Chapter 1519: Siege of the Tower
(...You are now gazing at the very origin of the Specter Valley Planet...)
"What are you talking about?" Robin held his breath, his chest tightening, already expecting what she’s about to say.
(Heh~ Didn’t it ever cross your mind that a planet where specters never run out no matter how many are hunted is a bit... unnatural? Suspicious? Specters were once living beings, Owner. They were creatures of flesh and blood, with beginnings and inevitable ends. Nothing living is endless. Nothing. So why do they never run out here?) Nery let out a heavy, sorrowful sigh that echoed in his mind like chains scraping against stone. (The reason... lies right before your eyes.)
Robin’s expression darkened, veins standing out on his temples. "So there is nothing divine, nothing miraculous about this cursed place? They’re just... manufacturing specters, endlessly, as if forging weapons in a furnace?!" His lips curled in fury, his teeth grinding. "To what lengths can those bastards push their tyranny, their blasphemy against life itself?!"
(I don’t believe they view it as tyranny...) Nery’s voice dropped low, filled with disdain. She shook her head within his perception, then peered more closely at the altar through his eyes. (To them it is nothing more than a logical arrangement. They desire a resource to make the planet eternally desirable, eternally profitable. They own a sea of slaves to fuel their trade empire. Add one to one, and the result is two. Their decision was made with the simplicity of a merchant balancing a ledger.)
Robin’s claws scraped the ground as his anger built. "That simple? That hollow?!" His narrowed eyes glimmered with killing intent.
(Yes, that simple!) Nery’s tone hardened, striking like iron. (If they sold those slaves directly to buyers, they would fetch a meager price—hardly worth the effort. But here, inside this cursed machine of a planet, they exploit them to extract colossal entrance fees, or to harvest countless Soul Emeralds for their sole gain. Converting them into wandering souls is far more lucrative—an obscene profit with no equal.)
She continued relentlessly, each word cutting like a blade. (This is the pure fruit of worshiping causality—cause and effect without conscience, without soul. To them, nothing is sacred. Things happen because the equation says so, not because of right or wrong. You cannot reason with them about the sanctity of life, the wails of the dying, or the agony of the innocent. They recognize none of that. Compassion, empathy, mercy—those are illusions in their eyes. Their hearts are engines that only calculate outcomes, profit, loss.
)Even Nery, calm as she usually was, sounded furious now. (In their view, whether a soul is caged in flesh, drifting free, or condensed into mere units—there is no difference. It is all the same substance reshaped. The screams of the victims are nothing but resistance to the inevitable change of state, like water boiling to steam. And, in time, they believe even that resistance fades—their victims will ’adjust’ to their new existence soon enough.)
She pointed sharply at the man holding the blade by the altar. (That man... look at him. Perhaps he even expects gratitude from those he butchers—gratitude for ’liberating’ them from flesh, for turning their slavery into a new form of servitude. Perhaps their screams and curses irritate him. Perhaps he feels slighted by their hatred. But in the end, he does not care. He will keep cutting, keep offering them to the altar, because he was ordered to. That is the truth behind the lifeless boredom on all their faces. This is the cold logic of causality’s followers.)
Her voice faltered into silence for a heartbeat, before she added, softer yet darker. (And yet... they could have chosen simpler methods. They could have drowned their victims in a vast pool, or burned them alive in pits, and it would still feed their cycle. But that tower—look closely at it. It is not ordinary. Something in its presence speaks of a purpose beyond mere slaughter. Perhaps they are trying to extract double, triple the benefit from this ritual. Perhaps it is a greater experiment. I cannot see it clearly, but its aura is far from natural.)
Crack!
Robin’s fist clenched so tightly his knuckles bled. This revelation did not calm him—it poured oil on the flames. His hatred, his disgust, his boundless loathing for this organization surged to new heights, a storm inside his chest that screamed for release.
He extended his hand, body trembling with rage, stepping forward despite the weight in his heart.
(What do you think you are doing?!) Nery’s cry reverberated in the domain, sharp and desperate.
"I cannot stand still! I cannot just watch while this nightmare continues. If I turn my back now, I will regret it for the rest of my life. If I let this pass, I will despise myself more than I despise them!!" Robin’s claws dug into the dirt, tearing it apart.
One voice within told him this was not his battle. But another, stronger, louder voice roared—that the strength he had carved out through endless trials, the power he had bled for, must be used for something righteous, for something good—today.
BOOOOOOOOOOM
Suddenly, the ground quaked. A thunderous explosion ripped the air, this time dangerously close, shaking the altar and rattling the captives’ chains.
"You insane whore!!" The Nexus State expert in the red cloak bellowed in fury as he stumbled backward, eyes blazing, his rage erupting like a volcano.
"...?!" Robin immediately fell silent and slipped back into concealment, every muscle tensing as he tried to melt into the shadows.
In that very moment, the defensive wall shrank again toward the tower, and from the front the Shepherdess strode forth, encircled by a tide of tens of thousands of specters. The sheer scale of the horde created a vision both majestic and terrifying, a black sea of hatred. "Heheh~ This whore here will bring the tower crashing down on your skulls today."
"Silence! Do you even know who you are opposing?!" The Nexus State man in the red cloak swung his arm, his aura exploding violently, his voice cracking like thunder. "Do you have any idea what we are capable of unleashing upon you?!"
"I know enough," the Shepherdess answered coldly. "The specters themselves have complained to me, whispering of the injustice and torment they endured in this wretched place. That is more than enough reason." She spun her parasol several times, the playful smile on her lips fading into grim determination. "This planet will be returned to its rightful heirs—the specters. It will become a sanctuary, a safe haven for every soul within it. I will not allow you to continue swelling the number of the damned. You will depart today, and you will never return."
"Damn you!! Still prattling those slogans?!" The man in the red cloak’s voice turned into a roar that shook the stones underfoot. "All your meddling in other specter planets was one thing. But this—this is different. By this act you carve the final lines of your existence!!" He thrust a finger at her like a blade. "Do you think you can banish us, destroy the gateway, and then simply reset the coordinates with your planetary displacement gear like you always do? Do you even realize the power you are defying?!"
"Tell that to someone who cares." The Shepherdess raised her parasol toward the tower, her voice ringing like a commandment. "Bring down the symbol of hatred."
"Shaaaaaaaaaaaaakhhh~~!"
The order struck like a spark to a powder keg. Tens of thousands of specters surged forward at once, including the generals who had been standing silently behind her until this moment. Their eyes ignited with an otherworldly blaze, filled with bloodthirst and wrath beyond measure. The earth quaked under their charge, and the air itself trembled. R
obin’s eyes widened—he had never seen anything so overwhelming, so violently unified.
"Oi, oi, oi... what’s happening here?" The man with the knife scratched his head lazily, as if irritated by the noise rather than threatened by the apocalypse forming around him. "How the hell am I supposed to keep working with all this pointless chatter?"
"Get over here and fight, you idiot!!" The Nexus State expert in the red cloak bellowed toward him, his voice cracking under the strain.
Boom!Boom!Boom!
The ground erupted as the two sides collided, shockwaves tearing through the battlefield. With no ground left to retreat to, the man in the red cloak and his followers threw themselves into the fight with brutal ferocity. Even the knife-bearer and the ship’s captain joined the clash from the start, hacking and slashing violently.
Each strike tore apart dozens of specters, spectral bodies shattering and fading into smoke—but the fighters did not emerge unscathed. Robin noticed that none of them were escaping without being struck again and again. The specters’ claws, fangs, and spectral flames grazed them relentlessly.
Then Robin’s sharp eyes caught it: with every touch, a faint glow flared and vanished around their bodies, a thin veil that shimmered like broken glass. He narrowed his gaze. "These are soul borrowings from a Royal Soul Master... protective enchantments etched into their bodies and souls." His tone grew grim. "...But the enemy’s numbers are far too vast. If this continues, the spells will collapse under the strain. When that happens, a single touch will be enough to bring the symptoms of corruption."
His eyes shifted to the Shepherdess. She stood at the center of the chaos, her parasol gleaming like a banner of war, fighting with an unyielding aura that infected the specters with unbreakable will. Robin’s brows furrowed as his heart wavered. "She’s fighting to the last breath... or rather, to the very last specter." He clenched his jaw. "...But doesn’t that... contradict her purpose?"