Summoning Ritual (Part 2)
The rebel leader was in dire straits.
His internal organs, already wounded, were steeped in the corrosive gastric juices of the creature, rotting away in a vile decay.
The potent anesthetic properties of the viscous liquid could paralyze even the strongest of superhumans.
Under normal circumstances, someone of the rebel leader’s caliber might have escaped on his own—if he hadn’t been injured.
“A formidable opponent. He might have even established a small domain.”
Dalen sharpened his senses, trying to grasp the man’s essence.
As he retrieved the body, his intuition, honed over countless battles, allowed him to faintly perceive the shadow of the dying man’s spirit.
[You have recovered the body of the Swamp Wraith’s guide. You inherit his abilities.]
[Inheritance Reward: +2 to Perception, Phantom Slayer of the Dark Moon]
“Revenge… must…”
Thud.
The leader’s head fell, his eyes filled with unfulfilled vengeance, never closing.
Dalen, hands in his pockets, looked down at the fallen rebel leader.
Before dying, the man had spilled everything about the rebels’ plight. No torture was needed.
Betrayed by his comrades, he had been desperate to unburden his soul to someone.
“So, there’s infighting among the rebels.”
Dalen scratched his chin.
Infighting wasn’t unusual. The rebels called themselves the “Guardians of the Seven Crowns.”
They supported seven candidates for the throne, forming a coalition of seven factions.
With the mercenary Dalen had dealt with in the labyrinth gone, six candidates remained.
These six factions, holding real power, had split into two camps, constantly at odds for years.
“One of them must have struck the other this time.”
The rebel leader’s tale was this: among the party sent to summon a demon, there were two elders from a rival faction.
“In the Guardians of the Seven Crowns, an elder is essentially the highest authority.”
Unlike the symbolic heirs, these elders wielded real power and might.
Disguised as ordinary warriors, they revealed their true identities on the third floor of the labyrinth and ambushed the opposing faction.
Six died in the attack, leaving fewer than ten rebels. In a way, it was a stroke of luck.
“If only those madmen hadn’t concocted such a plan.”
Two elders had risked descending into the labyrinth. Their goal was no trivial matter.
The rebel leader’s account confirmed Dalen’s worst fears.
An event that had occurred fewer than ten times in hundreds of cycles.
And when it did, it brought about the downfall of the Northern Tsarist Kingdom within three months.
“The summoning of the demon Calchas.”
Calchas, one of the nine thrones under Enaxagous, was a demon of immense power.
Master of infinite chains and frost, a trapper with thousands of hounds at his feet, each rivaling a high-level monster.
Even his avatar could shake the fate of the Tsarist Kingdom, and now he was to manifest in his true form.
“This isn’t just the Tsarist Kingdom’s problem. The City Alliance will be affected too.”
And any blow to the City Alliance would inevitably impact the labyrinth city of Falcion, the last bastion of humanity, barely a year past the tutorial’s end.
“This must be stopped.”
Dalen sheathed his axe at his waist. He summoned an immortal demon to guard the five agents by the lake.
“What? I’m not fully recovered yet…”
“You can at least buy us some time as a meat shield. Besides, there shouldn’t be any monsters left around here.”
After silencing the grumbling demon with a chain, Dalen headed back to the lake.
“Summoning a demon’s true form is no easy feat.”
Opening the gates of hell alone required dozens of sacrifices, and summoning a proper demon increased that number tenfold.
For a demon as powerful as Calchas, thousands would need to die in agony.
Even for a rebel elder, such a plan would require meticulous preparation.
“The ritual must be nearing completion.”
The best scenario was to stop the summoning ritual itself.
But with the core of the wraiths already taken, there was no way to halt the ritual.
Thus, a contingency plan was needed to intervene in the process and twist the outcome.
And as with all spells, the best way to alter a spell’s result was with another spell of the same nature.
Ssshhh…
Drawing the dagger he had received from the demon, Dalen stepped into the creature’s stomach.
Toxic fumes rose, the stench of rotting monsters suffocating.
Though the creature was dead, its stomach was still filled with decaying life forms.
And such agonizing deaths were the perfect fuel for dark magic.
Ssshhh…!
Like a predator eyeing its prey, the blood-red blade of the dagger began to hum ominously.
The group marched with urgency. Time was of the essence.
Normally, summoning Calchas would take at least a week, given the scale of the ritual.
But after hearing the rebel leader’s testimony, Sasha was certain the timeline had been drastically shortened.
“Summoning a demon’s true form is something only the most radical rebels would consider. And though it’s not widely known, the radical elders are all skilled dark mages.”
A single skilled dark mage could conduct a ritual far faster and more precisely than ten mediocre ones.
The rebel party had not one, but two such mages.
Moreover, the ritual site was a sanctuary chosen by the demon himself, meaning the ritual would take less than three days, not a week.
The group left the injured and some of their forces at a temporary camp, taking only the fittest agents.
The local ecosystem had been devastated by the swamp wraiths, so there would be no monster attacks for a while.
Dalen, Sienna, Bjorn, and twenty special agents traveled day and night, reaching the cave before a day had passed.
The cave where the sanctuary for the demon summoning ritual was said to be.
Inside the cave, darkness reigned.
The swamp’s putrid water trickled through the cracks in the rocks, and the stalactites on the ceiling were covered in a thick layer of dark red moss.
“That’s Styria moss, native to the labyrinth. It’s used as a powerful antidote.”
“Is that so?”
“When dried, it can fetch a gold coin per small box. The finely ground powder is considered a luxury tea among nobles.”
“We should gather some on our way out.”
Dalen chuckled. There was no reason not to pick up gold lying on the ground, no matter how wealthy one was.
Glancing back, he saw the special agents’ faces were tense, their expressions taut in the flickering torchlight.
“Ahem, no wonder explorers are rich. I should seize this opportunity too, haha!”
Even the veterans were trying to ease the tension with idle chatter.
“I should take a box too. My fiancée would love it.”
“Yes, my mother hasn’t been well lately. I should brew some for her.”
…They didn’t need to tempt fate like that.
Dalen shook his head slightly and looked ahead. The cave’s darkness deepened.
The shadows seemed to encroach on the torchlight, a living darkness.
This was no ordinary darkness; it was the residue of dark magic.
“A foreboding wind blows. I smell iron.”
“I feel a chill too. I thought I was immune to the cold.”
Even Bjorn and Sasha, relatively strong, sensed something amiss. Sienna, walking ahead with Dalen, responded.
“It’s the influence of Calchas’s hell, the Chain Throne. The summoning ritual is almost complete.”
“Seems that way.”
Dalen stopped. He naturally drew his axe.
With a swift flick of his wrist, the axe vanished into the darkness.
Crack—Boom!
A moment later, the sound of the axe striking something solid was followed by a burst of blue flames in the distance.
“Heh heh heh, so that’s why Lord Calchas ordered Melinda’s Shield prepared.”
Before them stood a massive waterfall. Or rather, a powerful magical barrier, cascading silently like a waterfall.
The barrier blocked the entrance to a vast chamber, clearly a ward to keep intruders out.
And the sinister laughter from beyond the barrier left no doubt about the identity of the old man.
Click!
Sasha, having already taken aim, pulled the trigger of her rifle.
Bang—Ratatatat!
Following her lead, twenty muzzles erupted in unison, creating a web of fire.
Crackle!
But the bullets lost their momentum and fell as soon as they crossed the barrier.
It was like a steel marble tossed by a child.
“Hahaha! You think you can break through my domain, the Verdant Veil, with such a toy?”
The old man laughed heartily, while Sasha scowled deeply.
“The Verdant Veil? Then you must be Elder Basten…”
“In that sense, warrior, your strike was truly impressive. If it weren’t for the artifact I had prepared, my life would have ended here.”
Ignoring the enforcer’s words, the old man tapped the axe embedded in the shield with his staff.
Dalen rested a hand on his belt, his gaze fixed beyond the old man’s shoulder.
The darkness, impenetrable to the naked eye, was likely due to the influence of the veil. Even with his magical sight, Dalen struggled to discern clear images.
Yet, the faint outlines of eight figures and the massive magic circle between them told him one thing: behind the elder of the rebels, a ritual to summon a demon was nearing its climax, and the old man was stalling for time to ensure its completion.
“So, what now? Your most crucial move has failed. What will you try next? A lightning-spewing holy sword? Armor of flames? Or perhaps…”
“Enough with the chatter.”
Thwack!
The axe, pulled from the shield, sliced through the air. Despite the barrier’s formidable resistance, the hand axe returned safely to Dalen’s grasp.
“Another throw? Haha, even after witnessing its ineffectiveness, you try again. Such barbaric ignorance. But our family’s treasure, Melinda’s Feather Shield, is…”
Whoosh—
The axe flew once more, this time without a sound.
It bypassed the space, leaping over the veil. The shield, sensing the threat, deployed, but the axe, unbound by the veil’s power, sliced through it like butter.
“Ugh…”
A dark sorcerer, an axe lodged in his head, toppled backward. As the veil dissipated, Dalen stepped forward.
With the darkness gone, a vast chamber was revealed, its walls, ceiling, and floor densely inscribed with dark blue symbols and glyphs.
The unmasked resonance of magic filled the chamber, the metallic tang and biting cold pricking the skin like a tangible malice.
“Hmm. Didn’t see that coming.”
In the center, an old woman standing at the heart of the magic circle spoke.
“But it’s too late, warrior. The ritual is complete, and even if you kill me and my comrades, the summoning cannot be stopped.”
A faint smile, as if resigned to fate.
“The core of the vengeful spirits has been fully absorbed into the summoning circle. Eight thousand citizens of the Tsar’s realm will perish, and in return, Kalkas will descend with his true form.”
Listening to her words, spoken not with confidence but as if stating an inevitable outcome, Dalen sighed softly, his arms crossed, hands slipping into his cloak.
“The summoning can’t be avoided, then.”
“Yes. It’s already done. There’s no avoiding it.”
“Well, nothing for it.”
He shook his head and drew a dagger from the pocket dimension within his cloak.
Whoosh—!
It leapt through space. A feat he had accomplished countless times with his axe, now repeated with the dagger.
The red aura flickering at its tip was the result of countless monstrous deaths, a sacrificial power accumulated over time.
“Th-that’s…!”
“The Blood Ritual Dagger!”
“Enaksa—Zelts!”
The dark sorcerers, recognizing the dagger’s shadow, hurriedly chanted spells, and the old woman’s calm facade shattered.
But it was too late.
Crack!
Ignoring all incantations, the crimson dagger pierced the center of the magic circle.
Sizzle!
The sacrificial power within the dagger merged with the summoning spell, causing the magic circle covering the cave walls to warp.
“Se Glam.”
A basic incantation of dark sorcery, yet devoid of any demon’s name, slipped from Dalen’s lips.
Rip!
In the heart of the chamber, a colossal gate to hell tore through space and loomed.