Pillar of Yita

Fang Hong didn’t even think before raising his right hand. Sicape had said that he possessed an innate talent for ranged combat, a fleeting inspiration for space and distance. Moreover, at that moment, every auxiliary port on him was stuffed with agility plugins, which also somewhat aided his accuracy.

The flying fist shot out, dragging a long tether behind it, zipped through the interwoven light and shadows, and struck a Night Lizard person square in the chest. The latter let out a shriek and was sent flying.

At the same time, Fang Hong summoned an Energy Angel; the Variant Sword-Bearer made a reverse slice—a spare margin. The blade parted the shadow behind him, cleaving a Night Lizard person emerging from there, along with its spear, in two.

Blood spattered all over Fang Hong, staining his face, as well as his Alchemist’s robe—the official Alchemist’s robe resembled more of a trench coat, with silver buttons, a stiff collar, and fabric of deep blue fine texture, though it was already badly worn by him.

Fang Hong wiped the blood off his face, and on top of his youthful features, it seemed as if there emerged a more ferocious temperament.

The Night Lizard people liked to lure their enemies with a pincer move, ambush from front and rear, as written clearly in the dossier provided by Nether. However, it seemed as if there were no other enemies in the grand hall, the two Night Lizard people having been all of them. Fang Hong thought they might be part of an advance team that infiltrated to slow him down.

He moved through a corridor and entered a large meditation room with a skylight. Looking up, Fang Hong understood the layout—if it were still in the surface world, a beam of moonlight or sunlight would surely fall through the skylight above, illuminating the center of the prayer room, where black tiles glistened like ink, adorned with the shiny silver runes of Ka Kula.

But at that moment, nothing remained; the grim underground darkness left the place pitch-black, until Fang Hong’s torchlight dissected every crease on the wall, corners piled with large earthenware jars, and long, inky shadows were cast. Some jars had shattered, their insides emptily hollow, covered with cobwebs, and tiny insects scattered away from the light of the fire.

He lifted his torch, and the firelight revealed a furry spider hanging from a thread above, the skylight draped with white spider egg sacs and webs. These pale arthropods were probably the only residents here. Although Fang Hong was not afraid of spiders, the sight was still creepily unsettling.

With a swing, he brushed the spider aside, and it disappeared into a corner, warily hiding in the shadows without showing itself again. However, a reflection in that direction caught Fang Hong’s attention. That’s when he remembered where he was—this was the very bottom layer of the Black Holy City, and the number of people who had set foot here could be counted on one hand.

This included Toragotos.

Fang Hong knew well what kind of things could be found in such a place; his heart skipped a beat as he went over and picked up the object. It turned out to be a platinum rune. Calling it a rune was a bit of a stretch; it was more like a curved pin with a pattern resembling an eye at the center.

Fang Hong was certain it was made of metal, light yet sturdy, almost weightless in hand like some sort of foam plastic. He had no idea what it was and was just about to infuse it with magic power when he heard Virus’s somewhat stern voice, ”Don’t move.”

”That’s a rune from the Xinsas Serpentfolk; they use it to wield divine strength and spells, similar to our Main Crystals,” Virus explained, ”but the Xinsas Serpentfolk’s tolerance for Ether Magic Power far exceeds ours, perhaps because of their Giant Dragon bloodline. They can almost cast spells directly. If you don’t want to die, it’s best not to experiment.”

Fang Hong was taken aback, silently cursing his close shave. The frailty of mortals was evident at this moment; ancient powerful magic items were almost entirely beyond their direct use, not to mention those ancient spells.

Even among the magic ornaments passed down by the Numelin Elves, only a handful of mortals could wear them. The more powerful ones either perished into the annals of history or were preserved in national museums for posterity to only look upon.

”So, what rune is this?” he asked.

This time, even Virus shook her head, ”Serpentfolk runes are bizarre and numerous, too many kinds to count. Perhaps you can keep it and study it a bit, you might see something.” Her implication was that she didn’t know either, but she would never outright say so.

He did ask Nether, but regrettably, the Construct Queen, catching him grabbing a spider with his hands, found it gross and refused to speak to him.

Fang Hong was speechless—it wasn’t a formal matter, and even the military couldn’t do much about this capricious queen.

It was just a minor episode; Fang Hong continued forward, entering the Holy Temple’s hall. The historical disaster finally revealed its sharp edges here—the majestic hall had nearly collapsed in half during that catastrophe, and a long crack had formed on the main wall; considering the rocks were sealed under dust, it was almost certain this was not a new wound.

The structure of the Holy Sanctuary was incredibly stable; the outside settling had not yet affected this place, which showed just how violent the earthquake from a thousand years ago had been. It not only tore Fenris away from the Tarun Continent but also destroyed this ancient city with its own hands.

Fang Hong silently observed the huge cracks on the wall, thinking that this was the normal state. Those buildings outside, restored by the Xinsas Serpentfolk, almost made one think that the Holy City ruins had not sunk into the ground but had been transported here by divine power.