Chapter 1247: A Bloody Message

Chapter 1247: A Bloody Message

Sorothom shuddered, unable to prevent the fluctuation in his aura.

"What is it?" Eisorn spat.

"It's nothing, sir," Sorothom said, arduously stifling his anger. He was the Founding Pope of the Kan'Tanu yet forced to grovel like a servant. "Moro is struggling against the restraints. And with the expenditure of setting up the nodes for the ritual..."

Eisorn looked at Sorothom for a few moments before scoffing. Still, he took out a red-and-black braid, which greatly surprised Sorothom. It looked like his handler was anxious enough to dip into his own stock, going so far as to take out a [Selfless Braid] that only B-grade Heart Elders could fashion.

Sorothom was just an acolyte when breaking off from the main sect, but he knew just how expensive they were. It wasn't just a matter of having the money, either. Heart Elders were rare, and creating a braid was both time-consuming and taxing. A Reincarnator would have to 'assist' in their experiments or accomplish deadly tasks to even get their foot through the door. Unfortunately, Eisorn was likely spared that torment, being the leader of their covert mission.

"This is the only one. If you still can't hold it together until our mission is accomplished, then our promises won't matter. The true mantras won't save you if you can't regain the ground you've lost. You will fall from the defense, and your companion isn't qualified to ascend on its own."

"It's just a temporary setback," Sorothom assured. "I've spent too much time in the graveyard, and some of the turbulence has seeped into—"

"I'm not interested," Eisorn cut him off. "Your ineptitude let the Empyrean Throne escape. If you further harm our undertaking with your instability... "

"It won't happen," Sorothom assured the Black Heart Hall Master.

Sorothom's expression was ingratiating, only a hint of resentment from being made an assistant to a measly Early Monarch leaking through. Eisorn might be a Reincarnator, but that wasn't enough to bridge the chasm to someone who'd prepared for their Dao Confirmation for eons. Not to mention, Sorothom was the Kan'Tanu Pope with trillions of citizens under his banner.

Eisorn delighted in suppressing his frontier cousins, especially those stronger than him. Sorothom had almost control for real from the many times this haughty bastard had waved his Curse Authority in his face.

What would Eisorn think if he found out it was all a guise? Sorothom's avatar was madly laughing inside his world as he looked at the ancient array disk in his hand. It was this thing that had started his long, unsuccessful search in the graveyard. For the first time, it was releasing a low hum after connecting with its Mother Array.

The Intersector War had come like a blessing from above just as he'd given up any hope of ever finding where the disk led. Sorothom could instead ascend using a grand sacrificial array by using the war as fuel. The joy was short-lived. His carefully arranged tapestry was torn asunder just before he'd make his move, returning him to square one.

He had been reluctant to accept the Black Heart Sect's offer, holding onto a lingering hope the graveyard's nexus would show itself now that fate was reaching its Zenith. It was at that time he received the message that changed everything. Sorothom had been skeptical throughout, but everything was happening just like it said.

There was hope yet.

The next hours were critical. There couldn't be any mistakes, and Sorothom couldn't let his taskmaster know an extraordinary opportunity had appeared nearby. Thankfully, Eisorn was fully absorbed with ensuring their preparations were up to standard. What they were about to do was liable to draw the attention of the Ruthless Heavens and, by extension, those who could catch glimpses of its operations.

They couldn't have that. The Black Heart Sect had been suppressed to the point they couldn't even get a seat at the table, forcing them to sneak in through a hidden pathway from the Eternal Storm. The orthodox factions would band together if they realized what they were up to.

The Heaven-obscuring platform was already active, and thousands of Stygian Anchors had stabilized the area. The storms of the inner Imperial Graveyard were redirected by their aura, forming a vast, stable region. Everything was prepared for the next step.

"Activate the Fate Severance," Eisorn ordered.

The Hall Master's subordinates obeyed without a word, and a wall of separation isolated fate and Karma of the one thousand Hegemons spread across the Heaven-obscuring platform. Whatever actions took place within would be no concern of the Heavens, and it wouldn't implicate the observers outside who'd arranged everything.

"The children are ready," the Blood Priest said from his altar, his toothless mouth curved upward in a raving smile.

Sorothom could smell the stench of putrid blood and fell Karma from his position. He really didn't miss these lunatics, even if they were necessary to bring out the full potential of the Black Heart Rituals.

"Strength is the only creed of the Black Heart Sect," Eisorn said, his voice echoing through the region. "Prove yourself worthy. Turn the weak into fuel for your ascension. Begin the ritual."

Rivers of blood poured onto the etched plateau as the pawns fought for their lives, slaughtering and being slaughtered by their brothers and sisters. The platform was only two miles across, making the desperation and ferocity far greater than during a traditional ritual that utilized whole dozens of miles of varied terrain. There was no scheming, no planning, no time to set up an ambush. There were enemies breathing down their necks from every direction, and it was only kill or be killed.

All the while, Eisorn's fingers twitched within his sleeves. His actions might seem innocuous to others, but they couldn't fool Sorothom's experienced gaze. The Hall Master was subtly influencing the flow of battle, ensuring none of his picks ended up with a seal early. Instead, it was the elites Sorothom had mustered that were the 'lucky' ones to find seals in the chests of their enemies.

"You're immune—" Eisorn gasped. "That's impossible!"

"Nothing is impossible, sir," Sorothom grinned as his fist clenched, unleashing a wave of destruction thattore apart the Black Heart Elder's inner world and scattered its pieces into the void.

A narrow-minded fool like Eisorn would never understand how a frontier cultivator could overcome their methods, and there was no point in explaining. The things he'd discovered in the depths might not have been enough to become a Divine Monarch, but they had given him certain unique advantages.

"Lunatic," Eisorn wheezed while leaking life and strength like a sieve. "The Black Heart Sect knows what happened here. You will not get what you seek."

"Is that so?" Sorothom leered, grabbing the crippled Monarch by his throat. "I'm tired of hearing from you. Use your life to appease the River of Fate."

Sorothom exhaled, releasing a swarm of critters that burrowed into Eisorn's body. He twitched from pain, but the [Lifelink Beetles] wouldn't let him die. Sorothom tore off one of his fingers and used it to draw a series of bloody runes on the Hall Master's chest. Karma became tainted, and most of Sorothom's blame for interfering with the seals was placed on Eisorn's shoulders.

A wave of hollow exhaustion almost made Sorothom collapse. He'd offset too much, too many times. Longevity aside, he wasn't long for the world if he couldn't advance and seize more providence. Today had to be worth it.

Every single cultist atop the platform had been reduced to blood by the time Sorothom had dealt with Eisorn's subordinates outside. The toxic rain had indiscriminately swept through their ranks. Not even Sorothom's grand disciple was spared. What were such fragile bonds worth before the Grand Dao and his pursuits?

Sorothom waved his sleeve, and hundreds of engraved heads flew toward the plateau. Each took its position following the provided pattern. Meanwhile, dozens of hooded warriors emerged from one of the seized Cosmic Vessels, with no signs of the brands that were supposed to seal them. They flew toward the platform, but a snort from Sorothom stopped them in their tracks.

"Have we done something to displease Your Eminence?"

Sorothom turned to the source of the question. "Not at all. Neither have you made me very happy."

"Our Lord's message should have proven accurate for Your Eminence to strike," the Imperial Envoy said. "The next step—"

"Where is that shifty little princeling, anyhow?" Sorothom said with a raised brow. "He doesn't strike me as one to hold back when presented with such a spread."

"He is fulfilling his part of the agreement, waiting on our end," she answered with a bow. "The seals will soon disappear unless our people are let through the curtain. As we agreed upon, the seals will be claimed by our side."

"I remember. But I'm still not seeing your end of the bargain. Where is it?"

"A blank Writ of Peerage, as promised," the Envoy said, displaying an archaic scroll teeming with power. "Beware, should your condition be exposed—"

"I know, you'll wash your hands off me," Sorothom said.

The warning was unnecessary. There was no way he'd settle down in the Seventh Heaven after this. He was a loose thread and an unsavory character. He'd be lucky to last the day. The writ could, however, be traded for similar status elsewhere, where his identity wasn't known.

Sorothom's eyes gleamed with greed upon seeing they'd actually complied with his demand, and he had to fight the instincts to seize it by force. He could slaughter these imperials with a wave of his sleeve, but doing so risked ruining the real prize. Having the writ was useless if he let the opportunity to break through slip away.

It was Yvin Tobrial who had approached him with a plan, even providing schematics only Sorothom knew about, schematics he'd seen when finding the daughter array in the core of the Imperial Graveyard. The princeling seemed to know almost as much as Sorothom, including some details he hadn't managed to piece together.

Yvin's message was simple. The infernal brat who'd ruined Sorothom's plans was gunning for the same thing as he, and he even had the key. However, that would become his downfall. Reaching his destination would awaken the base, which Sorothom's Daughter Array had confirmed. It was no longer a fool's hope to find it.

However, it was ultimately a clandestine base created by the Limitless Empire. Knowing where it was only solved half the problem. Reaching it without the key was impossible for him, let alone the little princeling. They needed someone else to create a path, which was where the ritual came in. The Stygian Anchors were never meant to look for seals. They were meant to amplify a signal while stabilizing space enough to let it reach its distant destination.

The engraved heads altered the arrays engraved on the Heaven-obscuring platform, allowing it to fully connect with the Stygian Anchors. A concentrated pulse holding the aura of the Left Imperial Palace shot toward a distant location, a seemingly normal storm formation full of spatial tears and resentment.

Only an experienced traveler in the graveyard would notice there was something different about it, something dangerous. They weren't normal rifts. They were tears leading to the cracks between realities.

The message had been sent. Now, they only needed to wait for the answer.