Wizard: Stronger through Marriage

Chapter 1330: Chapter 620: Purification Arena_2

They witnessed this historic moment, further strengthening their belief to resist to the end!

Meanwhile, the remaining members of the Dawn Sect within the building were thrown into chaos.

They suddenly awoke to realize that the core of power had fallen, and many High Tier priests scattered fearfully.

Yet more chose to resist to the end, trying to defend the twisted and hypocritical legacy of their rule with the last rays of light.

Blood stained the hall red, as multiple forces battled viciously, turning the ruins into a vortex of despair, chaos, and brutality once more!

Alia noticed several enemy leaders attempting to escape. She coldly ordered, ”Pursue them! Leave no survivors!”

With shouts, the other rebels quickly formed their ranks and advanced, giving the enemy no chance to catch their breath.

The entire headquarters seemed like a purgatory at that moment, with every step filled with a sense of death, yet also nurturing new pulses of life, about to open a new turning point in the situation!

The embers of battle had not yet faded, with ash and smoke still swirling in the air, as if the whole world were oppressed under an inescapable heavy shadow.

After the Dawn Sect headquarters was breached, the dust on the battlefield seemed to settle temporarily, but the wheel of fate did not stop turning because of it.

Away from the tumult, in the depths of a dark void, a shadow cowered within a shattered Divine Domain, the God of Conspiracy in his death throes.

Once, his gigantic Divine Body had been shattered into countless shards, with his roars and curses lingering in the void.

Yet this creator-like being would never easily concede, knowing full well that if he fell, he would lose control over the fate of this world entirely.

The God of Conspiracy’s eyes slowly opened, burning crimson like flames, exuding a sinister aura from the intertwining of corrosion and chaos.

That aura swirled in the darkness, as if to devour all life.

Trembling slightly, he tore open a dark vortex from his shattered chest.

”Fate... cannot be controlled by others...” his voice rumbled from the depths of the Hell Abyss.

It was like ancient curses entwining every inch of space, ”I will... leave a mark... altering the future, making the impossible inevitable...”

Immediately, a small seed, as splendid as a falling star yet eerily dim, formed at his fingertip.

This was the ”Seed of Fate Alteration,” with countless forbidden runes engraved upon it, forming a malevolent curse made from the essence of distorted space-time laws.

This seed contained the utmost power of destruction, deception, and control, the God of Conspiracy’s final gamble.

He concentrated his will, forcibly implanting this cursed seed into the mind domain of the Silver Moon Saintess, where many allies placed high hopes for purity and firm belief.

The evil seed blossomed like a poisonous night flower, quietly taking root and growing in her subconscious.

At first, it was just a faint tremor, occasionally flickering from the depths of the Silver Moon Saintess’s eyes.

But as time passed, this power gradually began eroding the most soft and pure parts of her heart, causing her to frequently fall into dreams and illusions.

In the dreams, she seemed to see herself holding a sharp dagger, its blade glinting with a cold light, as she slowly approached David step by step, each stab carrying unspeakable pain and conflict.

Each time a dream ended, she would open her eyes only to find faint, dark, eerie rune marks faintly appearing on her palm, like a brand seeping through her skin to the bone.

These patterns spread over time, but their true origin was hard to detect, only feeling a stinging pain and slight warmth, making her frown and clench her fists tightly, trying hard to shake off this inescapable sense of confinement. ℴ

During the day, she tried to hide the turmoil inside, still showing a strong and calm façade to her allies, but the occasional glints of confusion and fatigue in her eyes made it impossible for those around her to ignore the vague unease within.

A silent yet lethally dangerous struggle was unfolding in the depths of her mind, like a time bomb waiting for the moment of explosion.

Alia repeatedly meditated in quiet corners, hoping to find a solution, only to discover that the power of ”Fate Alteration” was extremely complex and stubborn, its twisted reality effects impossible to face directly.

Even more worrying was that this seemed to gradually spread to a wider area, even threatening David himself and the very foundations of the new order being built in the End Corridor...

As night fell, under the dim light of the camp, she stood alone on a high ground gazing at the vast stars.

The wind fluttered the edges of her cloak, while strands of green vines coiled along the ground, rising and intertwining with the starlight, as if the Earthly Spirit Veins were converging.

He stared into the distant wilderness, where David led the new army in the fiercest charge, perhaps the future awaited on that side, no matter how perilous the road ahead, they couldn’t retreat!

”I will never be a pawn in the enemy’s hand.” she murmured softly, her lips quivering with determination:

”Even if the nightmare descends again, I will protect David, protect all living beings of this land, for this is our faith, the reason all life is worth fighting to the end.”

However, at that moment, a piercing cold wind suddenly swept in, making the tent drapes howl furiously.

A dark blue lightning tore through the sky, like a beast’s claw ripping the night sky with a terrifying gash.

In the glow of that lightning, a shadowy figure suddenly appeared amidst the trees nearby, the envoy of opposing forces hidden in the dark, intending to exploit Alia’s moment of vulnerability for a deadly attack with perilous Witchcraft!

Upon hearing the noise from within the tent, everyone instantly became alert and prepared for defense. Among them, Annie’s gaze was sharp like a hawk’s; she swiftly drew her sword and rushed towards the direction of the shadow, while Hill followed closely, wielding his sword to guard Alia’s side.

”Anyone attempting to invade us must pay the price!” he said with determination and authority, boosting the soldiers’ morale and courage!

However, Alia’s heart surged with complex emotions at that moment: fear and anxiety over being controlled, as well as the unshakable conviction to resist the shackles of fate to the death.

Under the watchful eyes, she slowly gripped her Magic Staff, using her last bit of strength to unleash a purification rune, hoping to temporarily suppress the invasive force within her, while also showcasing her indomitable will to intimidate the lurking enemies...

David stood at the center of the altar, his body surrounded by fiery red-gold flames, one hand tightly gripping the halberd forged from the fragments of the War God’s power.

His gaze was profound as he viewed the immortal fragment in his hand, exuding an ancient aura.

Light flowed slowly from the depths of the fragment, as if containing infinite wisdom and power.

David closed his eyes and focused, attempting to decipher the secrets hidden within.

He felt a mysterious whisper penetrating his soul, ancient and stern, the gravest yet real words left by ancient times to later civilizations.

”War is civilization’s only nourishment.”

This voice seemed to come from the abyss of time, stirring waves of shock in his heart.

War is not only destruction; it is also the undying forge that drives civilization forward and shapes strong ones.

This principle was like a lightning bolt splitting the darkness, giving David a deeper understanding of the War God’s power.

At that moment, a bright silver array suddenly emerged over the battlefield ruins, its structure grand and complex, runes neatly arranged as if stars were woven into an invisible grid.

This was the ”War Martial Arena,” a newly formed Secret Realm within the End Corridor, spawned by the power of the War Authority, an important Holy Land for enhancing the Witch Rider Corps’ strength.

The Witch Riders, clad in red-gold Battle Armor, stepped into the Martial Arena from the void, their footsteps breaking the ground, with each step sparking sparks.

The air was filled with a rich smell of smoke and the sound of metal clashing, the environment like a purgatorial forge, harsh but also a place for honing one’s will and physical limits.

Hill, as the most promising new star of the Witch Rider Corps, stood in the center of the Martial Arena with a solemn and determined expression.

His silver-white armor reflected dazzling light, with mottled scars telling the tales of numerous life-and-death battles.

He grasped his Longsword tightly, his sharp purple eyes fixed on the phantom foes slowly emerging in the illusory space in front, a trial constructed from the residual will of the War God.

The phantom was tall and fierce, its Battle Armor flickered with dark red flames, it lifted a Giant Axe to strike at Hill, the edge of the blade splitting the air brought deafening roars.