Fire Mage-Chapter 664: Alistair
Chapter 664: Alistair
Moments later, they reappeared in the Crystal Palace’s throne chamber.
Azgan looked up at the shadowy figure. "It’s done, Master. I’ll be leaving soon."
He reached into his space ring and pulled out a vial of yellowish-red liquid.
"Please accept this as my parting gift."
With a flick of his hand, he sent the vial toward the throne using his wisdom power.
The figure caught it with ease and chuckled.
"Titan’s Blood? Hmm... this smells like Rank 7 Sun Titan."
He paused.
"You should return to the War Castle immediately. Pale Night might have noticed your absence."
"Yes, Master," Azgan said, bowing once more.
Then he and Mirigon turned and left the throne hall without delay.
Baston Fort.
Also known as the Fourth Layer’s strongest stronghold, it stood as a testament to human ingenuity amidst a perilous and hostile land. Nestled in a vast, featureless expanse, this bastion had been meticulously constructed with unwavering dedication to protect its inhabitants.
Although only around 800 humans resided within, the magical equipment and arrays etched throughout the stronghold could withstand even a direct blow from a Low-Rank God.
Unless a true God descended into this Dimension, no magical creature—nor even the Guardian—could step inside.
It was around 5:00 a.m.
Though the brightest star of this layer hadn’t yet risen, the sky bore the faint hues of dawn.
A lone figure approached the towering fortress. He looked to be around forty, with short blue hair, hazel eyes, and broad shoulders. His steps were slow and heavy on the rough terrain.
It was Alistair.
But he appeared nothing like the man he once was. Blood stained his tattered clothes. A jagged claw mark marred his chest. Wounds covered his body, and exhaustion weighed down every step.
High atop the fortress walls, two guards spotted him and leapt down, weapons drawn.
One was a massive, blonde-haired man. The other, a robed figure with a lean frame.
"First time here, huh? Which world are you from?" the blonde asked in Rune Language, his tone stern and scrutinizing.
Alistair blinked, confused. Though the language felt vaguely familiar, he couldn’t make out a single word.
After a brief pause, he cleared his throat.
"I’m Alistair, from Edhen World."
"Edhen?" The robed man stepped forward, this time speaking in Naan Language. "Which group are you with, Mister?"
Thank the stars. Alistair exhaled in relief.
"I’m the leader of the Truelords Exploration Team, sir. But... due to an unexpected accident, all of my members were killed. It was a raven—a devil-like bird."
Both guards exchanged glances, their expressions shifting.
"They ran into the final boss before even reaching base," the muscular one muttered, a hint of pity in his eyes.
The robed mage let out a heavy sigh.
"I’m Maverick. From the Holem Family. Come—I’ll take you to the stronghold leader. He’ll verify whether you’ve undergone the Sacred Oath."
"Sacred Oath?" Alistair didn’t understand, but he could guess it was some sort of confidentiality measure.
Behind them, the tall gate groaned open, releasing a burst of fresh air thick with pure mana.
"Let’s go," Maverick said and turned toward the stronghold.
As Alistair followed, a name flashed through his mind.
"Sir," he called, "has a young man named Charles passed through here? He said he came from a High Plane called Earth... also mentioned a different level system."
"Earth?" Maverick’s eyes narrowed. "Different level system? Explain."
Alistair described Charles’s appearance and their brief encounter.
"This is the second anomaly in the lower layers in recent centuries," Maverick mused. "Not something we need to panic over. If that kid survives out there, he’ll find his way here before month’s end. You have my word."
The three of them walked into Baston Fort, their shadows swallowed by the colossal structure.
War Castle.
A bastion overseen by the Demon Commander known as Pale Night.
Encased in a seven-meter-high stone wall, the stronghold had six watchtowers positioned strategically around its perimeter. A single gateway marked its only entrance.
Inside, the fortress resembled a miniature town. At its heart stood a towering castle of dark stone, commanding awe and fear alike. Around it sprawled hundreds of clustered dwellings—beehive-like homes for the demons.
A four-meter-wide circular path looped from the castle to the outermost homes, linking every building and serving as the central artery of the stronghold.
Despite being a military base, the place had the air of a bustling, chaotic village. Demons in varied battle attire moved in and out of the castle. Near its center, a market had sprung up—selling, trading, and bargaining echoed beneath the towering stone spires. Laughter, shouting, and guttural snarls filled the air. It wasn’t discipline that held the place together, but survival and strength.
There were no strict rules here—only routine. Most demons rose with the morning fog, checked their gear, and headed into the Ancient Trinket Forest in groups. Some elite squads stayed out for days, others returned before dusk. A few remained behind to guard the outpost.
One of them was a demon named Bornaz.
A young, blue-skinned humanoid with a cautious temperament and unimpressive strength, Bornaz rarely ventured far. He hunted weak monsters near the outskirts and barely scraped by with enough abyssal stones to survive.
That morning, he stood at the northeastern outpost, gazing southward. His yellow eyes narrowed.
It’s time. A subtle smile touched his lips.
He was Charles, in disguise.
After taking over Bornaz’s identity, Charles chose to lay low in War Castle and had accepted guard duty alongside four other demons.
Alistair’s reached the human settlement, he mused. Five more days until the perfect time for the great "Disaster."
From the patterns he’d observed, these disasters always occurred in connection with his presence—and at specific intervals. They didn’t need his interference to unfold. They came naturally, like tides—violent, inevitable.
Even a Divine couldn’t predict the scope of the coming disaster. But Charles had something they didn’t: glimpses of the future through his Causality Manipulation skill.
So far, two clues have already surfaced.
The first was the winged demon named Azgan.
From hushed conversations among demons, Charles learned Azgan belonged to the ’Vanquishers’—an assassin squad. He was a drunkard, a brawler, and rarely followed orders. Many demons called him "Imperial Fool."
But what intrigued Charles most was Azgan’s origin. No one knew how long he’d been in War Castle. Some said longer than the current commander herself. Charles had tried to approach him three times in the last two days—but Azgan barely acknowledged him.
The second clue... the Sealed Coffin.
After combing through ancient texts and maps in the War Castle, Charles marked five possible locations for the Sealed Coffin—sites untouched for over a thousand years. Highly dangerous. Nearly inaccessible.
Three of those were within the Ancient Trinket Forest. One was 200 miles from the human fortress. And the last... the base of the Devil Crow.
I can’t enter the forest’s core alone. Nor can I step foot near the Devil Crow’s base. My only real option is the site near the human fortress.
He had a hunch it would be the most fruitful.
Whatever that coffin holds... I need it before the disaster strikes. I don’t know what it does or how it helps me. But I know this—following these clues is the only way forward.
Charles turned his gaze toward the fog-veiled forest in the distance and suddenly asked in Abyssal Language:
"Any of you ever been to the deepest part of the Ancient Trinket Forest?"
One of the demons scoffed. "Impossible. Even in groups, it takes a week just to reach the inner forest. And deeper in, you’ll find Legend Rank Beasts—sometimes in packs. Why’re you asking, Bornaz?"
"Just curious," Charles replied casually, then fell silent.
He spent the next ten hours rotating shifts with the other guards. When his duty ended, he joined a few demons heading south, toward the pub.
After a few minutes of walking, Charles arrived at a single-story building and pushed open the tavern door.
Laughter and shouts echoed out, greeting his ears as he stepped inside. Demons of various kinds lounged around, drinking and chatting boisterously.
"Oh? That annoying new drinker is here again." A horned lady behind the counter smirked as she poured a glass of exotic wine and passed it to the winged demon in front of her.
Charles ignored the jab, walked up to the table, pulled out a wooden chair beside the winged demon, and sat down. He glanced at the glass on the table and said calmly,
"A glass of Imperial Wine, please."
The winged demon’s expression shifted slightly.
Oh? So he finally speaks.
"What do you want, young demon?"
As the succubus poured another glass, Charles turned to the winged demon and replied in a steady tone,
"Sealed Coffin."
"Sealed Coffin?" Azgan blinked, clearly puzzled. "I don’t even know what you’re talking about."
Instead of reacting, Charles picked up the glass from the table, took a small sip, and continued,
"Then, do you know anything about a chained tree made of bones and flesh?"
The moment he spoke, an invisible force of raw wisdom pulsed out from the winged demon, engulfing the entire pub. The other demons tensed, but relaxed once they recognized the source.
At the same time, the wine glass in Azgan’s hand cracked and shattered, spilling its contents across the table.
