Insight Ritual

Laemno rolled on the dirt as he completed his last leap, letting out a painful yell.

His right arm burned from the inside as his flesh squirmed and his bones groaned under the spellcraft's pressure, filling him with agony.

Behind him, the world itself seemed to tremble.

Storm clouds filled the darkened sky, and strands of pale light reached for the peak of Mount Eurymedon. A deafening rumble echoed, and thunderous explosions rose in mighty pillars, nearly sweeping him backward with their blasts.

"They're still fighting..." Laemno heaved a sigh of relief, taking the time to catch his breath.

He propped himself up with difficulty, his legs shaking from the lingering strain of the enhancement spell. His left arm was still wounded and unusable, while his right one could at least be moved, albeit accompanied by a severe ache.

Feeling underneath his tunic, he found two remaining black sticks, a few vials for the perception spell, the decrepit-looking notebook, and what was apparently called the Eye of Crepuscule. His leather bag was supposed to be fastened to his belt, but it had been torn apart at some point, and only an empty, shredded husk remained.

Not wanting to dishearten himself, he recalled his encounter with the assassin, which had unlocked a few of his fragmented memories. He remembered the beautiful yet strange girl that had called to him within the Inner Monastery, clad in foreign garb and speaking in a bewitching tone.

However, one segment remained blurred in his mind. It was the "question" that the real Laemno had asked the mirror.

"There's no point in thinking about it now," he mused before inspecting his surroundings.

There wasn't much aside from lush greenery on either side of him, though he stood right at the edge of a massive depression. Down the slope, the grass appeared to lose its luster, forming a thin path of simple ground, unremarkable yet bizarrely ominous.

The naturally-formed road led to a large valley beneath, nestled between two hills of black, oily rock that seemed almost artificial. Laemno couldn't spot any patch of vegetation on them, nor could he see signs of erosion or wind-sculpted surfaces.

They crooked like demonic horns sprouting from the earth, almost connecting mid-way above the low area to form an arc. A calm stream passed underneath, its water gray and glittering with pairs of colored wisps, akin to eyes peering at him from below the surface.

"I remember this. The vision shown by the Eye of Crepuscule... the Valley of Eventide!"

Finally recognizing the place, Laemno slid down the slope with as much grace as he could, stumbling several times along the way. Once he reached the bottom, he lifted his eyes to look at the sky, his brows creasing as he realized something odd.

"When did the sun set?"

It had been noon when he started his escape, and less than two hours should have passed since then. Despite that, the sun was nowhere to be seen above his head, and in its stead, the pitch-black moon shone ever-serene, neighbored by the seven-pointed star and countless other flickering dots.

"What's happening?"

An uncanny feeling swept over him, sending shivers down his spine. He remembered basking in the golden strands of sunlight right before going down the valley, meaning his descent had something to do with the abrupt change.

Valley of Eventide... He pondered about the name, doing his best to stay on his guard. Is it always nighttime here? A domain of perpetual darkness?

A sudden sting jolted him from his daze as if in answer. He quickly plunged his hand inside his tunic, taking out its source—the decrepit notebook, which had become scorching hot in his grasp.

He dropped it to the ground, only for his knees to follow, meeting the damp soil against Laemno's will.

"Wha—!"

The notebook flapped open by itself, its pages fluttering past the first section under his gaze. He briefly saw the warning, written in reddish ink:

Do not open the second section before leaving Priene.

A primal kind of fear clasped his beating heart as the page turned, revealing what lay beyond that sinister sentence. His eyes squinted against his volition to read the content in the dim starlight, and his wits blurred, unable to form any coherent thought.

Congratulations, Honored One.

The Insight Ritual may now begin.

—

Meanwhile, in the Theatre of Priene.

The marbled walls creaked and bent forward, slamming against the ground and crushing a handful of people. As if animating by an invisible force, they rose up again, jumping from their foundations and joining the collapsing columns and falling roof in a splattering fest of corpses and flesh.

The entire building groaned and uprooted its stony structure, forming giant fists and blood-stained feet as they rained solid hell on the poor individuals still lingering within their reach.

"This is boring," pouted Ilana, legs crossed on the shaky floor.

Two of her Homunculi, namely Serya, and Shirin, were sprawled on a nearby corner, their bodies limp and covered in pale-white feathers.

The four-armed Yitav had lost half her limbs, struggling in a fight against a group of magi from the Temple of Stars.

The mismatched Meir walked with bizarre poise amidst the chaos, stopping behind her creator. "It seems like circumventing the burden of madness created a new weakness for them, Mistress."

They both looked at a brown-haired woman clad in the garb of the Henosis Seekers, the lower half of her body crushed so badly it had been reduced to mush.

Behind her, a faceless humanoid creature with a vertical slit as a mouth stood motionless. It wore a molten bronze crown that hung diagonally around its grayish skull, pale-white feathers falling from its crooked pair of wings as they oozed the miasma of the Pale Malady.

It was the Archangel Nahaliel, the Bearer of Maladies—a Nightmare-class Eidolon.

"I figured as much." Ilana held her chin with her hand, visibly disappointed.

"Having someone else aside from the host sacrifice their sanity to summon an Empyrean Eidolon weakens the mystical link. Hence, merely killing the host suffices to send the Angel back to the Reverse Boundary of the World, which wasn't the case before. I doubt the Henosis Seekers will use this method again."

The bleeding, brown-haired woman heaved her last breath. At that moment, the Archangel let out a malicious cackle as its figure slowly dissipated into wisps of light, returning to its accursed plane.

"It seems like Master Geffen is still fighting in the northern base, and Master Yaen is about to engage the Horror-class Eidolon in battle. Which one should we join?" Meir inquired.

"Hm~" Ilana briefly weighed her choices. "The host of Araqiel appears to be near Master Yaen, too. As powerful as he is, I'm sure he will have some difficulty facing a Nightmare-class Eidolon and a Horror-class one simultaneously, even with the weakness we found. In fact, unless he uses his High Thaumaturgy, he will most likely die."

Meir frowned. "Shouldn't we head there immediately, then?"

"I'd like to confirm the location of Nave first. The enemy won't be stupid enough to kill Alchemist Devora's masterpiece, so he has probably been captured with him. We should find them both if we trace back Jonam's link with the Emerald Plaque. Where is Segment V Giron?"

Meir pointed at the Theatre's entrance. A corpse was crushed underneath the raging debris, looking vaguely like the grizzled Homunculus. "You inadvertently killed him, Mistress."

Ilana answered with a grimace, "Oopsie~"

"He did leave us with the information, nevertheless," Meir added. "According to him, once the concealment spell was lifted, Jonam's mystical link resonated directly west of us."

"West?" Ilana frowned. "That's where Master Yaen is. Alright, we'll show with h—"

Her words were suddenly interrupted by a faint stir, too discrete to echo amidst the current quakes yet deep and terrifying enough to launch her senses into full alert.

It came from the flow of Mana itself, like a squeal of helplessness and uncharacteristic lament.

Her gaze locked onto its probable source, far beyond the Great Sanctuary, in the approximate location of what she knew as the Valley of Eventide.

"Is something the matter, Mistress?"

Ilana's expression was abnormally grave as she whispered, almost to herself, "A monster..."