Chapter 1814: Chapter 1814

"So, the Four King Souls also need to be forged before they can be brought together?"

Jenkins asked again, recalling the information he'd received from the silver dragon.

"Of course," the Star Spirit replied. "Otherwise, how could things with such vastly different forms of power possibly merge?"

The Star Spirit continued to explain:

"The unification of the Four King Souls is a special ritual, much like forging. It requires fire, a hammer, a furnace... many conditions must be met. It's a very complex affair, not something I can explain in just a moment."

"Then I'll come back another day," Jenkins said. "I'm afraid there's no time right now."

"About the awakening of the Four King Souls..."

"The holder of a King Soul must face a trial, and they cannot accept any outside help. The ancient human sages believed this was the only way to demonstrate one's worthiness to be king. But be warned, this trial happens randomly, and it is always tied to the nature of the King Soul in question. As for when it might occur... that's hard to say. Such things are best attributed to fate."

"I think I understand," Jenkins said finally. "Thank you for the information. But... are you sure it's alright to tell me all this so directly?"

Jenkins asked one last question.

"You didn't ask me how one obtains a King Soul, how to nurture it, or who the current holders are. Therefore, I was able to answer."

The Star Spirit explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The return to the material world was swift; their conversation had been brief, so very little time had passed. The red dragon had remained hovering in the air the entire time. Seeing Jenkins reappear, it finally spoke:

"Tonight's events have nothing to do with me. I was simply targeted by these creatures by chance. When the seventh wave of phantoms appears, I don't think I'll be able to offer you any help."

"Don't worry about it. I can probably handle them myself. Just wait on the sidelines. But when the Church comes asking, you know what to say about what's about to happen, right?"

"Of course," the dragon replied shrewdly. "I understand completely."

The dragon answered with tact.

As they spoke, the snow, which had briefly paused, began to drift down from the sky once more. Where Mr. Augustus had led the phantom cavalry away, a new, even larger and denser bank of frigid mist materialized from nothing, expanding rapidly.

A chaotic clatter of hooves once again echoed through the night. The air grew thick with the stench of rust and blood, a foul miasma that made one feel tainted just by breathing it.

This time, they didn't charge immediately. Instead, a figure emerged slowly from the depths of the mist: a mountain of a giant, perched atop the skeleton of what looked like a mammoth. Slung across his back was a black, spiked mace the size of a tree trunk. The face of his massive helmet was fashioned into a skull, flanked by two upward-curving horns.

Behind this giant were five commander-class phantoms, leading twenty-three captain-class phantoms and an innumerable legion of ordinary spectral horsemen.

Their numbers had clearly surpassed the supposed limit of ninety-eight. As they and their skeletal mounts trod upon the frozen air, they formed a terrifying black torrent against the night sky. Even their slow, measured advance—the heavy, rhythmic stomping of their skeletal steeds—exerted an overwhelming pressure that crushed the spirit.

The mournful sound of an unseen horn echoed from the distance. As the giant raised his mace, the phantom cavalry, in a wave from front to back, lifted their own weapons in their right hands. A murderous wind swept through, carrying a bone-deep chill that made the soul tremble. Even the hallowed fire dancing on the surface of Jenkins's White Bone Holy Sword could not dispel the encroaching cold.

The mammoth skeleton stomped hard on the air, its charge beginning with a terrifying, shrill roar. The legion of dragon-hunting phantoms surged toward Jenkins above like a great tide. A spinning arc of sword light danced through the air as Jenkins—sword in his right hand, staff in his left—launched his own downward charge.

Jenkins possessed none of the chivalry that would compel a man to face a hundred foes alone. Thus, something else charged forward faster than he did: a cackling, black demonic shadow. Accompanied by a strange, rapid beeping, his Twin Demon clone detonated in the midst of the cavalry. The resulting blast of soul-searing demonic flame inflicted obvious, devastating damage upon the phantoms. Get full chapters from NoveI-Fire.ɴet

Immediately after, a spinning blade of light swept through the air like a great buzzsaw. A powerful spell, stronger than any they had used before, now shielded their entire legion, but the embers of hallowed fire clinging to Jenkins's sword still managed to inflict considerable damage.

The closer Jenkins got to the charging phantoms, the sharper the pain in his chest became. A thin, red flame, the very emblem of the Dragon Soul, flickered violently within him, disrupting the flow of his own Spirit.

The instant his sword clashed with the giant's mace, the Dragon Soul wavered violently, as if about to be extinguished. A sudden hollowness bloomed in his chest, so intense he nearly coughed up blood. Simultaneously, an immense force from the mace surged up his right arm. The combined impact sent Jenkins flying sideways off his unicorn's back. He barely managed to hook an arm around the creature's neck, saving himself from being swallowed by the flood of spectral cavalry.

"Damn it, this time, the phantoms seem to be suppressing the Dragon Soul."

He cursed to himself, having not anticipated this at all. But now he was trapped in the middle of the charging phantoms, with weapons swinging at him from every direction.

His weakened state made his sword hand tremble, but thankfully, the whirling blade of light around him continued to provide a powerful defense.

His mount, the small beast, suddenly let out a soft cry. Its pure-white horn was suffused with a dark, golden hue. A wave of light swept out from it, forcing the charging phantoms to part around Jenkins as if he were an obstacle in their path.

Seizing the opportunity, Jenkins held his holy sword high and, aided by the unicorn's light and its own powerful charge, brutally carved a path out of the phantom legion.

The first clash was brief. As the phantom legion wheeled around in the sky, their steeds stomping on ice and snow, Jenkins knew he stood little chance of winning if he continued to fight them in the air.

"We're going down," he ordered.

He patted his mount, and the unicorn immediately dove toward the earth. Jenkins didn't wait for it to land, leaping off from a suitable height. He landed in another field. It wasn't planted with rice, but in the pitch-black night, he couldn't tell what grew there.

He planted his feet firmly on the ground. With the aid of his Titan's Power, he felt a steady, inexhaustible stream of strength flowing into him from the earth.

He put away his staff, gripping his sword with both hands. The moment the giant led the phantoms in their downward charge, Jenkins swung his holy sword toward the sky with all his might.