One-Eyed Monster

The night had fallen, shrouding Guru Mountain in darkness. Darkness was a good friend to Wizard Reed, for only in its embrace could he move freely; the harshness of daylight prevented him from standing upright.

He could sense that his two duplicates had completely exploded, and he was curious about the expressions on his adversaries’ faces at the moment of detonation. Their expressions must have been quite varied and spectacular.

Wizard Reed was contemplating his next move. Even though he, a believer in chaos, typically disdained plans, he knew he had to formulate one for the sake of the bigger picture. It had been so long since he last felt this at ease. Bringing darkness to Guru Mountain had fulfilled his long-cherished wish. Although he couldn’t personally witness the startled expressions on people’s faces, his heart could sense the fear they were experiencing.

As the moonlight cascaded down, the Moonflow Stream also began to resonate with song. Reed stopped in his tracks, knowing there was nowhere further to go.

He had brought two Soul Puppets with him in total. These were his painstaking creations, his masterpieces, each possessing a husk along with flesh and bones. After ascending the mountain, he had disassembled these two Soul Puppets: two husks became his duplicates, while the remaining flesh and bone continued to serve as Soul Puppets.

These two Soul Puppets were not to be underestimated; they were stitched together from the death energy and flesh of many corpses. Reed was particularly selective about the husks for his Soul Puppets. Death energy could be collected from anywhere, but husks could not; they had to be meticulously chosen. The Politician he’d killed at the foot of the mountain was unsuitable to be a husk, so Reed hadn’t brought any part of that corpse up the mountain.

Besides the Soul Puppets, Reed had also discarded his Obsidian Staff. Dark Wizards relied on their staves more heavily than ordinary Wizards. The Obsidian Staff was Reed’s favorite, yet he had abandoned it without hesitation.

It wasn’t that the Obsidian Staff wasn’t worth keeping; rather, it possessed a strong Wizard aura. As a staff crafted for the Wizard Alliance, it would have been Reed’s most cherished item if he were a bona fide Wizard. Unfortunately, he was a Dark Wizard, worlds apart from ordinary Wizards. Although the Obsidian Staff was a treasure, its true value couldn’t be realized in the presence of darkness. It was better employed as a tool to serve the darkness.

The Soul Puppets had served their purpose at Dawn Peak, channeling his Spirit Power to contend with the group. The Obsidian Staff, too, had played its part at Grey Eagle Peak, completing its mission quite successfully.

Reed sat down on the spot, drawing strength from the moonlight within the darkness. His duplicates had drained a considerable amount of his energy. He needed to absorb power to replenish himself for the more intense battle to come; otherwise, a breakthrough would be difficult.

It was a restless night. Occasionally, birds flew overhead, their mournful cries sounding like those of stragglers separated from their flock or injured, solitary birds.

Reed glanced at the bright moonlight, then pulled off the face mask and cloak he wore. His long-concealed body craved release. The darkness offered an opportunity, and they intended to harness it to find new powers. Everything would eventually pass. When the world fell under the sway of new forces, all the suffering they had endured would finally be alleviated.

Under the moonlight, the Moonflow Stream sang its monotonous song, unchanging. Neither the singing stones nor the stream itself knew what was about to transpire.

The monsters on the mountain were busy, diligently guarding it and treating all invaders with utmost seriousness, regardless of their numbers.

Just as Reed was conserving his strength and sharpening his focus, the group at Grey Eagle Peak began to stir. Their frustration with waiting didn’t last long, as the monsters of Guru Mountain soon established a clear boundary with them.

Whether it was the Alchemy Workshop, the Wizard Alliance, or the two mysterious Hunters, they were all invaders. They did not belong on Guru Mountain. No matter how much commotion they made, these three monsters would never side with them.

”Senior Simon, our Chief wishes we could gather peacefully,” Milo persisted. He had been making this effort for quite some time, but to no avail.

”We don’t know what it is you’re protecting. However, you have entered Guru Mountain’s restricted zone, and we cannot allow you to descend the mountain safely,” Simon said, ignoring Milo and the other Alchemists, and addressed Estev instead.

”This... Dastan, the token!” Stan Sol could feel the potent aura of these monsters. Truth be told, the credit for dispelling the Dark Wizard’s Dark Arts belonged entirely to these three. Their strength was not to be underestimated; making enemies of them would be unwise. Moreover, they were individuals Dastan trusted. He had promised Dastan to repay his kindness and offer protection in his stead. As a member of the Sol Family, he could not break his word.

Jemma saw Stan Sol take a gold-colored coin from his pocket. Despite the darkness, Jemma’s exceptional eyesight allowed him to discern the markings on it—a special insignia the Empire had designed for the Glorious Seven Knights. This Gold Coin was a medal of honor bestowed upon the Glorious Seven Knights by His Majesty the King. Jemma possessed one as well. They all regarded these coins as vital symbols, never to be parted with lightly, not even in defeat. The Glorious Seven Knights had once sworn an oath: coin and knight are one; if the knight perishes, so does the coin.

Indeed, the coin in Stan Sol’s hand was Dastan’s token.

”What of Dastan?” Yuga inquired. After Jemma’s confirmation, he was certain these two guardians were different from the others, so he pressed further about Dastan’s condition.

”Senior Yuga, rest assured, Dastan is currently with the Chief. The Chief will definitely not cause him any trouble,” Joela answered for Stan Sol.

”We weren’t asking you! You Alchemists from the Workshop have no right to speak here! You bring nothing but false promises! You are not worthy of being here!” Jemma exclaimed, his voice tinged with emotion, evidently recalling the agreement from over a decade ago.

Milo and the others fell silent. Although they harbored no doubts about Chief Kuyi Tulan’s Purification Plan, they felt a pang of guilt regarding the turmoil from years past. They knew it was their own shortcomings as Alchemists that had led these heroic figures of the Empire to such a tragic fate. These once-heralded heroes, now branded as ’monsters,’ found that no account of their past glories, however detailed, could overcome the shock their grotesque appearances caused Non-professionals. Once the label ’monster’ was affixed to them, they were doomed to a lifetime of fleeing, unable to escape their fate!

”Regardless, none of you will leave this mountain safely!”

The night grew deeper, and Simon’s voice, as eerie as a phantom, sent shivers down their spines. Everyone knew a fight was about to begin.