Chapter 214 - 179: Emergency

The catacombs of Kemola were as vast and magnificent as any Stereoscopic City.

「Fifteen minutes ago.」

Having fled in a hurry and failed to retrace his steps as planned, Florant was like a headless chicken, trapped in the middle level of the catacombs with no way out.

Black Walls, studded with skulls, stood within the massive tomb chambers.

Even in death, the souls of these powerful Wizards, buried as sacrificial offerings, could find no peace.

The wails of the dead echoed ceaselessly in Florant’s Spiritual Perception, a great tide of death washing over his mind in relentless waves.

The deeper he ventured into the catacombs, the more terrified Florant became. This place was the final resting place for countless bodies, far too many to count. Among them were powerful entities whose Mighty Power had not yet dissipated, even after a million years. The lingering aura was enough to fill him with dread.

It felt as though a single glance at their remains would make his soul instantly combust.

What was more terrifying was that these vast, wide corridors seemed endless. No matter which direction he chose, all he saw was an ever-deepening darkness, with no hope of escape.

He set Raphael on the ground and began to regret his recklessness.

But it was too late for regrets.

’It would be one thing if Nico killed Reinhardt, but if he didn’t...’ He couldn’t be sure if that Imperial Knight was nearby, hunting for him.

’And then there’s that cunning woman, Irenia...’

The mere thought of her made Florant grind his teeth, hating her to his very core.

He smoothed back his disheveled hair and slumped to the ground, exhausted. He lifted his Wizard Robe, revealing a massive wound that had nearly pierced straight through his right chest. It was still steadily oozing blood.

He felt a pang of anguish at the thought of the two Wizard’s Secret Treasures he had lost.

He had poured his heart and soul into obtaining those treasures, paying an enormous price for them.

Florant’s expression was so dark it looked like it could drip ink. ’Irenia... the Oreno Family...’ he seethed internally. ’This isn’t over!’

He glanced at Raphael, debating whether to keep dragging him along. A Mind Mage’s bloodline was exceptionally precious, true, but forget escaping Kemola—he wasn’t even sure he could get out of this godforsaken place.

Against an ordinary person, he had countless methods for stealing bloodlines and knowledge, but Raphael’s tenacity was beyond anything he had imagined.

He had tried repeatedly to pry the extraordinary knowledge granted by the Void Divine Artifact from Raphael’s mind, but the man’s fortitude was far beyond his expectations.

He was immune to illusions and impervious to control. Mental attacks were utterly useless against him.

Florant shuddered to think what kind of monster this Think Tank named Raphael would become if allowed to keep growing. Aside from Reinhardt of the Emperor’s Vengeful Angels, the Imperial Administrative Region would have another creature of terrifying power.

’Too bad for him, he fell into my hands.’

Although his attempts to plunder knowledge from Raphael’s mind had failed, extracting his Mind Mage Bloodline Power wasn’t a technically difficult feat. The only thing that worried him was the considerable danger of performing a bloodline transplant in a place like this.

During the procedure, he would become extremely vulnerable—as weak as a Mortal.

But at this point, he had passed the point of no return.

Florant steeled his heart, pushing aside all the what-ifs. He would forcibly extract Raphael’s Bloodline Power now. Delaying any longer served him no purpose.

However, as he was preparing his surgical tools...

A terrifying, malevolent Mighty Power bypassed Florant’s spiritual wards and began to emanate silently from Raphael’s mind.

It was like a scene from a horror story told among Mortals.

Raphael, who had been lying on the floor, rose silently into the air. His eyes, which normally should have crackled with the white lightning of his Mental Power, were now filled with an unholy, dusky Mighty Power. He stared in silence at the back of Florant, who was still busy preparing his tools...

---

Thirteen minutes after Reinhardt and the others had left the Tomb Treasure Vault.

A vast corridor lined with the skull-studded Black Walls.

Irenia’s voice was grave as she warned, "Don’t stare at the Black Walls for too long, or your minds will be dragged into the world of the dead. It’s extremely dangerous.

Besides, we’re almost there."

Death Star Mage.

The Tomb Guardians of the ancient Wizard Civilization, forgers of Tomb Worlds, and also the Saints of Death.

As the inheritor of the Death Star Bloodline’s knowledge, Irenia naturally knew the internal layout of Kemola like the back of her hand.

There was never any trust to be found between Wizards. Florant had secretly placed a tracking device on Irenia, and she, in turn, had done the same to him.

Just then, the sound of stumbling footsteps echoed abruptly from the deepest darkness of the corridor.

Reinhardt raised a hand, signaling a halt. He unslung his Black War Axe, his brow furrowed.

A figure, looking somewhat slender for a Knight, emerged into the dim light. Manon’s face lit up in recognition, and he started forward to greet him.

"Raphael! By the Divine Emperor, you’re alive."

But before the powerfully built, earnest Knight could take a single step, Irenia stretched out an arm to stop him. Her fine brows were knitted together as she stared fixedly at the stumbling Raphael and demanded in a low voice, "Where’s that bastard Florant?"

Raphael’s face was bloodless and pale. He looked utterly exhausted and was drenched in sweat.

Even his Power Armor was in tatters, as if he had just survived a major battle.

"He’s... still alive."

With that said, Raphael looked to Reinhardt. His face held none of the joy or terror one would expect from someone who had just escaped death—only a dreadful, shadowy gloom.

He raised his right hand. A flicker of white lightning—his Mental Power—flashed for an instant, reactivating his defunct Telepathy.

Even this act, something he could normally do with a single thought, seemed to drain the very last of his strength, and he collapsed to the ground.

This caused Manon, who always placed great importance on the bonds between his Battle Brothers, to knit his brows tightly.

"Get out of the way!"

He shoved Irenia out of his way and rushed over to help Raphael up.

But Irenia remained on high alert. She lowered her voice and said to Reinhardt, "We can’t yet be certain that Florant hasn’t taken over his body.

We should be careful."

Wizards had countless strange methods for plundering bloodlines, but the most common were mental displacement and physical transplantation.

The method of mental displacement was similar to possession, involving the forced annexation and occupation of the target’s mind.

Physical transplantation, on the other hand, was predicated on the fact that Wizards with special bloodlines possess unique physiological structures that support their bloodline’s Mighty Power. These structures could be surgically removed and transplanted into another person.

Irenia’s suspicion was not unfounded.

However, she ultimately dismissed this suspicion, because not far down the corridor, they found Florant’s body. Or rather, they found Florant, who had been reduced to a living corpse, his mind utterly lost behind the Black Wall.

The once cunning and resourceful Master Level Tier Two Wizard, one of Anatol’s Lords, was now nothing more than a walking corpse, wandering aimlessly between the corridor and the Black Wall.

No one knew how Raphael had managed to break free.

Nor did they know how he had crushed the powerful Wizard’s mind, causing it to become lost behind the Black Wall.

After Reinhardt delivered a final, killing blow to Florant, ensuring the potential threat was completely and utterly gone, the group followed Irenia’s lead and sprinted toward the exit of the catacombs.

This was because, at the very moment Raphael had activated his Telepathy...

...they had all received the intelligence he transmitted as Seventy-Six.

Although the man from the Assassin Court was known for his ill-timed humor, his weak, faltering voice was enough to convey the gravity of the situation.