Chapter 124: 2nd Attempt XXIII

The instant Beaumont haltered the words, something imperceptible shifted. There was no sudden flare of mana, no violent burst of elemental presence. Yet, falling debris drifted from its destined path, slowing down mid-air. Heavy dust curled in the shadows, then scattered as though reconsidering its own physics. Hairline cracks branched across the surrounding columns without any physical cause, and the ambient echoes of the battle returned from entirely impossible angles. Reality itself seemed to entertain countless variations before settling on a single trajectory. The change was nearly impossible to perceive with the human eye, yet one feeling remained undeniable: the narrative was about to unfold completely beyond the realm of certainty.

Agatha couldn't immediately tell what was about to happen. However, she instantly recognized the name “Ploy!” and the structure of the prayer lines as Beaumont’s eyes and shattered frame began to gleam with a strange, otherworldly light. She reacted without a millisecond of hesitation. Warping the fabric of space, she forcibly dragged herself and Beaumont out of the fifth floor and into her own personal dimension.

The space was massive, stretching several kilometers wide beneath a toxic purple sky. The horizon was jagged, filled with horrific, uneven surfaces made entirely of fused bones and pebbles, with several gloomy, ancient fortresses looming in the distance. Under the weight of this alien reality, the divine gleaming on Beaumont began to fade slowly. Beaumont didn't realize it yet, entirely lost in his survival instinct as he continued chanting the prayer.

Agatha’s rapid, panicked heartbeat began to calm. Ploy? He is actually a follower of the One of Plot, she realized, a chill running through her thoughts. I never knew. If I had stalled for even a moment back there, the tables would have turned completely against me. Beaumont finished the final verse of the prayer and opened his eyes. The breath caught in his throat. He was no longer on the shattered fifth floor. The atmosphere here felt entirely Eldritch, thick with curses. Strange, inanimate items and cursed items floated lazily through the atmosphere. Looking down, he saw the ground was a sickening mixture of bone and stone-like substances. The terrifying reality struck him, the connection between him and Ploy was too weak to counter her inside her own world. The divine intervention had been severed. Agatha slightly loosened her telepathic grip on him, and he desperately tried to move his left arm to initiate an earth attack, but nothing in the terrain responded.

Agatha saw his frantic struggle. “It’s useless. You are in my domain now,” she said, her expression returning to a cold, unyielding stoicism. “Those aren't earth-like materials below you. They are completely woven with my magic.”

“How did you break the power of a god?” Beaumont gasped, forcing his head up to face her. “That should be impossible!”

“Invoking the power of a god... how amusing,” Agatha replied smoothly. “For the effect to be that instant, you must be a remarkably faithful follower of Ploy.”

“What if I am? That...”

“But,” Agatha cut him short, her voice sharp as glass, “using that as a last-ditch attempt while standing so close to me was your biggest mistake. If you had done that earlier, things might have gone in your favor. But your other plans failed and...” She paused, looking down at his broken state. “You were desperate. You weren't thinking straight.” A cruel smirk played across her porcelain features. “It is quite rare for Ploy to have followers in this age. It seems I get to kill not only the last of an Earth-born lineage, but a follower of the One of Plot as well.”

Beaumont glared up at her, his hazel eyes burning with pure bitterness. Agatha tightened her telepathic magic, holding him completely straight and helpless in the purple air. “Any last words, Beaumont, last lineage of the Earth-borns?” Beaumont’s mind raced through the suffocating pain. It has come to this, he thought grimly. She was too quick. She countered my first trump card before it could even manifest. She outsmarted me in every way. Maybe I really was the one who underestimated her, blinded by my own ego. He took one final, internal breath. There is no other option left. I have to use it. My true saving grace.

With a agonizing burst of willpower, Beaumont channeled a vast amount of his remaining mana into his left moveable arm. He forced open his dimensional storage and brought the item out. The object was a dark, intricately carved item, roughly nine inches big. It possessed a faceted, layered form that closely resembled polished obsidian, though its rough black exterior contrasted sharply with deeply recessed, swirling patterns highlighted by subtle purple tones. It looked almost alive, carrying a distinctly biomechanical aesthetic.

Beaumont jerked his arm forward with everything he had left, tapping directly into the item. There was no flash of power or surge of energy. Nothing resembling standard divinity or magical authority rippled from the device. Agatha couldn't sense anything dangerous coming from it. But before her thoughts could even react to its presence, her entire dimension suddenly cracked.

CRACK.

The fractures spread widely across the purple sky like shattering glass, tearing through the bone fortresses and the horizon before completely breaking apart. The absolute force of the phenomenon forcibly dragged both of them out of the dimension, plunging them right back onto the solid ground of the fifth floor. Freed instantly from her telepathic magic, Beaumont slammed heavily onto the stone. He rolled aside, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and forced himself onto his right knee. Trembling with agonizing pain, he slowly hoisted himself back up to his feet. His physical body looked incredibly dull, pale and weak like a sickler running on pure adrenaline.

Meanwhile, Agatha’s mind was running completely wild. That item just now... what was it? she panicked internally. There was no surge of power. Every single known artifact possesses an anchor, a hidden source you can read. This one... Her face hardened into pure dread. This one is strange. It is completely beyond. It just broke us out of my personal dimension with absoluteness. This feeling...

A sudden wave of goosebumps flared across her skin. Where have I seen this before? Could it be? Her mind rapidly rewound thousands of years into the ancient past. Beaumont finally stood balanced on his feet. He looked across at Agatha, his dull, pale face twisting into a sharp smirk as he noticed her completely lost in horrified thought over what he now held. The only things to exist without any association with divinity or authority, Agatha realized, her thoughts trembling. Tools that operate purely with the absoluteness of their wielder, The Relics. The ancient powers that stand against the gods themselves and creation. How on earth did a brat like him get his hands on something this absolute?

She looked at Beaumont’s shifting posture and noticed his altered frame. Exactly. There is always a massive price to pay to wield a Relic. I have to finish him right now before he does anything else. Beaumont suspected she was about to strike the moment her glare intensified. Both of them instantly straightened their arms. Agatha’s violet sigils flared to life around her wrist, rapidly manifesting a massive energy lance. At the exact same moment, Beaumont firmly gripped the relic and tapped into it once more. Instantly, Agatha’s glowing magic circles dimmed, flickered, and shattered into useless sparks. With a sudden jolt of realization, Agatha pulled back, desperately trying to fly off into the air to gain distance. But her feet wouldn't leave the ground. She took several frantic steps backward, dropping down heavily onto the stone. What just happened? she thought in pure panic. She tried to cast a basic fire bolt, but nothing emerged from her palms. What happened to my magic? Did he do this?! Shock consumed her as her mind scrambled for answers.

Beaumont glared at her, his smirk widening as he stood pale, physically drained, and completely triumphant.

“What did you do?!” Agatha demanded, her regal composure completely evaporating.

“Oh, nothing much,” Beaumont answered with a wicked grin. “I just locked your magic completely within you. Now you are entirely powerless against me. The tables have turned.”

Agatha forced a harsh laugh, trying to mask her terror. “You really think you have won? How laughable! Just look at you. With one single hit from anything, you’ll die any second!”

“Well, you are right about that,” Beaumont said, his expression dropping into a cold, dead gaze. “But that’s only if you can actually touch me.”

Before she could even attempt to lung forward, a ring of warm amber sigil circles formed around Beaumont’s left arm. Several highly refined diamond drills materialized in the air and struck her with terrifying velocity.

Without her magic, Agatha could only guard her face by crossing her bare arms. The brutal diamond drills burst cleanly through her thighs, chopped off the sides of her ribs, and pierced her right arm all the way to the shoulder. Two more drilled directly into her left shoulder and her left chest. The sheer kinetic force pulled her off her feet, launching her backward until she slammed hard against one of her own massive violet root vines.

The moment she hit the root, the giant vines holding the fifth floor together began to rapidly disintegrate. Without Agatha’s mana support, the magic maintaining them simply vanished. Agatha gasped for air, furiously bleeding from all her vital limbs as the fifth floor began to violently collapse around them once more. Debris rained down, but Beaumont easily controlled the falling stones, shifting them aside with his remaining earth magic to maintain a clear, straight path to her. He slowly closed the distance, his boots scraping against the jagged floor. Agatha looked up at the collapsing ceiling, then back to the approaching adventurer. “Tell me... what Relic is that?” she wheezed.

Beaumont stopped just a few feet away, briefly glancing down at the dark, Relic in his hand. “This? It’s the Relic of Nullification,” he said with a calm smile.

No wonder. Just as I thought, Agatha thought bitterly, her eyes fading. The Relic of Nullification... it’s my first time ever hearing of its specific existence.

“Now, you regret going up against me, don’t you?” Beaumont asked, looking down at her.

“You think so?” Agatha countered, her voice weak but still defiant. “I’m sure that item is the sole reason for your ridiculous cockiness.”

“I had the power to bring you down from the very beginning,” Beaumont stated, a massive diamond javelin drill manifesting above his head, spinning and ready to deliver the finishing blow. “The outcome was always clear. Tell me, what is your name? You never revealed it from the start.”

“There’s no point in telling you anyway,” she said softly, looking at the floating spike. “It will all be over soon.”

“I’d like to know,” Beaumont said, his tone softening just a fraction. “You’ve proven to be far more powerful and tactical than me. I will look back at this day as the most difficult duel I’ve ever had. It’s a shame. Any last words, sorceress?

”Agatha’s eyes flared with one final spark of pride. “I am not a sorceress,” she whispered. Who would have thought... that I would die by the hands of a brat wielding the Relic of Nullification.

But before Beaumont could drop the diamond javelin to finish her, a heavy sound cut through the chaos.

From the far, darkened end of the crumbling level, someone was calmly approaching. Their steady steps echoed clearly through the demolished fifth floor. The figure emerged slowly into the area of the last silver-blue lamps, causing both Agatha and Beaumont to freeze and turn their heads to see who it was.

It was Seth.

He was dressed in his normal, casual attire, a sleek metallic blindfold wrapped tightly over his eyes. In his left hand, he casually held a round, polished alloy sphere, while two high-tech hover drones buzzed quietly over his shoulders.

Seth tilted his head down slightly, surveying the absolute ruin of the chamber, Agatha bleeding, and the pale adventurer. He sniffed the air.

“Something doesn’t smell right,” he said smoothly.