Volume 1 Chapter 657
by post_apiChapter 657: Torturing the Cultists
The words brimming with pride bordering on inhumanity and arrogance so understated it escaped immediate recognition undoubtedly enraged every cultist in the sewer.
In that fleeting moment, they directed their hostility toward the self-proclaimed "Great Sage" who had intruded upon their gathering.
Regardless of who she was or what she intended…
Such insolence alone warranted her death a hundred times over!
Of course, even if a courteous visitor had arrived… their vigilance would never waver.
This was, after all, a clandestine assembly of cultists within the Holy Capital.
Thus…
Provoking them had always been Kanor’s objective.
Hovering mid-air, the young girl gazed down at the seething cultists, her youthful lips curling into a faint smile.
"How predictable—these devotees of fallen gods,"
the petite figure murmured before interlacing her fingers.
"Two Epics, four Extraordinaries. Shall I assist?"
Lalea inquired gravely from behind,
perceiving the foes as formidable adversaries.
Kanor merely shook her head.
"When confronting my enemies, assessing their cultivation ranks proves largely irrelevant… Well, perhaps not entirely meaningless…"
The girl paused thoughtfully, her index finger tapping her lips.
"Mmm… How to phrase this…"
"At the very least, when evaluating a cultist’s combat strength, their supposed ‘rank’ deserves significant depreciation."
"This isn’t due to trite philosophies about ‘borrowed power lacking authenticity’…"
"All power holds validity, yet divine spells inherently carry greater complexity within their systems."
"Master Lolth herself admitted divine magic required her longest study—though her unconventional approach diverges sharply from established practices."
"Personally, I consider this path meant for the truly gifted. Yet its warped evolution… How regrettable that it now attracts mostly mediocre minds driven by greed."
"Had they served a magnanimous deity like the God of Light, matters might differ…"
"But these so-called evil gods? Merely confused entities grasping at self-awareness."
"Those who scavenge crumbs of their power… inspire neither wariness nor respect."
Kanor’s voice carried no mockery, only profound pity—a tone that resonated clearly through the underground chamber
as she addressed Lalea, ensuring every cultist heard her words with perfect clarity.
This constituted undeniable, visceral mockery of both the cultists and their twisted patrons.
Though delivered with clinical detachment, her superior demeanor achieved nothing less than absolute humiliation.
"What are you talking about?!"
"I want you to perish without a burial ground!"
The cultists snarled and cursed, then commenced casting bizarre occult rites.
Yet whether incantations or rituals, all were suspended midway.
They were interrupted through what seemed like ‘forcible cancellation’ – an utterly irrational suppression!
No, rather than interruption… it was as if their powers simply evaporated.
All surging Power of the Evil God vanished instantaneously.
Nearly every cultist experienced… existential dissociation.
The sensation resembled reaching for a nearby object, only for one’s arm to go limp like dough mid-motion.
Then came the terrifying realization – they’d lost proprioception of their limbs.
Actions once instinctual became impossible feats.
Without cause or origin… as if existence itself had been partially erased.
Emerging from this bewilderment came primal terror and wrath enough to unhinge any mind.
"What sorcery is this?!"
"Vile wretch… damned infidel!!"
"Arcane trickster – cease your illusions!!"
"How dare sever our communion with the Great One… may your soul burn eternally!"
Their furious threats echoed…
Yet powerless bluster proved as ridiculous as insects waving feeble appendages.
Lalea actually giggled in amusement.
"Since when do defeated foes beg victors to restore their strength…?"
The taciturn mage maiden who’d observed silently finally spoke.
"Perhaps… this demonstrates the intellectual caliber of heretic devotees."
Meanwhile Kanor gazed down at the cultists with mirthful contempt.
"Surprised?"
"This is the Holy Capital of Light. Were a portal to yawn open before your deity’s visage, He’d hesitate to peek lest the God of Light storm through to exterminate His entire bloodline!"
"What madness convinced you heathens could wield alien divine spells here? Even the magic environment rebels against foreign energies – elemental conjurations here demand forty to fifty percent greater expenditure!"
"Thus your pathetic ilk, accustomed to skulking in shadows, finds itself helpless when exposed. All your elaborate preparations merely rendered you marginally less abnormal."
"Suppressing your Evil God’s power here requires but minimal effort."
As Kanor spoke, she crossed her wrists before her chest, digits dancing in intricate patterns.
Countless hair-thin argent filaments shimmered about her fingers.
These ethereal threads radiated outward, bifurcating and interlacing into a colossal luminous web.
And along each thread flowed an almost imperceptible wisp of pure magical energy.
Witnessing this, Lalea realized…
Kanor’s actions were far removed from the casual endeavor she’d casually described.
This could only be described as divine-level technique.
Now she understood how the Power of the Evil God had vanished without trace.
Kanor had exploited the inherent "nature" of the Evil God’s power itself.
Nearly all divine forces – whether from evil deities or most benevolent gods – shared one fundamental trait.
Exclusive nature.
An instinctive hostility toward foreign magical energies.
Whether through Holy Light’s "purification," the End’s "devouring," or the Day of Revival’s "corrosion" – all embodied this principle.
The Evil God’s power here had already been weakened by Holy Light’s suppression.
When encountering the thread-borne energy, it was instantly "guided" like gossamer torn asunder, dissolving into nothingness.
Naturally, these cultists wouldn’t normally exhibit such feeble control over their rituals.
Their vulnerability stemmed from…
The deceptive fragility of each thread’s magic…
Belied by overwhelming cumulative magnitude.
Each strand faint as ambient magic, yet all perfectly orchestrated by Kanor.
To put it plainly…
Kanor had commandeered the entire magic environment.
As comprehension dawned, Lalea and the mage girl felt visceral dread.
"Can such… things truly be achieved?"
The apprentice mage breathed involuntarily.
Kanor responded with a faint shrug.
"Merely clumsy mimicry of my master…"
For the prodigy, this indeed constituted imitation.
Upon mastering deeper applications of "Versatile Kitchenware," she’d recalled Master Lolth’s secret weapon.
The "Magic Cube."
A god-tier magic device enabling complete dominion over magical environments – reshaping and reconstructing them at will.
Through this, Lolth had challenged deities while still at Holy Domain level.
Kanor grasped this power’s magnitude.
Yet even her genius couldn’t replicate the Magic Cube.
From creation to operation, that remained Lolth’s exclusive domain.
One must possess an utterly refined understanding and mastery of magic to accomplish such feats.
Thus, Kanor had no choice but to settle for a version infinitely approaching Lolth’s original design.
All she needed to do was transform the Versatile Kitchenware into silken threads and weave them into an intricate network…
This would achieve comparable results through different means.
Though far less versatile than the Arcane Cube, it would suffice to handle these cultists.
"Aha… That succubus truly possesses a more terrifying iteration…"
Lalea murmured involuntarily, her voice tinged with awe.
Meanwhile, Kanor observed the cultists transitioning from fury and terror into panicked disarray.
While their fanatical beliefs rendered them obstinate and dull-witted by nature,
even these zealots retained some capacity for assessing urgency.
The lead epic-level cultist exhaled heavily under Kanor’s amused scrutiny.
"Great Sage of the Wizard Association… What is your true purpose here?"
Kanor’s laughter chimed like silver bells.
"Peace, my friends. We share no irreconcilable interests—were that the case, I’d have already reduced you to gutter stains."
She flexed her left ring finger and right middle finger, sending thousands of ethereal silver filaments humming against vulnerable throats and ribcages.
"I merely request coordination regarding your plans—be it summoning your family master or pilfering artifacts. Shall we synchronize our schedules?"
"Fear not—this isn’t sacrificial fodder I seek. There exists a perfect window when the Holy Capital’s defenses will thin dramatically. Should we collaborate…"
Her radiant smile bloomed like moonlit poison,
her tone dripping with honeyed sincerity.
Yet even these hardened ritualists—who slaughtered children without blinking—
felt icy talons of dread pierce their shriveled hearts.
They stood ensnared not merely by physical threads in the sewers,
but by the inexorable web of fate itself,
trapped beyond refusal or resistance.
The moment for escape had vanished before they’d recognized the snare.
Defeated whispers rustled through the group.
"We understand."
Meanwhile, in the Wizard Association’s clandestine stronghold…
The genuine Patricia finally reunited with her colleagues.
Unlike the cultists—whose fervent ambitions Kanor had shattered—
Philtes remained characteristically self-assured within his cell…
However, the Great Sage "Never-ending Night" was clearly an eccentric who reveled in the satisfaction of his "flawless calculations."
Such individuals, when convinced of their plan’s perfection, naturally keep even their subordinates uninformed.
Thus when Patricia pushed open the door to the Wizard Association’s secret hideout—a nondescript house—she found mages collapsed about like half-dead creatures awaiting burial.
Half-packed luggage littered the floor, evidence of aborted escape attempts. Despair had settled in when they realized the Holy Capital’s Heretic Tribunal agents were raving like madmen outside, arresting even marginally suspicious individuals. Fleeing now would be suicidal – a direct path to dungeon-bound doom.
The sudden emergence of cultists who murdered two leaders, followed by the imprisonment of Great Sage "Never-ending Night"…
This indeed formed a hopeless reality.
When Patricia entered, not a soul glanced up.
Until her deliberate cough shattered the silence.
"Ahem—Greetings, everyone?"
At her voice, every mage lifted their head.
Upon recognizing Patricia’s face and the discreetly waving apprentice behind her…
A spark ignited in some eyes.
"By the heavens—the ‘Morning Star’ has truly come!"
"Apa, you brilliant lad!"
"Praise the stars…we’ve another Great Sage in the Holy Capital!"
This burgeoning hope quickly infected the remainder.
"Can it be?…The ‘Morning Star’ herself?"
"Thank the skies! Homeward dreams live again."
They resembled Noah’s ark-bound creatures sighting land after deluge—not yet saved, yet already tasting salvation. Most present were new-generation mages who’d only heard legends of "Never-ending Night," unimpressed by title alone given his inaction during Philtes’ Holy Capital crisis.
Moreover (to speak bluntly), official records stated the "Never-ending Night’s" last mission nearly claimed his life on an alternate plane…
But Patricia differed.
Though perhaps less experienced or powerful than Philtes, most here had witnessed her Cloud City exploits. Her formidable prowess and erudition were undeniable!
This peripatetic sage wandered realms yet remained unscathed.
And crucially…she maintained favorable ties with the Lady of Light herself.