boyutpedia Chapter 186 The Holy Flame Burning Brightly!
Chapter 186 The Holy Flame Burning Brightly!
Chapter 186 The Holy Flame Burning Brightly!
Anse College, Dean's Office.
The heavy wooden door was tightly shut, blocking out the occasional hurried and chaotic footsteps that could be heard from the outside corridor, which had been amplified by the war.
The only sounds in the room were the crackling of burning wood in the fireplace and a heavy, almost suffocating atmosphere.
Dean Selm stood behind his large desk. His usually meticulously combed white hair looked somewhat disheveled, and his deep-set eyes were bloodshot.
He braced his hands on the table, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force, his gaze fixed on the vice dean, Maurice, in front of him.
"Is it confirmed?"
Selm's voice was dry and urgent, with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor.
The team sent by Anse Academy consisted of several of his most promising young talents, including—
Vice Dean Morris looked ashen and nodded heavily, as if the action had exhausted all his strength.
He held in his hand a crystal briefing, urgently delivered by a magical messenger and stamped with the emblem of the Eternal Tower's Supreme Council; its cold, hard texture now felt like burning heat to him.
"It's confirmed, Dean."
Morris's voice was hoarse.
"The official report from the Tower of Eternity has just arrived. The battle for the nodes—is extremely fierce. Our people—"
—and most of the members sent by the Tower of Eternity—
He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty, as if he couldn't easily utter that conclusion.
"—None survived."
Dean Selm swayed violently, his elbow, which was supporting him on the table, bent, and he could barely stand.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but the air felt like it was carrying barbs, making his chest ache.
None survived.
These four words struck his heart like a cold iron hammer.
Those young, vibrant, and promising faces—whom he had personally taught, watched sweating it out on the training field, and placed high hopes on—have now all been reduced to four cold, lifeless words.
Silence spread through the room, with only the fire in the fireplace still leaping tirelessly, casting the two elderly people's figures, which had become even more hunched over, long and drawn out on the wall, like two sorrowful statues.
After a long while, Selmu slowly opened his eyes, his gaze heavy with sorrow: "Where is Srian? That child—"
He still held a sliver of hope that the girl, as dazzling and resilient as a flame, could create a miracle.
Morris shook his head painfully and handed over the crystal briefing: "The briefing says—Ms. Srian fought to the last moment, but—she was outnumbered. She—fell."
Selmu took the briefing, his fingers trembling as he traced the cold text and magical markings. It briefly and officially described the battle as "brutal" and "sacrificial," emphasizing the "despicable" and "powerful" nature of Hick and his minions. The final confirmed list of survivors consisted of only four names.
"Finally," Morris's voice was so low it was almost inaudible, adding to the heartbreaking yet strangely fortunate ending, "only Nia from our academy and three members of the Eternal Tower survived. Everyone else—all perished in battle."
Nia.
Selmuth's gaze lingered for a moment on that familiar name on the survivor list.
Nia, the pride of Anse Academy!
Equally outstanding, she was known as the "Hand of Justice" and, along with Silian, was called one of the "White Witch Twins".
He is still alive!
This was undoubtedly a stroke of luck amidst misfortune, preserving a sliver of life and hope for Anse Academy. However, in the face of such enormous losses, this "fortune" seemed so insignificant, even carrying a cruel implication.
"Nya'na boy—how is he?" Selm's voice was full of exhaustion.
"The briefing said that Wizard Nia was also injured, but his will was strong. He led the remaining three survivors through a difficult breakout and brought back important intelligence about the node and Hick's conspiracy." Morris repeated the contents of the briefing, his tone very gratified.
"The Tower of Eternity has awarded them medals of bravery," and called upon all white wizards to emulate them, transforming grief into strength to continue the fight against darkness.
Selm stared silently at the praise for Nya's achievements in the briefing, remaining silent for a long time.
The losses are devastating! So many young geniuses are dead! They represent the culmination of Anse Academy's efforts!
Nia's survival is a stroke of good luck amidst misfortune!
But—for some reason, an indescribable sense of unease, like a tiny venomous snake, quietly coiled around Selmuth's heart.
In the end, all the emotions turned into a heavy sigh.
"Provide generous compensation to the families of all the victims." Selme's voice was old and weak. "The Academy—fly its flag at half-mast for three days. In mourning for all the children who have passed away."
"Yes, Dean," Morris replied in a low voice, his heart as heavy as lead.
The dean's office fell silent once again, with only two elderly people left to mourn the passing of the young life.
Outside the window, the flag of Anse Academy slowly lowered to half its original height, fluttering helplessly in the gray sky, proclaiming the irreparable wounds brought about by yet another war.
Meanwhile, in the distance, on the chessboard of Hick and some being within the Tower of Eternity, another batch of "firewood" has been burned to ashes, and their plan is steadily moving forward along the path paved with blood.
Nia's name shines even brighter in the "glory" bought with the blood of her comrades.
The Tower of Eternity, the forbidden area at the top.
This atmosphere is completely different from the solemn and tragic atmosphere of the council chamber below.
The air was scorching and distorted, filled with an indescribable pressure that mixed pure light energy with a deeper, more greedy aura.
The enormous dome is not made of marble, but of flowing, solidified golden energy, like an inverted bowl of molten gold.
In the center of the hall, a ball of intensely burning "Eternal Holy Flame" that could not be seen with the naked eye floated in mid-air. It emitted endless light and heat, but strangely, it did not make people feel warm. Instead, it gave people a trembling feeling that their souls were about to be sucked in.
The light of the holy flame illuminated the entire space in a pale white, exposing all shadows, yet it seemed that beneath the light itself lay a deeper darkness.
A figure stood before the sacred flames, with his back to the entrance.
He was dressed in a simple white robe, and was not tall; in fact, he was rather thin.
However, the energy fluctuations emanating from his body were terrifyingly powerful, as if they were of the same origin as the Eternal Holy Flame, or rather, the Holy Flame itself was an extension and manifestation of his power.
His sparse white hair fluttered in the energy vortex, and the skin on his exposed arms was as dry as an old tree, yet there were faint golden runes running under his skin.
He is the true pillar of the Eternal Tower, having lived for countless years and long since withdrawn from worldly affairs, the former third-level archmage, Lun'erke, who was once half-elemental!
At this moment, he was tilting his head slightly, "looking" at the holy flames that were burning fiercely and seemed to be more "vigorous" than ever before, and a low, pleasant chuckle came from his throat. The chuckle was dry and strange, and full of indescribable longing and satisfaction.
"Hehe—it'll be here soon! It'll be here soon!"
He muttered to himself, his withered fingers trembling slightly, as if he were caressing something invisible.
"Burn it even hotter—keep fighting! Keep fighting! More—I need more—"
Just then, another figure quietly appeared at the entrance and walked slowly towards it.
It was none other than the Archmage Anselm, the publicly acknowledged supreme leader of the Tower of Eternity.
His brows were furrowed, and his face lacked its usual dignity and composure, replaced by a deep weariness, heaviness, and even a hint of barely perceptible fear.
He stopped a few steps behind Lenker. The scorching energy made him uncomfortable, but he still bowed respectfully.
"Lord Renkel."
Anselm's voice broke the eerie laughter, his tone heavy as if filled with lead.
Renkel did not turn around, seemingly completely immersed in the "vigorous" energy of the Holy Flame.
Anselm took a deep breath, as if gathering immense courage, and continued.
"The war—does it need to continue like this? We're losing—too much. So many bright young men are dying, even promising talents like Silyan—"
His voice was tinged with sorrow and choked with emotion.
"Every college is in mourning, resources are being consumed at an enormous rate, and if this continues, even if we win, we will—"
Anselm.
Renkel finally spoke, interrupting him.
His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a peculiar penetrating power, directly overpowering the roar of the burning holy flames and clearly reaching Anselm's ears, carrying an undeniable coldness.
He slowly turned around.
His face was unbelievably old, with deep wrinkles etched into his bones, but his eyes—those eyes were exceptionally bright!
It wasn't the kind of brightness that radiates vitality, but rather like two cold stars forcibly ignited, burning with their remaining value, their pupils pulsating with a greedy golden light that originated from the eternal holy flame.
"The necessary sacrifices are worthwhile."
Renkel said calmly, as if he were talking about the weather rather than countless vibrant lives and the future of the academy.
"You only see the losses, but you don't see the gains."
His withered hand pointed to the blazing eternal flame.
"Look—how hungry it is," and how content it is. "Every piece of high-quality firewood allows it to burn longer and brighter—and also brings me—closer to that point."
Anselm followed his finger to the holy flame, and his body trembled involuntarily.
Of course he knew what "firewood" referred to!
That was the life energy and soul essence dissipated by the fallen, especially the energy produced by powerful wizards when they died in extreme pain, despair, and betrayal—the purest and most efficient!
"But—sir—"
Anselm's voice was pleading.
"We're almost at our breaking point—over in Mochamo—"
"Mochamo?"
Renkel chuckled, his laughter filled with condescending contempt.
"That greedy hyena lurking in the shadows? Does he think he's stealing, that he's in control?"
ridiculous!
He was merely collecting and pre-processing "firewood" for us.
His greed and our needs aligned at this moment, and that is the key to the war's smooth progress.
He took a step forward, and the invisible pressure made Anselm almost unable to breathe.
"This war must continue, and it must be faster and more intense!"
Ronker's voice became resolute, and absolute will burned in his cold, star-like eyes.
"We need more conflict, more death, more high-quality fuel! This is the necessary price to achieve eternity! Anselm, do not let worldly emotions blind you, do not forget our ultimate goal—to transcend the limits of the mundane and reach true—Level Four!"
Anselm was deathly pale, his lips trembling, and he could no longer utter a word.
Looking at the old man before him, whom he had once regarded as his mentor and guide, he now felt only utter unfamiliarity and fear.
The pursuit of Level 4 has long since become a madness that will devour everything.
Renkel stopped looking at him, turned back to face the Eternal Flame, and opened his arms as if to embrace it.
"Go, Anselm."
His voice returned to its previous calmness, yet carried an undeniable command.
"In my name, I will wage war."
Tell those who are mourning that the sacrifice was for a greater future!
All losses will be made up for after we attain eternity.
Anselm stood frozen in place, as if he had been frozen in place.
Finally, he lowered his head deeply, concealing all the struggle and fear in his eyes, and answered in a dry voice, "—Yes, Lord Ronker."
He slowly retreated, each step heavy, then turned and left the forbidden area filled with distorted "light" and greed.
"Level 4 Wizard — almost there — almost there — just a little more death — a little more death — hehe —"
Hehehehe————
Behind him, the Eternal Holy Flame continued to burn fiercely, and Ronker's deep, satisfied chuckle rang out again, intertwining with the hum of the Holy Flame greedily absorbing energy, echoing across the top of the Eternal Tower.
Anselm knew that he had just received a bloody order to push more young lives onto the altar.