Chapter 139: A Chorus of Magic
The air seemed charged with anticipation in an inconspicuous clearing surrounded by towering trees resembling ancient pines.
Blue flowers blanketed the ground at the heart of this serene space, their vibrant hue shimmering under the dappled sunlight. The flowers swayed gracefully, exuding an aura of grace and royalty, almost as if the clearing itself was a sacred place, touched by a long-forgotten power.
Around the clearing, figures stood at intervals, their postures tense yet confident. At the center of the assembly stood Mr. One, flanked by his brothers—Two, Three, and Five—each bearing the distinctive numeral masks that marked their identities.
They were eerily identical, save for subtle height differences and the unique numbers on their masks. Their presence radiated the unmistakable aura of Pseudo Apostles, save for Five, who, despite lacking the overt strength of his siblings, emanated something unusual, something that piqued Abel’s interest.
Nearby, a large, broad-shouldered man with the number 0 on his mask loomed with an air of authority. He carried an oversized bag on his back, the weight of it seemingly insignificant to him. Abel’s sharp instincts immediately recognized him—Ike Murman, the patriarch of the Murman family.
Unlike his sons, Ike did not radiate the same Pseudo Apostle strength, but there was an undeniable gravitas to his presence, a commanding force born from cunning and experience.
Abel stood quietly, his hood drawn low and his mask concealing his expression. The wind swept through the clearing, rustling the trees and carrying with it the faint hum of accumulating mana emanating from the flowers.
His eyes darted briefly to the others present—two familiar faces from Golden's auction, the masked figure with silver stripes, and the hunched man, his body swathed in filthy gauze.
Their surprise at Abel’s presence was fleeting, quickly replaced by stoic indifference. Mr.Three also seemed shocked to see Abel here, however this time, with his new found power, there was an obvious sign of confidence in his eyes.
Mr. One acknowledged Abel’s arrival with a curt nod, a subtle affirmation of his invitation to this enigmatic gathering.
Also present was Dirt, the man who had transformed into a blue goblin, his wiry frame shifting restlessly as if ready for action. His eyes held a glint of recognition, recalling their previous encounters.
The final member of the assembly stood apart, a hooded figure of imposing stature. Though veiled in shadow, the figure’s immense strength was palpable, an unspoken warning to all who dared underestimate them.
Ike Murman stepped forward, his voice warm and charismatic, carrying the weight of someone who had long mastered the art of persuasion. His words were laced with praise and flattery, directed at each individual.
“Hollow Mask,” he addressed the masked man with silver stripes, “a force to be reckoned with, and a mind sharper than any blade. Veiled Rot,” he gestured to the hunched man, “a master of endurance, surviving where others would fall.” His gaze shifted to Dirt, “a formidable ally with talents that defy expectations.” Finally, he turned to the hooded giant, “and Ursa, a true behemoth of strength, unmatched in her resilience.”
Turning to Abel, Ike’s eyes gleamed behind his mask. “And Blue, a man of mystery and skill, whose presence here elevates us all.”
Ike’s voice took on a weightier, more somber tone as he addressed the gathered group. His eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over each individual with a mixture of respect and stern expectation. “You stand here today as the most talented and powerful individuals from the surrounding Reinhart territory,” he began, his words measured and deliberate. “Today, we embark on a journey that holds great significance, not just for us but for the future of our power and influence.”
He paused, letting the gravity of the moment settle over them before continuing. “We are about to enter a pocket world, one unlike any you’ve encountered before. This world belongs to the Flower Princess, an ancient entity shrouded in mystery and legend. What we know is limited, and what we don’t could very well be the end of us.”
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His gaze hardened, and his voice dropped even lower. “Understand this—this place is not forgiving. Even Pseudo Apostles, with all their strength and cunning, could meet their end within its confines. The Flower Princess’s domain is treacherous, filled with ancient magic and dangers that defy logic and comprehension. There are mysteries within that could unravel even the most prepared.”
Ike’s eyes narrowed, and his tone became almost fatherly, though still laced with an edge of command. “What lies ahead will test us in ways we cannot yet imagine. It will push us beyond our limits, beyond what we think we are capable of enduring. Complacency and arrogance will be our downfall if we let them take root.”
He took a step forward, his voice rising slightly, imbued with a sense of urgency. “You must remain vigilant. Every sound, every shadow, could conceal a threat. Every step could be a trap. But more than vigilance, you must rely on one another. Trust in your strength, yes, but trust also in the strength of those beside you. We will only survive if we act as one.”
Ike’s expression softened just a fraction as he looked around. “This journey is not just about survival; it’s about seizing an opportunity. An opportunity to grow, to uncover power long forgotten, and to etch our names into the annals of history. Together, we will face whatever lies ahead. Together, we will overcome.”
He straightened, his voice regaining its commanding edge. “Prepare yourselves. The time has come. The Flower Princess’s domain awaits.”
As his words settled over the gathering, the air grew still, the gravity of the impending journey sinking in. The flowers swayed gently, their blue petals shimmering with the ethereal light of the mana accumulating in the clearing. The stakes were clear—what awaited them within the pocket world was no mere exploration, but a trial of survival and strength.
With Ike’s words lingering in the air, the group began to move with purpose. Mr. One, Two, Three, Five, and Zero methodically positioned themselves around the clearing, each one holding a flag of distinct color—green, blue, black,, brown and yellow. The flags were planted firmly into the earth, their fabric rippling gently in the breeze, each radiating a subtle, eerie energy.
From beneath his robe, Ike Murman produced a bloodied bone, its surface slick with congealed crimson and pulsating with a palpable, murderous aura. The bone seemed almost alive, resonating with a sinister energy that sent shivers through those who beheld it.
Ike’s voice cut through the tension. “Due to a missing flag, our journey will be more perilous, and we will most likely be placed far from the Flower Palace. But I have faith in your abilities.”
The ground beneath their feet began to tremble, the vibrations growing steadily stronger. A blue aura emerged, shimmering and pulsating as it enveloped the clearing. The aura coalesced around the flags, and from the earth sprouted thick, serpentine vines, their color matching the ethereal blue light.
These vines rapidly expanded, growing as thick as a person’s body, and began to intertwine, creating a towering arch that stretched into the sky before plunging back into the earth. The structure resembled a gigantic, cylindrical braid, an imposing and otherworldly formation that hummed with latent power.
The flags were then rematerialized with a light representing their respective colors and returned to their owners.
Ike stepped back, gesturing toward the archway of vines. “This is the path. Step forward, and let the ritual guide you.”
Mr. One approached first, his movements deliberate. As he neared the vine structure, it responded as if sensing his presence, unfurling to reveal a dark, gaping maw—an entrance shrouded in impenetrable darkness. Even Abel, with his keen senses, found it impossible to discern what lay beyond the threshold.
Without hesitation, Mr. One entered. The vines reacted, contracting around him, moving with a grotesque fluidity akin to a throat swallowing prey. He was pulled through the arch, disappearing into the void. The vines flexed and pulsed as they completed their task, sending Mr. One into the unknown.
As he vanished, the flowers surrounding the clearing began to vibrate, releasing a soft, harmonious hum. The sound grew, forming an ethereal chorus, a delicate, almost angelic “Ah” that reverberated through the clearing like an orchestra of unseen voices.
The flowers swayed in rhythm, their movements synchronized with the haunting melody, creating a surreal and mesmerizing spectacle.
Abel watched, captivated by the strange performance, the surreal beauty of the flowers’ song juxtaposed against the dark ritual unfolding before him. Rituals, he noted, were indeed bizarre, their power often wrapped in layers of mystery and intrigue.
One by one, the others followed. Hollow Mask, Veiled Rot, Dirt, and Ursa approached the living arch, each swallowed in turn by the writhing vines. The clearing continued its phantom symphony, the flowers’ song growing more intricate and enchanting with each passing moment.
Finally, it was Abel’s turn. Steeling himself, he stepped toward the archway, the vines parting in anticipation of his arrival. As he crossed the threshold, the darkness enveloped him, the sensation of being pulled into the unknown both thrilling and unsettling.
The angelic chorus continued as the clearing pulsated with magic, the flowers' ethereal dance reflecting the power of the ritual. The strange beauty of it all lingered in Abel’s mind as he felt himself being drawn deeper into the mystical and unfathomable world that awaited on the other side.