Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes-Chapter 50: A Throne Holder

It was a primal urge, the kind that came when the body knew something was dangerously wrong. His eyes darted ahead, and his heart skipped a beat. There, standing amidst the still-raging shockwave, was a figure clad in dark, gleaming armor.

The figure was motionless, like a monolith in the center of chaos, emanating an aura of sheer power. The air around them seemed to warp, distorted by the immense force radiating from the armored figure.

The ground trembled beneath them, cracking as if the very earth itself recoiled from the presence of the armored figure. Ivaim could feel the weight of the pressure in the air, an oppressive force that squeezed the breath from his chest.

For a moment, he faltered, his instinct screaming to move, to act—but his body froze under the sheer intensity of the moment.

The armored figure slowly turned, its head swiveling toward them. Every movement was deliberate, as if it could sense them even through the veil of darkness that enveloped them.

But just as the figure’s gaze was about to land on Ivaim and Reves, a thick, black veil unfurled around them, sweeping them into shadow. It was like being wrapped in the night itself.

Ivaim blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden change. He quickly scanned the area, trying to assess their situation.

Reves, his eyes wide with confusion, looked around them, his gaze falling first on Ivaim, then on the woman beside him.

"Father?" Reves exclaimed, his voice small and uncertain. He darted forward to Ivaim’s side, only to stop short when he saw the state of his father’s body.

His chest tightened at the sight of the blood-soaked clothes and the cuts that marred his father’s skin. Worry flashed across the young boy’s face.

Ivaim’s expression softened, but before he could say anything, the woman in black spoke. Her voice was calm but laced with urgency.

"I’ve cast an illusion," she said, her eyes flicking to both of them. "To the outside world, we’ve disappeared."

She looked at Ivaim with a quiet, knowing expression. "But this trick will not last."

She motioned toward the armored figure. "The one you see before you, in armor, is the ninth of the Ten Throne Holders."

Ivaim blinked, momentarily confused. "Ninth?"

"Yes," she continued, her gaze steady. "He is known as the Master of Cruelty. He is patient, but his reach is vast. He will find us, given enough time."

Ivaim’s mind raced. The presence of the armored figure was suffocating, and now he knew that time was not on their side.

The woman sighed softly, almost as though the weight of her words pressed on her as much as the situation itself.

"I cannot take us out of this place. The Master of Cruelty has sealed us in with a barrier of mirrors. He controls it."

Ivaim’s brow furrowed. "Are these mirrors indestructible?"

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"No," she replied with a soft, almost sorrowful smile.

"On the contrary, they are fragile—fragile and dangerous. They are part of his ability, [Blood Mirror]. Any harm you inflict on them will be reflected back upon you tenfold. It is a trap for the unwary."

Her voice was calm, yet there was a subtle edge to it—a thread of caution woven into her words. "Thus, I would advise against attempting to break them."

Nathan’s gaze hardened as his eyes narrowed in suspicion while tending to his wounds.

"So, there’s no way out..." The weight of the situation seemed to sink deeper with every word.

The woman’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

"No need to be so pessimistic," she replied. "There is but one solution."

She raised her hand, gesturing toward the fallen bodies of the enemies they had been fighting. One of the figures had been struck down earlier, the strange dagger still lodged in his side.

The blade gleamed ominously in the dim light.

"That knife," she continued, her voice steady and measured, "is a Threshold Item. Although we stand no chance against the Master of Cruelty in direct combat, there is another way. If we enter his Fractured Reality, we can trigger the main task of the Reality itself, for I am a Reality Master."

Ivaim’s brows furrowed as he processed her words. He glanced over at the knife again, a cold realization beginning to stir in his gut.

"In there," she continued, "we’d have a better chance than out here."

Ivaim blinked, slightly taken aback by her confidence. But then the pieces clicked in his mind. He glanced toward the system, the interface flickering as he considered her words.

’Main task? What are those?’

His thoughts quickened, and then the revelation hit him.

’Is that the so-called Main Scenario?’

He looked again at the system’s current status:

[Main Scenario : (Updating)]

[Extra Scenario : Coin Flip]

[Extra Scenario : Trial of the Mind]

’So... a Reality Master can trigger the Main Scenario by entering another Reality Master’s Fractured Reality?’ Ivaim mused, piecing it all together in a rush.

’That explains why things felt off when I entered The Lonely Cat’s Fractured Reality...’

’Not to mention, I can’t seem to go back into my fractured reality... is it because of the mirror barriers?’

His thoughts were interrupted as the woman spoke again, her voice breaking through his internal analysis.

"Seeing as how you were able to dodge that shockwave, do you think you are capable of getting that knife and bringing it to us?" she asked towards Ivaim, her gaze unwavering. "I can support you with my abilities, but you will need to move swiftly."

Ivaim considered her words carefully. The possibility of entering the Fractured Reality seemed like the only option left, but the risks were enormous.

He glanced at the armored figure, still standing ominously in the distance, knowing that time was not on their side.

"Perhaps," Ivaim said slowly, eyes flickering with a hint of uncertainty, "but he might force me into his Fractured Reality before I can bring the knife to you. I won’t be able to reach it without risking everything."

The woman’s silence lingered for a moment, and then she raised her hand. A thin, almost imperceptible veil of darkness materialized around her fingers, shimmering with an otherworldly aura. She flicked it toward him, her eyes locked onto his.

Ivaim instinctively reached out and grabbed it. It felt like a thread of power, delicate yet firm.

"Take this with you," she instructed, her voice softer now but no less determined. "Once you’re close enough to the knife, I will use my veil to teleport us directly to you. But you must move quickly. The longer we linger, the more dangerous it becomes."