Chapter 1068: Heroic Spirits
According to the Contract, before leaving this world, he was bound to reveal the method of escape—and the secrets veiled by this realm. The ritual demanded blood to be dripped onto the heritage Totems, each High Prophet infusing a strand of soul power into the ancient sigils.
They were approaching the Wasteland Center—the place where the Path of the Heroic Spirits would be unveiled. Krav remained silent; the only explanation was that the boon he sought upon entering this world was never truly found here. Instantly, the two Totems blazed with light—one forming a Bloodfang, the other a golden crown. The lights converged, shattered, then reformed into a towering Light Gate.
Strictly speaking, it bore no connection to this fractured world itself; the true reason for entering would only matter once he escaped. The Totems transformed into gate pillars, each side marked by the Bloodfang and Goldentop Tribe sigils.
A sardonic smile tugged at Leon's lips as he glanced at Krav, silent. With a creaking sound, the Light Gate slowly opened. Beyond it lay a phantom road, exuding an ancient, timeworn aura.
Speculation was all they had; nothing could be confirmed. The Desolate Library held no record of such mysteries. No one stepped inside; instead, everyone instinctively formed a circle around Krav, preventing him from going first.
Upon reaching the Wasteland Center, everyone realized with a start that this was the very place they’d arrived—the point of their teleportation. Moments after entering, the undead army had materialized around them. Leon Merlin stood among them, his gaze fixed on the looming Dunespire Tower, while the Orc Sword Saint kept silent vigil nearby.
Leon regarded Krav, thoughtful. When they first set foot in this world, the undead hadn’t attacked at once; only after a delay did the spectral horde emerge, one by one. "I'll go first," Heron said, his voice tinged with irony.
Reflecting now, it had been their life force that drew the undead. Krav, however, must have concealed every trace of vitality and magic the instant he arrived. With long strides, Heron stepped into the light. After two steps, his body vanished, and the gate slammed shut.
He surely knew the means by which undead detected outsiders, and with his countermeasures, he easily evaded their pursuit. Everyone waited patiently. Nearly three and a half hours passed before the Light Gate reopened, and this time, Morgan Henry from the Henry Family was the first to enter.
At the heart of the Wasteland, Krom and Ral Goldentop appeared, joined by the High Prophets of both tribes. Following Krav’s instructions, they planted the heritage Totems at the very center, marking the ritual’s beginning.
With solemn precision, blood was dripped onto the Totems; each High Prophet released a strand of soul power, weaving it into the ancient wood and infusing the sigils with ancestral magic.
Instantly, the two Totems blazed with fierce light—one forming a Bloodfang, the other a golden crown. The radiance collided, shattered, then reformed into a towering Light Gate, soaring more than ten meters high.
The converging Totems transformed into twin gate pillars, each side marked by the magical sigil of the Bloodfang Tribe and the Goldentop Tribe, their ancestral marks pulsing with power.
With a long, creaking groan, the Light Gate slowly opened. Beyond its threshold lay a phantom road, stretching into the unknown, exuding an ancient, timeworn aura that seemed to seep from the gate itself.
No one dared step inside; instead, the coalition instinctively formed a circle around Krav, blocking his path and denying him the right to be first.
With no one willing to enter, Heron let out a cold, sardonic laugh, his eyes glinting with grim resolve.
"I'll go first," Heron said, irony dripping from his voice.
With long strides, Heron stepped into the light. After two steps, his body vanished, and the gate slammed shut with a thunderous finality.
Everyone waited patiently. Nearly three and a half hours passed before the Light Gate reopened, and this time, Morgan Henry from the Henry Family was the first to enter.
After Morgan Henry entered, the Light Gate slammed shut once more. Two hours and forty minutes crawled by before it opened again.
Each time, only one person could pass through the Light Gate. As time slipped away, fewer and fewer remained on the Wasteland. Leon Merlin, his loyal followers, and Krav all lingered, biding their time.
Elsewhere, within the mysterious Temple, the crowd reappeared at their entry point. With every flare of light, a new figure would step out from the Path of the Heroic Spirits.
On the far wall at the Temple’s end, magical sigils glowed—each person who emerged left behind an exclusive mark, not of their own making but bestowed by the road itself.
As they watched, every time someone entered the Path of the Heroic Spirits, a new exclusive magical sigil appeared. By the timing of each mark, they could gauge how quickly each trial was conquered.
"Look! The center of the array is glowing again. Diras—now there's a bastard with real strength. He cleared the Path in just two and a half hours!"
Heron gazed at the center of the array, letting out a low, admiring sigh.
Beside him, Joey managed a rueful smile and shook his head.
"Our inheritances aren’t weak, but our True Spirit Artifacts were all destroyed. Naturally, we can't match their strength. Still, you finished in three and a half hours—not bad at all. If you’d had your Artifact, you’d be on par with Diras."
Heron let out a weary sigh, the weight of loss and longing etched into his features.
"You finished in three and a half hours too, didn’t you? We’re about the same. If your Artifact hadn’t been destroyed, you’d have been even faster. Diras is probably the quickest to clear the Path of the Heroic Spirits so far."
Those orc heroic spirits inside... they’re truly formidable."
Suddenly, the center of the array flared with light. Diras emerged, his mana slightly turbulent but otherwise unscathed.
Diras glanced around, then burst into hearty laughter after asking those nearby for confirmation.
"Ha! Didn’t expect I’d be the fastest to clear the Path—two and a half hours!"
Then, catching sight of the Andalusia contingent, he couldn’t resist a mocking sneer.
"Only Matthew Merlin is left from Andalusia, huh? You lot are pathetic—three and a half hours to clear the Path of the Heroic Spirits. Still, you made it out alive, so I suppose luck’s on your side."
Heron, Joey, and the Orc Sword Saint all looked grim, but none bothered to respond to Diras. The truth was plain; no words could change it.
"Hmph, two and a half hours—so impressive? Wait until Lord Merlin comes out, then you can gloat."
Heron couldn’t help but retort. Diras just sneered in response, falling silent.
After Diras emerged, a new exclusive magical sigil appeared on the massive wall at the Temple’s end—a blazing flame, instantly recognized by all as Didara’s mark.
An hour later, the array flared again. Didara stepped out, his expression calm, as if he'd just returned from a stroll—no trace of battle clung to him.
Diras stared at Didara, unable to utter a word—his mouth worked soundlessly, as if he'd seen a ghost.
[Irrelevant system prompt skipped.]
Diras had gone in strategizing, pushing himself to the limit and clearing the Path of the Heroic Spirits as fast as he could—still, it had taken him two and a half hours. Yet Didara finished in just one hour, and seemed not to have exerted himself at all.
Gradually, most of the participants emerged; Leon Merlin’s followers joined the exodus. In the end, only Krav and Leon remained.
Didara was the fastest, his strength unrivaled—one hour was all he needed. The second to emerge, unexpectedly, was the leader of Dunespire Tower, a silent powerhouse who cleared the Path in two hours and five minutes.
The third was Raphael, clocking in at two hours and fifteen minutes. Fourth was the royal family of Odin Kingdom, and fifth, Diras.
On the Andalusia side, nearly everyone lagged behind. The heavy losses suffered by Black Tower and Cloudspire Tower left only four survivors between the two factions, and they claimed the slowest times. Next came the Orc Sword Saint and another member of the Andalusia royal family.
Suddenly, a new magical sigil slowly surfaced on the wall—a circle of runes, layer upon layer, merging into a wheel-shaped mark.
"It's Matthew Merlin!"
Diras stared in silence at the center of the alchemy array, quietly counting the minutes. The others joined in, each recalling how Leon Merlin had once unleashed Sky Rank power in that broken world.
Among them, Didara—capable of Sky Rank might—had cleared the Path of the Heroic Spirits in a single hour, emerging with effortless calm, as if he hadn’t pushed himself at all.
Curiosity rippled through the crowd: just how long would it take Leon Merlin to conquer the Path?
"I wager Lord Merlin will clear the Path of the Heroic Spirits in an hour as well."
Heron murmured his guess to Joey, voice low and thoughtful.
Joey glanced at Didara, who was also watching the alchemy array, and shook his head gently.
"I think it'll be under an hour—maybe fifty to fifty-five minutes."
Elsewhere, Morgan leaned in close to Arno, lowering his voice to ask a question.
"Arno, I reckon this Matthew Merlin will be the second fastest, just behind Lord Didara—probably within an hour and ten minutes. What do you think?"
Arno pondered for a moment, then held up a single finger.
Morgan’s eyes widened in shock.
"What? You think he’ll clear the Path in an hour? Is his strength on par with Didara?"
Arno shook his head, whispering his reply in Morgan’s ear.
"I mean under an hour—maybe even faster than Lord Didara. Lord Merlin is the most underestimated of them all. The longer I observe him, the more I’m convinced he’s never truly gone all out."
Elsewhere, Didara remained silent, quietly speculating to himself.
One hour and ten minutes—Matthew Merlin’s power is immense, his explosive strength downright terrifying. The orc heroic spirits within the Path may be formidable, but he’ll cut through them one by one; it won’t take him long.
Most importantly, those orc heroic spirits match the entrant’s rank exactly. When I entered, every one of them was just a step away from Sky Rank.
But Matthew Merlin is only an Eighth-Rank Title Archmage, yet he can unleash Sky Rank strength. Once inside, he’ll face only Eighth-Rank Title Archmage-level orc heroic spirits.
With Sky Rank strength against Eighth-Rank Title Archmage-level orc heroic spirits, Matthew Merlin will need no more than thirty-six minutes!
Each battle with an orc heroic spirit won’t last more than two minutes. Factoring in the intervals, the average is two minutes per spirit.
Everyone else overlooked Leon Merlin’s true rank as merely Eighth-Rank Title Archmage; most couldn’t even discern his actual level. But Didara saw it clearly.
Thirty-six minutes—Didara calculated this as the most likely outcome.
Elsewhere, Diras remained silent, suddenly recalling Leon Merlin’s explosive power, uncertainty gnawing at his heart.