Book 3: Chapter 306: Percybishi’s Heroic Poem

Seeing Luke trapped in a difficult battle, Anari's spell finally finished charging. The three orbs at her waist floated up, then trembled as invisible ripples spread outward, and the specters beside her became quiet and transparent.

[Ice Death School · Silent Shrouding] (Dead Embers)

A spell that further reduces the specters' presence, making them difficult to perceive even for wizards and mages with strong spiritual awareness.

The scattered specters passed through the tunnel. The Puppet Master fighting Luke didn't notice them at all, his attention entirely fixed on the elusive Luke. Even though he currently held the upper hand, he still needed to maintain intense concentration and had no attention to spare.

At that moment, the specters surrounding him suddenly launched a pincer attack, assaulting his consciousness, making the Puppet Master's vision go black and his mind scatter. The Molted Ones he controlled instantly lost control, and Luke seized this opportunity to strike in close quarters, swinging his blade in a sweep that passed through the opponent like mist from a dream. By the time the Puppet Master reacted, his upper and lower body had already been separated.

Suffering such a devastating wound, an ordinary person would have died long ago, but this Puppet Master did not. Countless threads burst forth, reconnecting the two halves of his body and forcibly pulling them back together. After that, three Molted Ones lunged at Luke, while one charged at Anari behind him.

Facing this counterattack, Luke wanted to continue his pursuit, but he had also sustained some minor injuries, his shoulder carved with a deep bloody gash by a Molted One. Meanwhile, Anari narrowly dodged the first pounce. If he didn't turn back to help, that horned beastgirl would likely be torn to shreds by the Molted One.

For Anari at the Fourth Tier, battles between Fifth Tier Transcendents were far too dangerous, where a single misstep could cost her life.

But by this time, Oren had already rushed over. He drew another sword from his arm ring, intercepted the Molted One charging at Anari, and then burst into a soaring song from his mouth.

"Who treads upon the flames!"

"Who rides the black steed!"

"The bleeding tree, the blossoming rock, from the balsam's swaddling cloth is born the dragon-slaying warrior."

As he sang, the sword in his hand blazed with dazzling light. He suddenly leaped, plunging the blade into the Molted One's body while roaring aloud.

"Burn to cinders, Sword of Akatesh!"

Beams of light burst from within the Molted One's body, then countless sparks overflowed, incinerating the creature completely until it scattered into smoke and dissipated.

[Heroic Opera · Sword of Akatesh] (Secret Word · Scorching Sun)

Manifests the power of the legendary dragon-slaying hero "Akatesh," using the blade to burn away everything of the opponent.

In the Eighth Epoch, an infant found by a woman among balsam flowers grew up to be incomparably mighty, blessed from birth with unmatched strength. His thick-soled feet could walk directly atop burning coals. People called him "Akatesh," meaning one who stands equal to dragons.

Upon reaching adulthood, Akatesh grew dissatisfied with this title, believing he would become stronger than dragons. So he took up the sword he had forged himself and set out to vanquish an evil dragon.

Years later, he finally climbed Smoke-Ash Mountain and did battle with a Molten Lava Black Dragon. After three days and three nights of combat, his body was completely consumed by flames, but the sword in his hand had also been driven into the dragon's body. The blooming starfire pierced through the dragon's flesh, and he perished alongside the Molten Lava Black Dragon.

Among the heroic operas Oren currently mastered, the "Sword of Akatesh" possessed the greatest killing power, but its side effects were also the most severe. He rarely used it.

But this time, to eliminate the enemy as quickly as possible, he couldn't afford to worry about that.

The surging starfire burned the Molted One to nothing. After relieving Anari's crisis, he felt a scorching heat in his lungs and burning pain spreading through various parts of his body, but there was no time to dwell on it.

Oren gripped his sword and charged at Luke once more, and together they cut down the remaining three Molted Ones.

Deprived of his puppets, the Puppet Master became extremely weak. He wanted to flee, but his physical condition was far inferior to Oren's and Luke's. He was quickly caught up with and easily dealt with by the two of them.

Watching the opponent's body and soul scatter into cracking flames and disappear, the two finally let out a breath of relief.

But before they could rest, Anari hurried over with an anxious expression, bringing the two of them a piece of bad news.

"The specter I sent out for sentry duty suddenly lost its perception. From the information conveyed in its final moment, the opponent is a Transcendent far beyond us, possibly at the Eighth Tier or above." Anari spoke rapidly with urgency.

The two of them, leaning against the stone wall and catching their breath, exchanged glances and forced bitter smiles.

"You called it right after all," Luke remarked.

"The two we just dealt with were both formidable figures among the Fifth Tier. We thought they were the strongest ones here, but it seems we underestimated this secret organization. Being able to endure for so long without being eliminated, there must indeed be a master-level figure holding things down at the end," Oren said while his hands stayed busy, retrieving another item from his arm ring.

It was a closed poetry tome, appearing quite ancient and archaic, with some damage at the corners.

Though its appearance was unremarkable, the moment this object appeared, the other two immediately sensed something was wrong.

"Is this... an original manuscript?"

An original manuscript generally refers to the first copy written when a book was compiled, the one personally penned by the author himself.

For ordinary books, whether they were the original manuscript was meaningless. But if it was a widely circulated poem, legend, classic text, or the origin of a secret art, then the original manuscript possessed formidable power, especially when used to cast secret arts related to that original.

If the two hadn't guessed wrong, the book in Oren's hand was the original manuscript of the "Heroic Poem" of the "Hert" family, the poetry opera compiled by their family ancestors. The two great secret arts Oren had used today both drew their stories from this "Heroic Poem."

"That's right, this is the original manuscript of the 'Heroic Poem' owned by the 'Hert' family I come from." Oren stroked the ancient tome, then took a deep breath and carefully opened it.

On the aged, yellowed pages, the handwriting left by his ancestors remained clear. The black strokes depicted one legendary hero after another. Some had made their names on the battlefield, some were great through sacrifice, some were renowned for their perilous deeds. Each was different, but all were inspiring.

Oren knew there was little time left for the three of them. He quickened his movements, flipping the original manuscript to the second-to-last heroic opera. This was the only legend his ancestor had personally experienced, and also the most essential part of this "Heroic Poem."

That was centuries ago, in the era when the Hours had brought down calamity. Various calamity beasts appeared across the land. They were enormous in size, protected by the Four Seasons Hours' blessing, immune to many attacks, and capable of triggering drastic climate changes in their surroundings, causing tremendous devastation.

In such a dire crisis, many heroic figures emerged, and "Percybishi Hert" was one of them.

He formed a team with "Hareyam," "Molesenk," and "Wozlands," fighting against the calamity beasts together. Along the journey, he inspired his companions with songs and stories, getting them through the darkest and most difficult moments. Over twenty years of travel, they raced across countless places, destroyed numerous monsters and calamity beasts, and at the end of their journey, jointly slew the legendary "Summer Calamity Beast," saving countless lives and becoming legends of their time.

After the battle ended, Hareyam and Molesenk fell forever. Percybishi and Wozlands, who had survived by a hair's breadth, retreated into seclusion with their wounded bodies. In the remaining years of his life, Percybishi organized the experiences of his travels, the heroic stories he had heard from exchanges with bards across the land, and the insights he had gained from years of participating in battles, compiling them all into a "Heroic Poem." This brought the "Opera School" back to revival, making him one of the three greatest contributors in the school's history.

This was also why the "Hert" family held such a high status within the "Opera School."

Oren's hand, flipping through the pages, came to a stop. His fingers pressed against the slightly rough paper, where faint scratches from past strokes were still visible, fine particles of dried and congealed ink, and verses written in that timeless handwriting.

"Call me by the withering leaves, name me by the undying embers..."

As the words of the poem were recited, the plain black handwriting gradually took on a golden glow, and that clamorous era of heroes began to slowly surface.

...

On the other side of the pit, distorted monsters rushed forth, sprinting rapidly along the scent trails left by the three. They bounded up and down, carving through and shattering the hard rock walls with ease. Then a bizarre figure stepped out slowly.

"He" had a neck like intestines, with a head dangling from it like a fruit. Beneath, within his flesh body, countless writhing serpent tails coiled and churned in his abdominal cavity, occasionally extending outward like tentacles spreading into the surroundings.

"The Review Hall? No, those people wouldn't come looking for me, Slando, at a time like this..."

The dried head had bulging eyeballs that rolled around, surveying the area, taking in the traces of battle and lingering scents in the hall.

He raised one serpent tail, curled it around the head of the dead Fifth Tier Black Wizard on the ground, and swallowed it into his abdominal cavity. With a series of crunching sounds of bone and flesh being compressed, the head vanished, and this "strange one" reopened his eyes.

"So just two Fifth Tier little beasts, heh."

"Mi'odo was truly a failure, dying just like that." He glanced at the headless Black Wizard's corpse, then continued forward.

Over twenty mutated monsters followed, charging into the tunnel where the three had passed. These monsters looked physically disjointed, but each possessed some astonishing trait. Some leaped with the speed of a phantom afterimage, some opened their mouths to reveal hundreds of densely packed fangs like a meat grinder, and others emitted buzzing low growls. The sound instantly killed the apprentices and assistants along the way who hadn't yet died, as if their hearts had been crushed.

Every single monster was above the Fifth Tier, and the "he" who commanded these monsters radiated a turbid, suffocating pressure. It was a rank-based suppression rarely seen even among Sixth Tier master-level figures, seeming to have already reached the very limit of the Sixth Tier, a mere step away from the Seventh.

"A miracle, a miracle. Where is my miracle? Could it be you little cuties who've come to disturb me?"