Chapter 189: Purging the Citadel

Chapter 189: Chapter 189: Purging the Citadel

Floor after floor fell to Squad 07 with ruthless, surgical precision.

From the suffocating bogs of the Marshlands on Floor Two up to the sweltering, subterranean pits of the Ashen Abyss on Floor Nine, every hidden safehouse, illegal forge, and covert supply depot belonging to the Order of Humanity was systematically erased.

Where dark cultists expected to catch panicked adventurers or outmaneuver slow-moving enforcement squads, they were instead met with absolute tactical dominance. Caelen’s radiant greatsword cleaved through reinforced barriers; Mirei’s wind-guided shafts pinned dark mages before incantations could leave their lips; Barney’s warhammer shattered spatial escape formations with raw kinetic force; and Seraphina’s crucible devoured their toxic reserves before they could contaminate the air.

Behind them all walked Rowan, the tip of his Hoe of the World-Tiller tapping lightly against the stone, channeling [Breath of Eden - Lv. 5] to scrub every trace of necrotic corruption from the ley-lines and restore the earth to pristine purity.

By the time the team stepped into the spatial elevator bound for Floor Ten, the lower trial zones of the Tower had been rendered entirely barren of cult influence.

When the spatial portal’s blinding blue light dissolved, the oppressive heat of the lower floors vanished, replaced by a crisp, runic breeze and the unexpected hum of bustling metropolis life. Squad 07 stepped out onto a massive paved plaza of polished white granite. Towering above them was no cavern ceiling, but a colossal enchanted dome glowing with simulated atmospheric sunlight.

They had arrived at The Keystone Citadel—the Tower’s monumental first safe-haven city and the definitive gateway separating the lower trial zones from the lethal upper floors. Banners from top-tier global factions—the Ding Dynasty, the British Barony, and the Freedom Association—hung high above multi-story stone structures housing high-grade trading posts, guild banks, equipment repair vaults, and private auction halls.

Whispers immediately rippled through the crowded plaza as passing adventurers and guild scouts recognized the towering form of Caelen’s greatsword and the iconic Enchanted Straw Hat worn by the newly crowned Global Champion.

"A city of this scale has a thousand dark corners," Caelen noted softly, his hand resting near the pommel of the Edge of the First Warden as his sharp gaze swept across the surrounding rooftops and bustling mercenary guilds. "If the Order of Humanity has a cell on Floor Ten, they won’t be operating in the open. They’ll be buried deep beneath the Citadel’s legitimate commercial fronts."

"And using the Citadel’s sanctuary laws as a meat-shield," Barney grunted, casually adjusting the Hammer of the Sunken Bastion over his broad shoulder. "They think the foreign enforcers and dense crowds will keep us from kicking down their front door."

Mirei closed her eyes, lightly plucking a translucent thread on her Breeze-Striker Longbow. An invisible pulse of wind-mana rippled outward through the crowded avenues, slicing clean through the ambient noise of blacksmith anvils, spatial carriages, and shouting vendors.

"The crowds make passive tracking difficult," Mirei whispered, her eyes snapping open as her gaze locked onto a shadowed, narrow alleyway branching off the main thoroughfare. "But there’s a localized mana-dampening barrier operating beneath the Western Alchemy District, three blocks out. It’s masking a faint, stagnant scent—boiled soul-grass."

Seraphina raised her right hand, setting the Crucible of Eternal Transmutation into a slow, gyroscopic spin above her palm. The bronze-and-crystal relic flushed with a pale emerald light, sifting through the city’s complex atmospheric mana until its internal rings locked onto a decaying frequency.

"Mirei’s tracking is spot on," Seraphina confirmed, her voice dripping with cold, alchemical disdain. "They’re using a high-end herb-import shop as a front. While the storefront sells standard potion ingredients to passing guild parties, the subterranean vault directly beneath it is actively refining soul-rot suppressants to stabilize Rueben’s shattered core channels."

Rowan adjusted the brim of his Enchanted Straw Hat, a calm, lethal smirk settling onto his lips as his golden-amber eyes turned toward the gilded spires of the Western Alchemy District.

"They thought hiding inside the Tower’s greatest trading hub would buy them time," Rowan said softly, his voice cutting through the ambient city noise with unshakeable authority. "Let’s show them that no sanctuary in this Tower can protect them from Eden."

Without another word, Squad 07 stepped off the central plaza, moving in tight, flawless formation toward the Western Alchemy District to tear the cult’s city operations out by the roots.

***

As the simulated daylight of the Citadel’s massive dome dimmed into a deep, midnight blue, a quiet shadow fell over the Keystone Citadel. Lanterns flared along the main avenues, but the narrow stone alleys of the Western Alchemy District remained shrouded in darkness.

Squad 07 moved like ghosts through the shadows.

"Keep your heads down and your mana suppressed," Rowan cautioned in a low, barely audible whisper, adjusting the brim of his Enchanted Straw Hat. "We don’t know how far the cult’s influence reaches into the Citadel’s administration. If the local guards or district patrols have been bought off by the Order, bringing them in will only give Rueben time to vanish."

Caelen gave a single nod, his hand resting silently against the leather wrap of the Edge of the First Warden. Beside him, Mirei moved without making a sound, her wind-attuned footsteps leaving no trace on the cobblestones as her eyes scanned the high rooftops for hidden lookouts.

Three blocks deep into the alchemy quarter, they stopped before a three-story timber-and-stone building. The hanging wooden sign read Aethelgard Botanical Imports, looking entirely harmless under the moonlight. But beneath the floorboards, deep within the bedrock of the Citadel, the foul, metallic stench of boiled soul-grass and rotting meridians bled quietly through the drainage grates.

Mirei held up two fingers, pointing toward two guards stationed in the shadows of the rear loading bay—wearing the official crest of the Citadel’s district guard, but carrying concealed daggers dipped in black, necrotic venom.

They were compromised.

Without waiting for an order, Mirei drew two translucent shafts from her quiver. She plucked the string of the Breeze-Striker Longbow, and before the guards could even register the sound of wind, two silent arrows transfixed their throats, pinning them against the wooden doorframe without letting a single alarm sound.

"Barney, breach," Rowan commanded coldly.

Barney stepped forward, bringing the massive head of the Hammer of the Sunken Bastion down on the reinforced steel vault doors leading into the cellar. Instead of a loud explosion, the hammer’s kinetic dampening runes absorbed the impact, silently pulverizing the six-inch iron lock into fine dust.

Squad 07 descended into the subterranean dark, and in the dead of night, unleashed absolute, unspeakable devastation.

The cultists below had no time to form defensive lines. Caelen burst through the inner vault doors like an unstoppable avalanche, his greatsword blazing with a blinding, silvery guardian aura that cleaved dark mages and armored zealots in half with broad, terrifying strokes.

"Intruders—!" a senior cultist shrieked, frantically trying to shatter a glass container filled with pressurized necrotic gas.

Seraphina didn’t give him the chance. The Crucible of Eternal Transmutation spun above her palm, unleashing an emerald incinerating beam that melted the glass container and the cultist’s hands into ash before the volatile chemical could even react with the air.

Barney surged into the main refining hall, swinging his warhammer in continuous, devastating arcs. Every strike demolished alchemy cauldrons, shattered defensive warding pillars, and flattened cult enforcers into the stone. Any fanatic who tried to slip away into the escape tunnels was instantly picked off by Mirei, whose arrows found their marks through darkness, dust, and stone with terrifying, mathematical precision.

Within minutes, the cult cell was completely obliterated. The subterranean facility was reduced to splintered wood, crushed stone, and silent bodies.

However, deep at the back of the underground complex lay the true horror: a massive, hundred-foot reservoir filled with dark, bubbling necrotic sludge—a concentrated byproduct of soul-rot used to brew emergency suppressants for Rueben. The foul pit was actively burning into the Citadel’s bedrock, corrupting the subterranean ley-lines beneath the city.

"This entire vault is saturated," Seraphina said, her face grim as her floating crucible hummed in warning. "If this sludge leaks into the Citadel’s underground water grid, half the district will wake up with rotting meridians tomorrow."

Rowan stepped toward the edge of the dark, bubbling pit. Unsheathing the Hoe of the World-Tiller, he slammed its forged tip deep into the stone ledge.

"Not on my watch," Rowan growled, his golden-amber eyes igniting with blinding power.

[Breath of Eden - Lv. 5]

A massive, roaring wave of brilliant, golden light exploded from the tool’s edge, diving headfirst into the deep, necrotic reservoir. The golden domain force clashed violently against the dense, concentrated poison, creating a deafening hiss that shook the cavern walls.

Unlike the surface purifications, the sheer density of the cult’s underground poison reservoir fought back against the cleansing light. Rowan gritted his teeth, pouring more and more of his core energy into the array. His golden mana surged continuously, burning through his mana pool at a staggering rate as the primordial force force-fed pure vitality into every drop of toxic sludge.

Sweat beaded on Rowan’s forehead, his core reserves draining rapidly into the depths of the earth. Ten percent... twenty percent... forty percent of his total mana burned away in seconds as he forced the golden light to reach the deepest, most stubborn roots of the corruption.

THUM-THUMP.

The subterranean Fragment of the Origin Earth Pulse miles away seemed to answer his call, sending a resonant surge through the earth that bolstered his power.

With a final, roaring burst of golden light, the black, bubbling sludge was completely consumed. The foul, acidic stench vanished instantly, replaced by the rich, invigorating scent of freshly turned soil and sweet spring dew. The entire hundred-foot toxic pit transformed before their eyes into a lush, subterranean garden of dark, hyper-fertile loam overflowing with glowing, uncorrupted moss.

Rowan exhaled slowly, resting his weight slightly against the haft of the Hoe of the World-Tiller as he felt his heavily depleted mana reserves slowly settle.

"Rowan!" Barney rushed over, holding out a canteen, while Seraphina quickly retrieved a concentrated recovery elixir brewed from Sunny Vale’s morning harvest.

"I’m fine," Rowan said, taking a breath and accepting the elixir. As the pure, slag-free liquid hit his system, his drained meridians immediately began absorbing the uncorrupted vitality, rapidly restoring his depleted mana core. He looked down at the pristine, glowing garden beneath them, a calm, lethal smirk returning to his face. "The Citadel’s roots are clean. And the cult on Floor Ten is officially extinct."

Seraphina raised her crucible over a glowing terminal at the center of the transformed vault, pulling the final, uncorrupted data stream left behind by the cult’s command node.

"We have the exact spatial coordinates," Seraphina announced, her sharp eyes flashing with cold determination. "Rueben is waiting on Floor Twelve. And now... he has nowhere left to run."