SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS - Chapter 955 - 955: The God Who Twitched, The Goddess Who Asked

Meanwhile, deeper within the forging sanctum, Muni Naga stood hunched over a wide bronze table, his eight arms working tirelessly over three jade quivers laid neatly in a spiral pattern. These were not ordinary quivers—they were Immortal Quivers, each engraved with flowing golden runes and lined with thread from the lungs of Sky Serpents.

“They must become conduits—extensions of Kent’s will.” Muni Naga muttered to himself, sweat glistening on his wrinkled blue skin.

He raised a sealed obsidian jar, uncorking it carefully. A faint green mist escaped, and with it, the scent of age and death.

Ancestor Myrrh Resin—the lifeblood of an extinct world tree—was one of the rarest ingredients in his vault. One drop alone was said to power a mid-tier artifact for a decade.

And he was using entire vials.

He traced a delicate divine seal across the surface of one quiver. Each stroke caused the air to hum and twist. Every completed seal took a full seven days, and during the inscription, no one dared disturb him.

At the cost of his life’s reserve of sacred materials, Muni Naga had already completed two of the seven seals.

Each seal imbued Kent’s arrows with a celestial function:

The first, Stormbreaker, would allow the arrow to tear through elemental fields.

The second, Phantom Bloom, could multiply into seven illusions mid-flight.

There were five more to go. And time… was thinning.

Meanwhile the crafting of divine weapon is causing many strange phenomena in the sea.

It began with a whisper.

One night, when the moon hovered high above the ocean surface, the coral reefs near the Sea Ancestral Temple began to emit strange pulses of light. The ocean’s natural harmony—usually soothing and deep—was replaced with occasional tremors.

The beasts of the deep stirred restlessly.

The temple priests, startled by the unexplained movements, rushed toward the high altar, where the sea charts of elemental tides were displayed.

“Third tremor today,” one elder whispered. “This isn’t natural.”

In the main hall, Nyara stood barefoot, gazing at the giant conch shell that marked the ancestral shrine of the Naga race. Her heart beat erratically, matching the pulse she felt in the water around her. The very blood of the sea seemed to shake with warning… or anticipation.

And then came the fourth tremor.

This one… was different.

All the way from the bottomless trench where Muni Naga’s forge lay hidden, a wave of golden light surged upward, like a divine heartbeat echoing through the sea’s veins.

In the secluded chamber, Muni Naga paused mid-engraving and turned his head sharply.

“No…” he whispered, his lips trembling. “That’s the bow…”

He rushed to the sealed stone room where Kent sat.

The black cloth covering the divine bow fluttered—despite the absence of wind.

Faint golden runes emerged along its length, like veins glowing to life. A low, resonant hum filled the chamber, as if something ancient had stirred from sleep.

The water outside the mountain swirled violently. Far above, even the sky over the ocean turned slightly overcast.

One of the junior Naga priests ran to the temple courtyard and cried out, “The ancestral grounds are shaking again!”

Inside the forging sanctuary, Muni Naga muttered in reverence, “It has begun… The awakening of the spirit.”

Kent’s eyelids fluttered—but did not open.

His hands glowed faintly. His breath synchronized with the bow’s aura. His spiritual threads slowly entwined with the divine artifact, like roots seeking soil.

Though the spirit did not yet speak… it had acknowledged him.

It was watching. Measuring.

—

Outside the Temple…

The news of the tremors had spread like wildfire through the Sea Ancestral Temple. Ministers, guards, and even lesser nobles whispered behind coral screens.

“Could it be… the ancient weapon?”

“I heard it’s a weapon forged from the ancestral iron of the Naga Sky Forge…”

“Impossible! What rank is that weapon to cause such large tremors?!”

“But… he hasn’t moved for two months. Even priests would go mad. Yet he endures.”

Back Inside

As the tremor faded, Muni Naga finally returned to his forge. His eyes—so used to watching steel bend and flames roar—now shimmered.

“This boy… no, this man… is either the boldest fool or the most patient storm,” he muttered.

He placed the third quiver down.

The next seal he would engrave… was Soul Reversal, a spell that would let a single arrow rebound from death’s door, reversing one lethal attack once every cycle.

He opened the next chest, pulling out an ancient black gem soaked in phoenix blood—a relic too costly even to mention.

He smiled bitterly.

“If this boy dies before using this, I’ll kill him myself in the underworld.”

But deep down, the old weapon master knew: Kent would not fall.

Not while the bow stirred.

Not while the sea trembled for him.

—

In the endless realm beyond stars, where time flowed like poetry and the cosmos itself breathed with slow, divine rhythm — a single eye twitched.

That eye did not belong to a man.

Nor a beast.

Nor a ghost.

It belonged to the Three-Phased God, the one whose face bore creation, karma, and destruction — all at once.

In one eye shimmered galaxies unborn.

In the next, the spiral wheel of lives and deaths turning with quiet fairness.

And in the third… only ashes remained, where entire realms had once bloomed.

And yet—

All three faces had, for once, gone still.

It was the eye of the middle face — the face of Karma, the cycle-keeper — that had twitched. A tiny tremor. Enough to send waves of curiosity across realms where no wind ever dared to stir.

A soft breeze rustled the divine petals of a silver lotus.

Then came the voice.

Serene. Soft.

Yet older than oceans.

“What happened…?”

The voice belonged to Dharisya, the Serene Goddess of Balance and Restoration, whose presence even the stars bowed to. Draped in translucent robes of pearl mist and walking barefoot upon the light of fallen stars, she stood beside the Three-Phased One — always watching, never interfering.

She turned gently to the Three-Phased God, who now sat cross-legged on a disk of woven truths, his three heads facing three directions — one looking to birthing suns, one to crumbling mountains, and one… directly down, through the veil, into the mortal-sea.

“A ripple,” he replied, each word sounding like it passed through thousands of lives.

“A mortal has called me… properly.”

Dharisya’s brows lifted slightly.

“Properly? Many call you. Most beg. Some dare to demand.”

“Yes,” the god murmured. “But this one does not beg.”