A Hand Reaching Out from the Coffin

Since Ashida disappeared, Tales had never truly tested that "Loss of Control" power of his.

He didn't know how Magic Users controlled it—he didn't even understand the thing at all. He could only simulate the scenario closest to the "Loss of Control" experience based on his prior observations and reasoning, then try to wield it.

In Tales's plan, this power was supposed to be explored and studied secretly, safely, step by step—in a calm, secure living environment, after learning something of the origins of "Magic Energy" and "Magic Users" in Gilbert's lessons, and after gauging the reactions of those around him to his "Loss of Control."

But the imminent disaster before him, and Rolf's miserable state—unable to live or die—forced him to resolve to start this potentially dangerous "Magic Energy Experiment" ahead of schedule.

During the first two "Loss of Control" episodes, the blood as a medium, the dagger as a physical object, and the mysterious sphere as energy had all inexplicably moved to right before his eyes. So his initial guess was: was that power related to spatial transfer?

As long as that stone lock's clasp transfers to my hand—Tales chanted silently in his heart.

The experiment went more smoothly than he'd imagined.

The burning sensation inside him grew stronger, the stone lock before him grew larger, and more and more scenes flooded his mind.

Then Tales lost consciousness.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw moonlight, heard the wind, felt the cold, and spotted the utterly stunned Blood Race on the ground.

And he himself was already cradled in Rolf's arms, with the earth drifting farther away beneath them.

Though the process was a bit strange—Tales thought wearily—it seems the experiment succeeded.

Rolf, battered and in pain, had shed the burden of the heavy shackles. He forcibly commanded the wind, floating upward.

At that moment, no one was more shocked than Chris.

"How is that possible?"

The old Blood Race muttered, his eyes vacant.

Istrone and Rolana were still young.

So only he knew that the "Nightwing Lock" in the Dungeon, which had restrained a Transcendent Rank expert, was a secret treasure passed down through the Corleone Family for nearly a thousand years—a torture device exclusive to Blood Race Dukes, unlockable only with the blood of the one who locked it.

It was meant to trap Extreme Realm experts!

It had originally been prepared to restrain His Highness when his mind was chaotic, but after His Highness's condition stabilized, it was used on that Transcendent Rank blood source.

A shackle that even the world's most advanced Magic Energy Guns couldn't break!

How did they open it?

Before his severe injury, Rolf was the darling of the wind. He could even lie upside-down ten meters in the air for five minutes under the wind's power.

But now, weakened from losing much blood, exhausted and thirsty, the sudden loss of his legs threw off his balance, the sharp pain in his throat sapped his focus, and most of his proud ability had to be used to maintain "breathing" from his throat to his lungs.

He knew he had no chance against three Blood Race members. He also knew that Tales had only activated a stopgap backup plan. So after breaking free of the chains, Rolf only wanted to keep rising on the wind to a height they couldn't reach, and if the Blood Race pursued, to blast them down with gales.

But he still underestimated Chris, who had been an Extreme Realm expert for centuries.

Chris wasn't slowed by his shock. A thousand years had made him old but tough. His withered face darkened, and his figure shot up a dozen meters in an instant, lunging at the two in the air!

For His Highness, I must seize that cub!

In a flash, he closed in on Rolf, and a gale rushed at him.

Tales watched in astonishment as Chris, his clothes and hair whipped by the wind, expressionlessly dissolved into a bloody mist.

Not like Istrone's blood-water—but blood mist.

In Tales's eyes, the blood mist was scattered thin by Rolf's wind, yet it still spread upward, passing unhindered through the wind barrier Rolf had raised!

The blood mist seeped to Rolf's front, and under their grim gazes, gradually reformed into that old man with a sallow, pale face, beginning to fall again.

"Ah—" Rolf, unable to speak, roared in fury, raising his left hand and mustering his ability to blow the old man out of the sky.

But before he could finish his roar, Chris Corleone's hand clamped onto Rolf's left wrist.

"Those without wings—" Chris's tone was colder than the high-altitude air, and he said eerily: "Don't dream of flying."

"Crack—"

"Ugh—"

Twenty meters up, the sound of Rolf's bone breaking and his pained groan came at once.

Then, on the ground, Istrone and Rolana—disheveled, clutching her half-regrown One-Arm, and rushing out of the Dungeon—saw Rolf, who was holding Tales, grabbed by his left hand by Chris, who yanked him downward with terrifying force!

"Ah—"

Rolf, nearly mad, desperately drove the wind upward, almost forgetting to "breathe"!

But he still couldn't break free from Chris's claw, which had pierced his hand bone and locked firmly around his wrist!

Tales couldn't even open his eyes against the gale. Completely drained, he had no cards left to play.

The boy was already helpless.

Finally, the struggling Rolf was inevitably dragged down from the sky by Chris.

Rolf lost his balance, his stamina nearly spent as he strained to command the wind, but Chris's immense strength prevented him from rising again.

"For His Highness, that cub needs to be taken alive!" Chris, gripping Rolf tightly as they fell through the air, said coldly.

Rolana licked her teeth with hatred, shook her newly grown arm, then smiled, ready to catch the cub.

Beside her, Istrone, whose perception was slightly sharper, changed expression and suddenly looked beyond the manor gates.

There, a dense vibration, growing closer and closer.

"Rolana—" Istrone called out with a hint of urgency, but Rolana's full attention was fixed on the two figures in the air.

Tales dared not open his eyes, yet the wind whistling faster in his ears and the accelerating sensation of weightlessness all signaled trouble.

Had he played this move too early, thanks to that sudden accident?

Rolf had already given up trying to break free of Chris's grip.

He watched the moon growing farther and the ground drawing nearer, his eyes gradually turning pure, clear, and resigned.

In that moment, Rolf suddenly realized that after enduring so much pain, a fractured wrist was nothing at all.

The corners of Rolf the Wind Ghost's mouth twisted into a long-missed smile.

What a pity, kid.

Thank you for the chance.

At least I struggled.

And those vampires won't get a chance to touch you.

Time seemed to slow.

Then Rolana, bracing to catch Tales on the ground, watched in shock:

The half-crippled Rolf, in the instant before impact, howled and roared.

With one arm, he hurled Tales with all his might toward the manor house!

"No!" Chris bellowed without any dignity, but Rolf, now with one hand free, clamped his waist tightly and slammed them both toward the ground!

Tales felt his downward momentum shift, his whole body flung helplessly in another direction.

In a flash, the stone wall of the manor loomed before him, closer and closer.

It was about to smash into his head!

Tales could only squeeze his eyes shut.

Was this the end?

But to the boy's surprise, the gruesome scene of his skull shattering never came.

His rush suddenly halted, his head spun, and he landed in a steady, safe embrace.

"Thud!"

Rolf and Chris crashed heavily, their impact even cracking the ground, sending dust and dirt flying across the manor's open space!

Rolana's face changed drastically. She flickered toward Tales, who was flying toward the manor, and arrived in an instant.

But Istrone, his expression grave, glanced at the manor gate and flickered over. His voice rang out across the manor in the empty night:

"Enemy attack!"

Tales, still dizzy, slowly opened his eyes in a familiar yet unfamiliar embrace.

Before him, a dark purple mask with two dark lenses gazed back at him in the moonlight.

"Don't worry, Tales," said the royal secret guard, Yordel Gato, standing on the third-floor balcony of the manor house. His hoarse voice trembled faintly:

"You're safe."

Tales smiled wearily and relieved, closed his eyes, and let go completely.

A dense vibration sound came clearly from outside.

"Bang!"

The gate of Weed Manor was smashed open.

Countless hoofbeats poured in!

"In the name of His Majesty Kessel the Radiant Star, Supreme King of the Starry Sky!"

Count Gilbert Casso's steady, deep voice came through the dust and clatter of hooves:

"All personnel present at Weed Manor are suspected of theft and harboring royal treasures!"

"Surrender immediately without resistance!"

"Anyone who disobeys will be executed on the spot!"

In an empty Dark Chamber, not even a torch burned.

Only boundless darkness.

And two faint, barely audible breaths.

"What a pity. This is probably the closest we've come to an Air Elementalist in twelve years." A hoarse, sharp voice spoke.

"But all the intelligence says Ashida was taken out." A light, bright male voice.

"Then let me guess—you, who think he was 'taken out,' have also read the files on Elementalists being immortal and indestructible, right?" The hoarse, sharp voice sneered.

"Don't be so serious, Teacher," the light, bright male voice continued. "At least he's sealed away, right?"

"The question is, in Everstar City right now, who has the power to seal Echeida, and who has the weapon to seal him?" The hoarse voice stretched out the question leisurely.

"Just the usual few, that's all." The light, bright male voice said playfully.

"Indeed. Ah," the hoarse, sharp voice seemed tinged with faint disappointment. "Just the usual few, that's all."

"The truth of Red Quarter need not be investigated further. All files—including reports on the central district explosion and the sighting of the woman carrying a child—are to be sealed permanently."

"As for Echeida Sackern, prepare yourselves—the Supreme Sword is incomplete. Whether in ten years or twenty, the Air Elementalist will return." The hoarse, sharp voice issued the order darkly.

A long silence.

"Don't make that face, Teacher. Look on the bright side—we've lost a major enemy. And on the even brighter side—we might just lure out the Blood Elementalist." The light voice drawled lazily.

"Don't pretend you can see my expression," the hoarse, sharp voice said with displeasure, then sighed. "The Blood Elementalist... Ah, this damned fate. The capital is probably about to fall into chaos again soon."

"Twelve years ago, I at least had Lancer by my side, Jinnie, Tissen, and Lanzar Norfolk. Now, the only capable hand I have left is you." The hoarse voice sighed, filled with loneliness and desolation.

"But it was also twelve years ago that, even with all those people, the Former King still perished, didn't he?"

"Clearly, strength isn't the key—luck is." The light voice seemed utterly unguarded, speaking of the tragedy twelve years ago.

In the darkness, both voices fell silent for a long time.

"Yes. Even twelve years ago," the hoarse voice finally replied, this time laden with grief and resentment. "The Former King still perished."

"By the way," the light voice seemed to finally sense the shift in atmosphere, pivoting stiffly. "The Dark Chamber sent a headless letter. Said a gangster left Exeter yesterday, heading for the Star Kingdom, for Everstar City. That old crone also said it's to repay a favor you owed."

"Ah, the Secret Section and the Dark Chamber—a long-overdue collaboration."

The hoarse, sharp voice seemed piqued with interest. "Coming to the capital at a time like this? The Blood Elementalist?"

"No. I had it checked. Seems to be a doctor from the Black Street Brotherhood, named Ramon."

"Is there something wrong with him?"

"Someone saw him pull off a 'little trick' on a country road."

"A little trick?" The hoarse voice finally grew serious.

"Yes. A 'little trick,'" the light male voice said cynically.

"But based on my profound knowledge, having scoured all twenty floors of the Brilliant Star Library, my conclusion is this: that 'little trick'—which can heal wounds in an instant—was called, a thousand years ago—"

His light voice dropped low in an instant.

"Magic."

The words fell slowly.

And the darkness truly sank into dead silence. Like a graveyard in the dead of night.

After a long while.

"That old crone—" the hoarse voice let out a light chuckle. "She actually gave me this news as repayment for a favor."

"As cunning and treacherous as ever."

Gilbert took the lead. The guards, composed of Terminus Swordsmen, rode their horses in unison, charging straight into the manor.

They surrounded the three Blood Race in a tight circle!

"Silver swords drawn, prepare to engage!" Gilbert wasted no more words. He knew that the earlier declaration of "surrender and you won't be killed" was merely a formality.

What truly worked was often only force and weapons!

Just like diplomacy.

"Rolana!" Istrone nimbly flickered his form, dodging two sword strikes aimed at his head from horseback, shouting with no small amount of urgency and anger:

"Summon the Shadow Guard!"

Rolana landed on a second-floor window. Furious beyond measure—whether with her peerless physique or her unbreakable claws, she was utterly helpless against Yordel Gato, who held Tales and whose figure flickered in and out of visibility—she knew the situation. Spreading her arms, she let out a strange, rhythmic, soundless roar toward the direction of the Dungeon.

Rumble!

From the direction of the Dungeon, a dense tremor erupted like thunder in a rainstorm.

Gilbert's face changed. He swung his longsword decisively, and the swordsmen beside him shouted in unison!

But it was too late.

At the entrance to the Dungeon, a Black Tide suddenly burst forth!

It surged straight toward the cavalry formation of thirty Terminus Swordsmen.

"Form a ring!" Gilbert saw what had charged out and roared with a pale face: "It's Blood Thralls!"

The thirty Terminus Swordsmen, at least at the Mortal Tier, also saw what had emerged.

They were figures with blood-red eyes and faces twisted in madness!

Every man present was a battle-hardened guard. They knew what these creatures were.

The lowest, most despicable form of the Blood Race—transformed from humans or other races by accepting the Blood Race's essence blood. Hungry, mad, loyal, and unafraid of death—Blood Thralls.

Dozens of Blood Thralls surged toward the cavalry formation like a tide!

Gilbert assessed the situation, seeing that Tales was safe, and that blindly relying on their horses to charge these fearless creatures would only increase their own casualties.

"Hold the line!" he commanded loudly.

"Hah!"

Thirty Terminus Swordsmen roared in unison, dismounting swiftly to form a circular formation! Each man planted his left foot forward, angled his right sword outward, and shielded the comrade beside him!

This was the Starfall Kingdom's famed defensive formation—the Returning Radiance Formation!

Just then, from the pit Rolf and Chris had smashed open, a figure slowly rose to its feet.

Then, that figure flickered and vanished in an instant!

"Please wait here a moment and rest," Yordel said softly, setting Tales down on the third-floor balcony—he had spotted Chris emerging from the dust, and the man's subsequent disappearance.

"We'll handle the rest."

Then Yordel vanished from Tales's sight as well.

The next moment, Yordel's dull-colored Short Sword with its cross-shaped guard appeared midair, crossing paths with Chris's pair of sharp claws as the latter raced toward the third floor, sparks flying!

"Clang!"

A piercing Sharp Sound assaulted everyone's eardrums!

Yet strangely, there was no collision of air currents.

Yordel and Chris—two of the Western Continent's top Extreme Realm experts—exchanged a single move, gauged each other's strength, and separated.

"This is shadow-walking ability!" Chris said coldly, his right claw buried deep into the second-floor wall, anchoring himself there.

"As a peak Extreme Realm expert like you, even in the Starfall Kingdom, you shouldn't be unknown—has the 'Wrath of the Kingdom' shone so brightly that you've been overshadowed?" the old man said icily, paying no attention to the battle between Blood Thralls and guards, his full focus seemingly on Tales on the third floor.

Yordel, as always, said nothing and revealed no emotion. His eerie figure stood lightly and ethereally on a second-floor window frame, seeming ready to fall at any moment yet never doing so.

Below the manor, the Blood Thralls and the circular formation finally clashed!

"Thud!" The first dull impact came from a violent collision between a Blood Thrall and a guard!

The guard's blade, a double-edged sword, slashed open the Blood Thrall's body, while the Blood Thrall's claws and nails recklessly tore through the Warrior's armor.

The same scene quickly repeated at every point along the circular formation.

Chaos erupted in an instant.

Amid the turmoil, Tales noticed Lorraine Corleone roaring in fury, leaping toward his direction!

But before she could reach him, a sinuous silver metal chain winding through the air forced her back two steps.

"Your fight is here, you bloodsucking bitch!"

With those furious words, Tales saw a black-haired woman around forty, wearing a suspicious light-blue Court Official uniform (he didn't recognize her then), lash a chain whip viciously in front of Lorraine!

Lorraine sneered, her form flickering as she tried to escape the range of the metal chain sword, but the moment she shifted, the chain coiled tightly around her neck. Where it touched, it hissed with wisps of smoke!

"This is a silver chain sword, bitch!" the Court Official, Jinnie, roared in displeasure. "I've sunk a fortune into this for you lot!"

At that moment, Istrone's eyes blood-red, he dissolved into blood, soaring through the air toward Tales as well!

"Clang!" Istrone roared, crossing his claws to deflect a silver sword thrust at his chest.

"Sir!" Gilbert, having dismounted and worked with three Terminus Swordsmen to push through the Blood Thralls, stood firmly before the first-floor entrance. He looked at Istrone with displeasure, raised his silver sword, and executed a standard dueling opening stance: "Stay away from that child."

The slaughter between Blood Thralls and swordsmen continued!

But Tales, exhausted, watched as the three Blood Races repeatedly lunged at him, only to be blocked by their tenacious opponents.

The boy suddenly understood!

They don't want me, he thought silently.

They want something on the third floor.

That must be their weak point.

The sounds of Blood Thralls and swordsmen clashing continued; the three Blood Races and three Warriors were still locked in fierce combat.

With that realization, Tales, though filled with doubt and fear, resolutely shoved open the balcony door!

His weakened body collapsed onto the floor inside the moment he pushed it open.

"Thud!"

But a dull, eerie impact drew the boy's attention.

Tales panted softly, lifting his head, and slowly made out the dim room in the moonlight streaming through the balcony.

Especially the object at its center, connected to countless blood vessels, covered in intricate patterns and obscure script—

A black Giant Coffin.

"Thud! Thud!"

As if awakened by something, the dull impacts from the Black Coffin grew more intense.

More violent.

"Thump! Thump! Thump!"

Tales suddenly realized that his act of shoving open the door and charging into the room had been, to some extent, reckless.

Until—

"Boom!"

A thunderous, unmatched crash!

Tales was knocked backward, his eardrums ringing.

The lid of the Black Coffin jolted upward violently, as if a terrible explosion had occurred from within, then crashed to the floor!

Clutching his aching ears, Tales gritted his teeth and scrambled back to his feet.

There, on the rim of the Black Coffin, now stripped of its lid, a hand had emerged from somewhere—

A withered, charred, ominous—

Hand.