Chapter 663 - 551: Space-Time Fragments

Chapter 663: Chapter 551: Space-Time Fragments

His chest heaved, and he seemed to be struggling just to stand, forced to lean against the cold rock behind him.

"What’s..."

Puzzled by the sight, Roland drew closer and asked with concern.

"Ellis, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Ah... Rudolph..."

Ellis looked up at the sound of his voice and managed a wry smile.

Much like Holland, Ellis had grown closer to Roland after spending so much time together and fighting side by side. The Mage’s address had shifted from the relatively formal "Mr. Rudolph" to a more casual "Rudolph."

He raised a hand to massage his aching thigh muscles, his voice a weary, raspy murmur.

"I... I think I finally get it now... why all those old Mages at the academy get so obsessed with exploring the secrets of Warlocks in their twilight years. Why they’d even go so far as to try and nourish their... frail bodies... with special bloodlines at any cost..."

He took a deep breath, as if the mere act of speaking was draining his strength.

"I really didn’t expect... that just flying on the back of a horse—uh, a Nightmare... could be so... exhausting... It feels like my bones are about to fall apart..."

Hearing this self-deprecating complaint and confirming that Ellis wasn’t injured or suffering from Magic backlash, Roland couldn’t help but crack a smile.

Compared to the "future"—a time of waning Magic Power and fading legacies—this "past" era was different. With abundant Magic Elements and vast knowledge that had not yet been lost, various types of Extraordinary Professionals were indeed common, and the ways they manifested their Power were far more diverse.

However, after observing for some time, Roland had also noticed an interesting phenomenon.

’Many Extraordinary Professionals, while their power in their specialized domain far surpassed the average person, often had basic qualities that were even worse than a well-trained commoner’s. This was likely due to their long-term, focused training on a single path, or perhaps the inherent limitations of their discipline’s heritage.’

’For example, close-combat Transcendents who rely on powerful physiques and exquisite Martial Arts often lack refined Spiritual Power, are poor at perceiving subtle fluctuations in Magic Power, and struggle with processing complex information or learning new knowledge.’

’Meanwhile, academic Casters like Ellis could use their knowledge and willpower to command powerful Arcane Magic and cast spells that could turn the tide of battle, yet their bodies had rarely undergone any systematic physical training of comparable intensity.’

’Their endurance, resilience, and sheer physical tolerance for harsh environments were likely inferior to that of a common sailor or soldier accustomed to years of hard labor.’

’This phenomenon of overspecialization was especially pronounced in Transcendents who focused on mastering a single path to its absolute limit. It was, I suppose, a price one had to pay in the pursuit of immense Power.’

At this thought, Roland untied the waterskin at his waist, passed it over, and asked.

"Why don’t we rest for a bit?"

"No need..."

Ellis took the waterskin and took a long, deep swig. Wiping the water from his chin, he shook his head.

His face was still pale, but his eyes had regained their focus, shining with an almost obstinate resolve.

"This isn’t exactly an idyllic spot for a picnic. Once we’re done with your business, we can find a decent town nearby and properly relax."

Seeing the determination in Ellis’s eyes, Roland relented.

He gestured to Black Wind, and the towering Nightmare Beast obediently crouched down.

The three of them climbed back onto its broad spine. This time, however, Roland deliberately shifted his position, allowing Ellis to lean against a more stable spot that was better shielded from the wind.

Black Wind silently spread its Shadow Wings and took to the air again. It flew cautiously through the deepening twilight and sea fog, weaving at a low altitude through a labyrinth of jagged reefs, following the direction of Roland’s Perception.

Their speed wasn’t fast, but it was steady.

The dense fog was like a damp, cold curtain, constantly parted and then closed again by the Shadow Energy pulsing from Black Wind’s body.

The surrounding craggy, black rock pillars flickered in and out of view, like silent, bizarrely shaped sentinels.

Below them, dark green seawater churned between the reefs, its rush creating a hollow, ceaseless echo.

After flying for a considerable distance and navigating around several massive reef barriers that looked like dead ends, the fog ahead seemed to thin slightly.

A relatively open, sunken expanse of water appeared below them, partially encircled by towering reefs.

Here, the seawater was a deep blue that was almost pitch-black. Its surface was unnaturally calm, a stark contrast to the surrounding torrents. It was like a bottomless, ink-black mirror set among the menacing reefs.

The faint, intermittent scent of sulfur in the air also seemed to have grown a little stronger.

Black Wind landed gracefully on a large, relatively flat reef platform at the edge of the sunken pool.

Scattered across the platform were pebbles, polished exceptionally smooth by the seawater, along with a few dark marks that looked as if they had been scorched by intense heat or corroded by a strong acid.

The surroundings were eerily silent. Even the ceaseless crash of the waves seemed to be dampened by some invisible barrier, leaving only a low, indistinct hum in the background.

Roland was the first to leap down, his sharp eyes scanning the bizarre "Domain of Silence."

His gaze swept over the strange marks before finally freezing on the deepest darkness at the center of the water.

An indescribable tremor crept up his spine.

[Rift Walker]...

It began to activate silently.

A cold, familiar, subtle tremor, as if originating from time itself, began to ripple outward from the core of his being. It created an indescribable resonance with the Space-Time Perception he had just been focusing so intently.

In his Perception, the "texture" of the space around him—especially above the sunken pool—began to show extremely faint, web-like illusory "cracks."

These "cracks" weren’t physical, but they radiated a faint temporal turbulence and the stagnant sensation of space that had been violently torn apart and then poorly healed.

Fragmented, completely illogical "Echoes" of images and sounds began to seep toward him from the edges of the invisible rifts, like bubbles rising from the deep...

...A sharp, inhuman screech, mixed with the hum of a Spiritual Energy impact...

...A scorching, thick beam of light reeking of sulfur and ozone instantly tore through the dense fog, vaporizing a molten chunk out of a massive reef...

...The outline of a deep purple, spiral shell covered in nerve-like veins, glimpsed for a flash in an explosion, before being swallowed by the roiling Darkness and waves...

...Haphazard footprints on the slippery reef, quickly washed away by the surging tide...

...Stifled, ragged breaths, not belonging to any of the three of them...

These fragments were chaotic and disjointed, lacking any logical sequence, like torn pages from a dream forcefully shoved into his consciousness.

Most were meaningless, just a jumble of chaotic Energy and scenery.

Yet, in a single moment amidst this torrent of information, two extremely brief frames, like lightning splitting the chaotic mist, were branded upon his Perception.

"That’s..."

Roland’s brow furrowed, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before him.

"Qiao and... Mr. Bronson?"