Failed Possession Chapter-84

## Ch-84.

—

Estor glared at the distorted structure before him.

No—this could no longer be called the exhibition hall.

A gigantic cube of dense blackness, so dark that it was impossible to see inside. The entirety of Alderan’s famed Magic Exhibition Hall was trapped within that enormous cube.

Just over ten minutes ago, Estor had been at the Havert Magic Tower. The moment he heard that a terrorist attack had occurred at the exhibition hall, he moved at once alongside the Iron Fortress.

Having only just arrived at the scene, Estor had not yet received a full report. But he could roughly guess the situation.

The power emanating from that pitch-black cube was not unfamiliar.

“Mad bastards.”

The short, middle-aged man standing near Estor trembled as he spat the words.

Guzel Havert, the Iron Fortress and Master of the Havert Magic Tower.

He was struggling to maintain his composure.

Inside that cube was his cherished disciple.

And not only that—thousands of visitors were caught within it. Worse still, today his disciple had not gone alone. He had gone with a disciple of the Dercia Magic Tower.

Lacy Yuzuha.

She was not the disciple of Heavenly Thunder, but in some sense, Guzel knew she was even closer to Heavenly Thunder than a formal disciple.

Today’s terrorist attack was like a pile of filth falling from a clear sky—and Guzel had been the one to have it dumped squarely over his head.

His shoulders shaking, Guzel thrust both hands forward.

Kugugugugung!

At his will, an immense mass of mana surged. The ground beneath the exhibition hall heaved violently.

Guzel attempted to overturn the very earth itself to shatter the cube, but even as he poured considerable force into it, the cube merely trembled. The fracture he sought did not appear.

‘It’s suppressing mana itself.’

Guzel’s face twisted.

As a Tower Master, he knew what that cube was.

Among the miracles wrought by priests who serve gods, it was one of the most troublesome and robust.

A False Sanctuary that designates space itself.

That particular sanctuary seemed heavily weighted toward repelling external intrusion.

For other Tower Masters, perhaps it would be different—but it was poorly suited to Guzel’s magic.

His epithet was Iron Fortress.

Within fortifications he constructed, he was confident he could perfectly defend against even another Tower Master or a Martial Zenith.

But siege?

That was another matter.

This was no ordinary defensive barrier. It was a False Sanctuary built upon space itself through divine miracle.

Among the Tower Masters, only a handful of archmages could possibly destroy such a thing.

“Grr…”

After grimacing and pressing against the cube with all his might, Guzel finally let out a long sigh and lowered his hands.

“How is it?”

Estor, who had been standing back with a grave expression, asked cautiously.

“It shames me to say this, but destroying that with my magic will be difficult.”

“That can’t be…!”

“It appears to be a sanctuary that embodies inviolability as a miracle. I do not know what they intend, but fewer than ten priests across all sects could construct such a sanctuary.”

Guzel ground his teeth and lifted his head.

From different directions, two groups were flying in.

The first to arrive was a carriage drawn by beautiful white horses.

Its yellow rectangular crest bore the symbol of the Earth Church.

“Oh, merciful heavens.”

As soon as the carriage door opened, a woman leapt down and clutched her head.

She was one of the priests stationed at Alderan’s temple. With the Archbishop absent, she was currently acting as the temple’s representative.

“And of all times, while the Archbishop is away…!”

The priests who descended behind her let out anguished sighs.

More priests and holy knights disembarked from the following carriage, but numbers alone would not allow them to breach a False Sanctuary erected by an evil god.

It was that powerful a miracle.

“They must have dared this madness precisely because the Archbishop is absent.”

A voice boomed from above.

From the window of a massive carriage still suspended in the air, a middle-aged man with brown skin and a stern expression leaned out, glaring at the cube.

“I never imagined they would attempt something like this in my city.”

There was only one man who could call Alderan *my city*.

Alnair Maybeld.

The head of House Maybeld, which had ruled Alderan for centuries.

He removed the glasses perched on his nose and looked down.

“So, what is the situation? How many are trapped inside?”

“Many managed to escape, but according to their statements, most of them were not in the magic hall but elsewhere.”

The commander of the city guard, sweating profusely, answered.

Alnair clicked his tongue.

“So the alchemy hall was spared entirely. What do the survivors from the magic hall say?”

“They report that a man in a large robe wearing a mask with a torn mouth suddenly appeared on the ceiling.”

“As expected. One of the Saints who serve the evil god.”

A Pride Family head would naturally possess information unknown to the public.

Even if he did not know the identities of all the Saints serving the evil god, he knew certain distinguishing traits.

“Do you know which one?” Estor asked in surprise.

Though heir to House Orsia, he had yet to receive education beyond the sword.

Alnair nodded slowly.

“One called Agwi. When operating publicly as a cultist, he always wears a mask with a torn mouth. About ten years ago, an expedition sent to an island in the Middle Sea lost half its members.”

The Middle Sea, dividing the Western and Eastern continents, was dotted with countless islands—many yet unconquered.

Both continents regularly dispatched expeditions to subdue them.

Within that vast sea and its islands, phenomena beyond human comprehension occurred as a matter of course. Even high-ranked adventurers risked their lives venturing there.

Half an expedition perishing?

Not unusual in the Middle Sea.

But in that incident ten years ago, what killed half the explorers was neither some incomprehensible anomaly nor an unknown monster.

“They say he used a grotesque authority—turning humans into trees and harvesting their souls. Manipulating souls resembles the ominous magic of Rudella Tower, but Agwi did not command them like servants. He devoured them himself.”

“How horrifying…!”

“Yes. A horrifying creature. And that creature has committed terror in my city—at an exhibition I sponsor.”

The Maybeld carriage still hovered in the sky, and Alnair’s eyes turned icy.

“Sir Guzel. Is it impossible even for your magic to destroy that False Sanctuary?”

“…I will attempt it, but it will not be easy.”

“Priests of the Earth God. And you? I understand your Archbishop is absent, but with dozens of priests present, can the Earth God’s miracle not bend that of an evil god?”

“We shall pray with utmost fervor, but… designating a sanctuary lies beyond our miracle.”

“Even for a Saint of an evil god, establishing a False Sanctuary of that scale must have exacted a great price.”

“So there is no solution.”

Alnair openly clicked his tongue and turned back into the carriage.

“And what of you?”

It was unclear whom he addressed, but after a brief silence, a reply came.

“I cannot promise certainty, but I will try. With the Iron Fortress’s magic and the Earth priests’ miracles combined, surely we can at least crack it.”

“Hmm. Then I entrust this to you. I have no desire to see my city scarred.”

Alnair’s voice softened.

The carriage door flung open, and a muscular woman with crimson hair and a greatsword strapped to her back dropped to the ground.

Estor’s eyes widened.

“Could it be… Catastrophic Tempest?”

—Kooong.

The ground trembled heavily as she landed.

One of the realms of the Martial Zenith—Catastrophic Tempest, Eleia Yudel.

A Possessor famous for killing one of the Seven Evils and replacing them during her conflict with the Demonic Cult.

In recent years her whereabouts had been unclear, and rumors had spread that she had been slain by the Demonic Cult.

‘She wasn’t introduced yesterday…?’

Estor looked up at the Maybeld carriage in shock.

Alnair smirked and shrugged.

“She is a guest of House Maybeld, but even as its head, I cannot easily command her. I told her you had visited yesterday, but she said she was not in the mood to meet.”

“I have moods too.”

Eleia slowly lifted her head and glanced at Estor.

“Yesterday, I simply wasn’t in the mood to see anyone. So don’t take offense, grandson of the Sword Emperor.”

“I take none.”

Estor bowed politely.

“I have heard much of your renown from my grandfather. It is an honor to meet you.”

“Hmph. What good things would that old Sword Emperor have said about me? Last time we met, he told me if I was going to swing a sword like that, I might as well not carry one at all.”

Eleia muttered, narrowing her green eyes.

As a Possessor, she had focused more on tempering her body and cultivating qi techniques than on swordsmanship. In her early days, she chose the blade simply to increase lethality.

Though she later trained the sword in earnest as her Rank rose, she had never satisfied the Sword Emperor’s standards.

“So, grandson of the Sword Emperor—don’t stare at my blade so intently. There’s nothing for you to learn.”

“I would never—”

“Enough modesty. Do you have comrades inside?”

“Yes. Cloud Dragon and Dark Flower.”

“We’d better save them before Agwi kills them, then?”

“There are thousands trapped inside besides them.”

Estor answered seriously.

Eleia chuckled low and nodded.

“How virtuous.”

She drew the greatsword from her back.

Calling it a sword was almost generous.

It was enormous. Thick. Heavy. Crude.

A slab of iron.

Eleia’s blade was precisely that.

Though it looked monstrously heavy, Eleia gripped the massive sword in one hand as though holding a tree branch.

—Kwarrrrrr!

Crimson aura flared, wrapping around the blade. But that was not the only thing visible to the eye. Eleia’s **Intent** merged with the surging aura, and behind her back appeared the form of a dragon straight out of legend.

“Let’s try hitting it once.”

With a low murmur, Eleia grasped the greatsword with both hands.

Kooong!

The ground caved in beneath the foot she braced against it, and the blade swung.

At the same time, the dragon flickering behind her opened its jaws wide.

“Crazy…”

Guzel’s face twisted as he immediately clapped his palms together. A solid earthen wall rose before the crowd that had retreated far back. Sensing the abnormal power, the priests of the Earth God hurriedly raised divine power to erect barriers as well.

Eleia’s strike suited the word *bombardment* more than *slash*.

Along with the blade-aura, an immense force burst from the dragon’s maw like artillery.

—Kkwaaaaaaang!

A wave of crimson slammed into the black cube, shaking it violently.

—

—

Kugugugung…

The sudden tremor forced Yuri to halt mid-step.

He looked up at the pitch-black sky with tense eyes, then scanned his surroundings. But aside from the vibration, there were no visible changes.

“They must be trying to rescue us from outside.”

Haryeong, pressed close at his side, whispered.

“…It’s probably Iron Fortress Guzel.”

Lacy, following slightly behind, muttered in response.

She did not wish to mumble—but she had no choice.

Both her cheeks were flushed red.

She understood that it couldn’t be helped.

He had said it was necessary to wake her from a forcibly induced dream. And so he had diligently slapped her.

To be honest… it had been a happy, pleasant dream she hadn’t wanted to wake from. But had she not awakened, she would have died without even realizing it. In that sense, Yuri was her savior.

‘But… wasn’t there some other method besides slapping my face…?’

As she rubbed her still-stinging cheeks with both hands, the thought inevitably arose. Still, Lacy was not so uncultured as to demand compensation after being saved from drowning.

[We could have slapped her a little more.]

[I wanted to as well, but if we had, she would’ve suspected us.]

Haryeong and Yuri exchanged voice transmissions discreetly.

Of course, there had been no need to slap her. It would have sufficed to burn away the vines with the inner power of the **Evil-Quelling Heavenly Principle Technique**.

The suggestion to slap her had been Haryeong’s.

Yuri had agreed—

simply because he wanted to slap Lacy.

“First… first, we should look for Fabian.”

Originally, Lacy had been with Fabian. But the moment the darkness moved, she had abandoned him and rushed toward Yuri.

Lacy still entertained the possibility that Yuri might be the Pad-lip Immune—or Cat Panties.

Of those two, Pad-lip Immune was suspected of being an Apostle of the Evil God.

A cultist attack. Perhaps this incident was secretly connected to Pad-lip Immune.

She had approached him to gather clear evidence—

But…

‘So… is it not him after all…?’

He had been swept into the darkness and trapped here just the same.

Then was he Cat Panties?

Or was he indeed Pad-lip Immune, but not an Apostle of the Evil God?

‘No… what if all of this is just an act to deceive me?’

Her mind swirled with suspicion.

“Shouldn’t we wake the other mages?”

“Even if we wake them, they won’t be much help. They’d just become burdens while moving.”

Lacy muttered.

“I might manage, but to cast magic while resisting this space’s suppression, one would need to be at least above 6th Rank. And 6th Rank mages aren’t common… Though if the attack happened after three, some high-Rank invited mages should’ve still been here.”

“They must’ve chosen that empty window deliberately. Are you stupid?”

Lacy’s eyebrows twitched at Yuri’s blunt reply. She swallowed the retort that surged up and slowly nodded.

“You’re right. That masked man must have judged this moment optimal.”

“He’s likely a cultist. Any idea who?”

“Why ask me? I’ve never done anything to provoke cultists.”

Lacy shot Yuri a glare thick with emotion.

“That cultist recognized you, didn’t he? I doubt this madness was solely due to a grudge against you, but you probably have some share in it.”

“That’s true.”

The quick admission made Lacy’s eyes widen.

Yuri, unconcerned by her stare, murmured calmly:

“That’s why we’re moving now.”

The masked man was clearly at least bishop-level.

If Yuri confronted him now, he’d have to worry about his own life rather than subduing him.

Even knowing that, he couldn’t remain idle. Since they were trapped here anyway, hiding was meaningless. They needed to grasp the situation while the man was out of sight.

—Kuuung…

Another tremor reverberated.

Lacy bit her lip, her eyes scanning nervously.

‘To think they’d dare such a bold attack in the heart of a metropolis like Alderan. Cultists truly are insane.’

It seemed those outside were pounding away desperately to rescue them—but aside from the tremors, nothing changed.

“…I think he’s likely one of those called Saints in the Evil God’s sect.”

After studying Yuri’s face briefly, Lacy spoke.

“First of all, this space wasn’t created by magic alone.”

Even with her extensive magical knowledge, she could barely comprehend it. Mana was being held down heavily—as though new laws had been inscribed upon space itself.

To dominate a space of this scale meant the opponent was on par with a Tower Master.

‘And simultaneously handling a powerful barrier that denies external intrusion?’

Such magic might exist—but the opponent was not a pure mage.

A cultist.

This space must be reinforced by divine power—a miracle.

Judging by the divine force and miracle at work, he was undoubtedly one of the so-called “Saints” of the Chaos Cult.

“My judgment isn’t infallible, but the wooden vines that bound us weren’t magic either. It would be more accurate to call it Divine Authority—God’s Grace bestowed upon high-ranking clergy.”

“What’s Divine Authority?”

“It’s the equivalent of a high-Rank martial artist’s Deified Intent, or a grand mage’s Heaven-Reversal Ideal.”

Lacy’s voice grew stronger—perhaps pleased to show off her knowledge.

“All transcend humanity, but they’re not the same. Divine Authority is power granted by a real god. Well… I won’t say which is superior, but wouldn’t power cultivated by oneself—like Deified Intent or Heaven-Reversal Ideal—be superior to something granted?”

“Can you use Heaven-Reversal Ideal, Lacy-nim?”

“Do you think I can use something that one barely touches only upon reaching 7th Rank?”

“I can’t use Martial Intent either.”

Yuri slowly surveyed the surroundings.

“We’re seriously fucked.”

“Ahem…”

Lacy’s expression crumpled.

They had deduced that the space and vines were Divine Authority.

But that was all.

They still didn’t know its purpose.

Why bind the hostages in vines and make them dream? With power of this magnitude, slaughter would be easy. Why create a barrier? Why not kill them outright?

What was the goal of this hostage situation?

Or was it even a hostage situation?

“…Above.”

Yuri stopped advancing and stared upward.

The black ceiling rippled. Its hue slowly shifted. Within the darkness, one area deepened into a thicker shadow.

It looked like a long, torn scar.

‘A rift?’

The instant the word formed in his mind, goosebumps crawled across his skin.

“Is it possible to artificially create a rift?”

“H–huh?”

Lacy stammered at the abrupt question.

“I… I’m not sure. A rift is where the Evil God’s divine power accumulates strong— My God.”

She understood.

A rift was where the Evil God’s power pooled intensely.

Earlier, the cultist had poured immense divine power into summoning the finger of something not of this world. The last thing anyone saw was that finger’s nail dragging through empty space.

If that finger belonged to the Evil God—and divine power had been inscribed through it—

Then an artificial rift was not impossible.

“Is that mad Saint offering the hostages as sacrifices to the Evil God to artificially create a rift?”

“That’s not it.”

A dull voice reverberated through the space.

“There’s no need to offer sacrifices for something like this.”

The man in the torn-mouth mask walked out through the wall.