Pillar of Yita

A flash pierced through the clouds, and the center of the High Tower seemed to crack open. The white stones of the tower expanded outward, disintegrating and falling amidst the flames, descending like raindrops straight to the ground. Crossing a distance of hundreds of meters, it was like a meteor falling to the earth.

”Raise the shield!”

Ande looked up at the scene, pointed his finger, and shouted to the craftsmen.

The alchemists watching in the square immediately turned around and ran in all directions, throwing metal pedestals at the four corners of the square. The array on the pedestals spun and unfolded, eventually expanding into a pale blue shield.

The falling stones grew larger in people’s vision and crashed into the shield. Citizens in the square screamed, crouching with their heads in their hands, their cries rising and falling, never ending. However, the falling white stones did not budge the shield in the slightest. After crumbling, rubble fell, dust dispersed, and beneath it still revealed the intact Pale Glory.

Only then did people tentatively raise their heads, their eyes still colored with lingering fear.

In the sky, smoke and dust filled the air, and a dragon wing, black as a shadow, stretched out from the gap in the High Tower. It occupied two-thirds of the spire’s level, and with a gentle flap, it was like a butterfly fluttering its wings.

A long howl echoed, spreading like ripples from the spire.

Everyone couldn’t help but fall to their knees, unable to bear it as they covered their ears with their hands, their vision fading to black, and in that vision hung an inescapable shadow, enormous, powerful, a creature of fantasy.

The Clockwork Fairy rattled mid-air, seeming ready to fall apart under the shriek even kilometers away. The live broadcast viewers seemed to feel the violent shaking of the scene, and at the center of that shake was a line of white thrusting straight into the sky.

With the creature atop the tower.

The shadowy Giant Dragon—

Or, as the public feared to name it aloud.

Black Dragon, Dark Giant Dragon.

’Golden Star Fire, falls to dust;’

’Hermit Dragon, now returns;’

’Shadows of the Past, recurring in the present—’

Many couldn’t help but look up at the live broadcast’s logo, conveniently a plain longsword, half-buried in the embers of the lingering Starfire, where sparks floated around, with a short inscription in ancient Dwarven on the sword.

Most people didn’t recognize it, but perhaps knew its name and meaning from elsewhere:

It was the sword of Xiuyuede the Hero, named Galapea.

And the inscription on it meant:

’Never forget the fallen enemy—’

Because now, they have returned.

The High Tower shook violently.

The Dark Giant Dragon smashed a hole in the tower, and the high-altitude wind rushed in, forcing Fang Hong to lie flat on the ground with his coat flapping. But accustomed to such scenes, he reacted before Linen did, turning to shout at him:

”Run, why are you just standing there!”

Linen, looking dumbstruck, asked, ”How do we run...?”

That truly was an excellent question.

Fang Hong, looking downwards, immediately said, ”Go to the lower level.”

Linen, now reacting, quickly said, ”There’s a way to the lower level from the hall, but it’s not very reliable.”

Not very reliable? But Fang Hong couldn’t worry about that, gesturing, ”You go first!”

Linen dared not waste time, nodded after a glance at him, and turned to crawl in that direction.

The Dark Giant Dragon’s half-body had already crawled out of the High Tower, leaving a long tail snaking past them like a serpent, turning outside to coldly gaze at the two inside the tower. That golden flame flickering pupil made Fang Hong shiver.

But he forced himself to stay calm, face pale as he looked at her, making one last effort: ”Lady Misu, please wake up.”

”Those who went to Dolifen with you, they’re still waiting for you to return—”

”Do you remember Mr. Diket? Do you remember Linxiu?”

”He is still searching for you to this day.”

”Do you remember Hes?”

”The hope you left for her, she has now received it.”

”What about you?”

”Lady Misu, you possess an incredibly noble heart; please don’t be swayed by Nikopolas’ strength. Hold on to yourself, return to us—”

The Golden Star Pupil seemed to flash with a moment of hesitation, but was soon overtaken by a cold light.

”Yes, Ade,” the gentle voice replied, ”I left hope for others, but forgot myself, even forgetting who I am, only remembering endless pain. Perhaps today, I will reclaim all that I’ve lost.”

It spread its wings behind it.

”No!” Fang Hong’s face changed dramatically.

The voice shifted, cold and deep, resentfully said: ”The world hates me, but why should that matter? Little one, give me the Pale Glory!”

It flung its wings forward, the black shadows under them seemingly solidified, with sharp arrows streaking like lines, piercing through the tower, a sound of shattering glass, curtain walls collapsing.

”Nikopolas!” Fang Hong shouted angrily.

Glass shards, cascading like a waterfall, shattered and scattered.

The flying shards cut several lines on Fang Hong’s face and hands, blood rolling down with the wind, and he could only muster enough energy to shield himself with the edge of his coat, rolling to the side. Regardless of the fragments on the ground, he hid behind the exhibits in that direction.