Chapter 1522: Request

Chapter 1522: Request

Ba-dum

Robin’s heart hammered violently against his chest.

The haunting image of Mila struggling to escape the giants... the memory of Arkalon desperately fighting for his life against the assassins... Two visions, two dreams in the same day—identical circumstances, identical despair, identical end.

And now, before his very eyes, that same dreadful pattern was playing out in reality.

(Owner, are you alright?!) Nery’s voice rang urgently inside him, sharp with worry. She could feel his spiritual domain spiraling out of control, disturbed by the violent tremors of his soul. He had just been struck with a psychological blow so fierce it cracked through his composure.

"No... no, I am not alright!!" Robin hissed, his tone heavy, his voice low but shaking with emotion. His gaze locked on Morgana, following every desperate inch of her slow retreat, watching the terror carved into her expression as she realized her fate was to be turned into a specter.

He could feel her anguish as if it were his own, the same way he had felt Mila’s hopelessness, the same way he had felt Arkalon’s despair.

What was this? A coincidence? Or a message from the very laws of existence themselves? Had the ominous premonition he had pursued for so long finally begun to evolve into something tangible—into a force that showed him glimpses of destiny before it unfolded?

But if so... what was he meant to do in such a moment? Stand aside, or intervene?

"Hey, Morgana, tell me..." a voice slithered through the air as another Nexus State cultivator descended, encircling her like a predator cornering prey. His steps were slow, deliberate, mocking. "...was your tale of origin real? Or just a legend you fabricated to cover the truth?"

"My origin is none of your concern! My name is none of your concern! Just kill me already!!" The Shepherdess roared, though her voice cracked, betraying the despair under her defiance.

"Heh..." sneered the red-cloaked, shaggy-haired Nexus State as he hovered down, his presence oppressive, "I’ve heard the story. After the great massacre of the Imperial Delivarin family, when the invaders turned the entire planet into a graveyard with their mass destruction weapons, only one girl survived—the youngest daughter of the bloodline. They say her father sealed her inside a hidden vault in the very last moments of the war, locking her away as the empire fell."

"

"Is it true, then?" A curious World Cataclysm powerhouse descended, circling her like a vulture over a dying carcass. "That you lived for a thousand years, feeding only on the treasures stored within that vault? That every day, the divine relics of your empire warped your flesh, reshaping you into something unnatural?" He chuckled, cruel and cold. "And your mind—rotting slowly, screaming into silence—was driven ever closer to madness, with nothing but the specters of your slaughtered kin to keep you company?"

"You know nothing!!" Morgana lashed out with her voice, waving her arm violently as if to banish their words, her eyes restless, darting in wild defiance.

"We know enough," another intruder laughed, his tone like the grinding of bone. "Investigators came from countless sects and empires, chasing your shadow through the centuries. Every one of them agreed after examining that vault—your story is true. The negative energy that smothered that ruined world accumulated until it became unbearable, transforming the planet into a monstrous specter farm. Billions perished in that calamity... and every last soul was twisted into a specter. Including your family."

"According to your short-lived legend," another voice mocked, "the specters of your family retirned to the vault, brushing against you, whispering, reshaping your soul domain just as your body twisted with each cursed treasure you devoured. Tell us—was it agony to see their twisted faces every waking moment? To feel their hands claw at you night and day? Did they speak to you, or were they hollow, incomplete husks?"

"Tsk, tsk~" Another Nexus State dropped from the sky, shaking his head as if in pity, though his eyes glittered with cruel delight. "The Delivarin line was never known for strong souls. Of course your family’s specters must have been incomplete—mute shadows, unable to speak, unable to comfort you. Imagine it: centuries imprisoned in darkness, surrounded by grotesque shades that reached for you endlessly, never leaving you alone. And the worst part?" He smirked coldly. "They were your family."

By now, Morgana’s mighty specter army had been reduced to almost nothing. What little remained were no longer soldiers of war, but toys—playthings for the members of the Hand of Shadows Syndicate, distractions for them to vent their cruelty and pass the time.

"Hmm, it’s said that after thousands of years in that wretched state, once she had grown powerful enough to bend her family’s specters to her will, she commanded them to shatter the vault from the inside. She escaped at last, and from that day forth began claiming she could commune with specters, declaring herself their liberator, weaving tales of freedom and redemption... all those pitiful lies."

"Hah! I for one believe the investigators inflated the story. They turned scraps of rumor into a legend because legends sell well—they spread like wildfire, easy to romanticize." A distant World Cataclysm stroked his beard, his eyes glittering. "In truth, I’d wager she simply unearthed some forbidden soul techniques—methods to control specters. And the myths she cloaks herself in? Nothing but a convenient excuse to justify plundering planets, setting up hidden specter farms, building her ghost army, and racing through the violet-star ranks at a speed no ordinary cultivator could hope to match."

"Well, well... this is her final chance, isn’t it?" A high-level Nexus State smiled wickedly, his words ringing with false generosity. "Morgana, if your ability is nothing but techniques—teach them to us. Hand them over, and I will guarantee your survival. More than that—I’ll grant you another planet to ’liberate’ however you see fit!"

"Pfah!" Morgana spat at the ground beside her, the rejection etched plainly in her expression.

"That wasn’t very polite!" A World Cataclysm chuckled cruelly from behind her—then his blade drove forward without hesitation.

"Aaaaahhh!!" Morgana’s scream split the battlefield as steel tore into her back, its gleaming tip bursting grotesquely from her abdomen, blood raining down her tattered robes.

"...!!"

Robin’s eyes flared wide, shock freezing him in place. Death by impalement... this exact end, this precise detail—he had seen it before, in his dream of Arkalon!

(What are you waiting for?! You must leave at once!) Nery’s voice shrieked in his head, filled with panic. (If you remain until this girl breathes her last, catastrophe will descend upon you too!)

"But..." Robin’s fists clenched so tightly his bones creaked. Was this it? Did the Master Law of Causality truly drag me across the stars, make me witness these dreams, just so I could stand idle and retreat when the moment came?

Yes, he could intervene. His power was sufficient. But the price would be catastrophic—alienating the Hand of Shadows, painting a target on himself larger than any he had borne before. Was it worth the peril?

A storm brewed behind his eyes. For long seconds he said nothing—until, finally, resolve carved itself onto his features. His jaw tightened, his right hand stretching forward slowly, deliberately.

He would do it.

If risking the wrath of the Hand of Shadows was the cost of glimpsing deeper into the truth of the Sovereign Law of Causality, then he would pay it. The All-Seeing god himself had warned him: Causality is the sharpest blade to wield against Sevar.

Rumble...

At that instant, Robin felt the fabric of space beside him shiver violently, as though reality itself had rippled. His heartbeat stuttered, his chest constricting.

Did they notice me?!

Slowly—achingly slowly—he turned his head toward the disturbance, bracing for death, or worse.

But instead of a warrior or executioner, he found something wholly different.

A girl. Small—no older than five. Her body was painfully frail, a skeleton wrapped in the thinnest veil of flesh. Her face was hollow, gaunt, the cheeks sunken as though drained of life. She looked like a specter herself—yet not quite. For her body was composed not of decayed matter, but of compressed wind, faint currents spiraling within her limbs, as though she was woven from living air itself.

Her eyes, though large and dark, carried no malice—only sorrow, and a desperation so raw it made Robin’s chest tighten. She looked at him not as an emperor, not as a predator, but as the last faint hope she might cling to.

The little girl raised her head, her translucent hair flickering like strands of mist, and her trembling lips parted.

"Please..." her voice was as fragile as a breeze, yet it pierced Robin’s very soul. "Do something. She is the only one who ever cared for me... the only one who thought of my fate. Don’t let her be twisted into a specter."

Tears shimmered in her spectral eyes as she inched closer, her small hands clasped together in supplication. "I beg you... grant her a swift death instead. Spare her that torment. And I swear upon my existence—I will make it worth your while."