willpower Modifier +33%,

Skill Add-On: Selfless Holy Words, Pure Heart

Weight: 0.1kg

Slot: Brooch

Level Requirement: Any level 15

’Under the Dolifen Fantasy, those who keep their vows may ignore the level requirement’

’Against all odds, emergence of the Dawn—’

’The language of the stars, harboring a pure soul’

...