Cursed Immortality

Chapter 1149: The Scheme Unfolds (3)

In the hidden depths of Star Ocean, within the Mythical Coalition’s Pagoda, far removed from the commotion of schemes and interrogations, there existed a private domain reserved exclusively for one existence just like any other Myths residing in the lavish pagoda.

However, these personal chambers belonged to one of the oldest members of the Mythical Coalition, which certainly had its merit, and this particular myth was none other than the Myth of White Swordsman.

At this moment, this place was silent; however, not the ordinary silence of empty halls, but a cultivated stillness, refined to the point where even stray thoughts seemed reluctant to linger.

The chamber was circular, its walls forged from pale astral stone veined with faint sword-runes that pulsed in slow, steady intervals, like the breath of a slumbering beast.

At the center of the chamber sat the Myth of White Swordsman. He was suspended slightly above the ground in a lotus posture, his robes unmoving, his presence sharp yet contained.

Around him hovered countless phantasmal swords, translucent and pale, their edges undefined yet terrifyingly precise. Some were straight, others curved, some broken at impossible angles.

Yet every one of them radiated absolute sharpness, as though they were concepts of blades rather than weapons, as they revolved slowly, silently around the Myth of White Swordsman.

Behind him, faint and vague, loomed the silhouette of an astrolabe, yet not a normal one. Its vague shape was elongated, its axes sharpened, its entire form resembling the outline of a colossal sword blade, as if law itself had been carved into a weapon.

This was the Myth of White Swordsman’s quasi-astrolabe, the proof of his talent and of how profound his understanding of the sword law has become. If not because he was born in the legendary plains, he might’ve already been a Lesser God, yet all that talent has been wasted away with time.

Maybe that’s why he was now willing to do anything to get the chance to ascend to the higher realm, which he longed for more than anything else, even his life.

Suddenly, at that moment, his eyes snapped open, and in that instant, the phantasmal swords shattered like mist under sunlight, vanishing without a sound.

The astrolabe silhouette collapsed inward, dissolving into nothingness, as if it had never existed, and the chamber returned to stillness.

But the Myth of White Swordsman frowned, a deep, unmistakable crease formed between his brows as he slowly rose to his feet, his gaze sweeping across the chamber with sharp vigilance.

”...just what the hell is this?” He muttered quietly as if perplexed at something.

However, there was no fluctuation of law, or spatial distortion, nor detectable traces of any magic. Yet, something had brushed past his perception, fleeting yet invasive, like a shadow slipping across a blade’s reflection.

At that moment, he did not hesitate, and with a flick of his wrist, he produced an ancient, pale formation plate, its surface etched with interlocking sword-runes and isolation sigils.

The moment it activated, a corporeal sphere bloomed outward from his body, sealing the chamber completely with layers stacked upon layers.

Sound, space, laws, and even intent itself were locked away as every prying eye, whether mortal, mythic, or otherwise, was severed with this ancient formation, the Myth of White Swordsman had discovered long ago in his journey towards the top.

Furthermore, the reason behind activating this formation was simple. He didn’t trust the absolute secrecy of the Mythical Coalition’s pagoda despite never discovering anything unusual in his chamber.

He had been especially on edge ever since he had met with the coalition founders, and he always felt that something was missing, but no matter what he did or asked his friends, nothing seemed wrong.

However, that feeling never left him, and all he could think of was about that encounter that left Myth of Secrets comatose even to this day. He felt that mysterious existence may have done something to him, so he was even more agitated and always meditated to calm himself.

Once this formation was activated, only then did the White Swordsman exhale slowly despite not feeling completely assured.

The next moment, a runic gray ring emerged from his finger, materializing as if it had been hiding beneath his skin all along. Its surface was dull and unassuming, yet the inscriptions upon it twisted unnaturally, refusing to settle into any stable pattern.

He stared at it for a brief moment and then, with visible reluctance, his expression tightening as if disgusted with himself, he spoke, ”Vermin live in shadows, yet they rule the light.”

The words sounded crude, almost childish, and yet, the moment the sentence left his lips, the ring shimmered violently.

The runes rearranged themselves, locking into a precise configuration as a ripple spread outward.

The next moment, above the ring, a projection formed, hazy and unstable at first, like a reflection seen through disturbed water.

But slowly, the image stabilized, depicting a figure sitting.

The projection was blurred, its features indistinct, but its posture alone carried an oppressive familiarity. One leg was crossed over the other, hands resting calmly, casually, as if this was an expected call, not an intrusion.

The air inside the sealed sphere grew heavier as the Myth of White Swordsman’s pupils contracted as if he could recognize that sitting silhouette despite the blur, and for whatever reason, Myth of White Swordsman seemed fearful.

His earlier composure cracked, if only for a heartbeat, replaced by naked astonishment.

”...you?” He said slowly without hiding his surprise, and then, his voice hardened, sharpened by disbelief and suppressed tension, ”Myth of Reverend!?”

The projected figure did not move, but somehow, the White Swordsman could feel it...an icy smile that sent a chill down his spine!

”Oh, you still able to recognize this humble self? It’s been a while, fellow White Swordsman....” A gravelly voice filled with regal strength sounded.

Before Myth of White Swordsman could inquire about this sudden twist, the Myth of Reverend spoke as if guessing former’s thoughts, ”...I know you were expecting Myth of Myriad Cries on the other end, but I have to disappoint you, for all contacts with fellow Myriad Cries have been ceased abruptly!”