Shard's right hand traced a radiant glimr in the air, and Silvermoon's blade sliced through the blood fog's curtain, slashing at the woman as she softly kissed the ring. But apart from leaving another wound on her forehead, it had no effect.
The woman cackled wildly in her final monts, laughing hysterically as she uttered the spell words that Shard had failed to discern last ti:
"In the shift from yang to yin begins a new life's spin!"
She slipped on the ring, and her broken body imdiately billowed thick smoke. Lady Lassoya slowly closed her eyes as life neared its end.
At that mont, black smoke enveloped the woman's body. Shard, trying to stop her, once again heard the Whisper, the chewing within the smoke, and the curses of countless voices.
He reached out to thrust his hand into the smoke, to at least do sothing. But a boot erged from the smoke and kicked Shard, toppling him back against the wall.
The black smoke dissipated, and a young man wearing a white pebble ring stood amidst the corridor's blood fog. He rotated his neck and snapped his fingers behind him. Discover exclusive tales on empire
With the arrival of Steam Mist and the sound of a steam whistle, the Six Rings Warlock's Ring of Fate shone behind the man, reflected in the eyes of Shard, who slumped against the wall:
"To change gender, to actually be able to..."
The doctor's desperate strike failed to kill the enemy, not because they were too weak. At this mont, Shard suddenly felt the dying man's emotions, the man dressed in burgundy formal wear not long ago.
"Indeed, the Keeper of Secrets Level Relic 'Transmutation Ring', a gender transformation along with the exchange of an entirely different body. Although this damned ring has given
so preferences I never had before, the ring itself is worth those costs,"
laughed the Six Rings Warlock, Jack Deon.
Clad in a sharp black suit, his shoes shone under the gaslight. The dust and disarray behind him, alongside the collapsed people in the corridor, seed to highlight his triumph:
"Hmm? Your clothes look awfully familiar. Oh well, it's not important, although I have no idea where you folks ca from..."
He spoke aloud, as if delivering a speech at a significant public event, his articulation so precise it made Shard want to punch him. He was boasting, of the death-defying turnaround he had managed to pull off, how could he not gloat:
"But this ti, it's clear that I've won."
Spirit Runes flickered with Spiritual Light behind him in the circle of the Ring of Fate, interpreted by Shard as the Black Iron 'Spell Words' of 'Arcane Technique' which were initiating Sorcery. But this Sorcery was not released, instead deliberately halted, as the man gazed at Shard and suddenly burst into laughter:
"The ritual's need for living sacrifices is still insufficient; that woman over there is nstruating, her impure blood is not suitable, these two n are too old, the host of the feast wouldn't like that."
Two steps forward, he lifted the severely injured Shard and then tossed him into the banquet hall, where he "reunited" with the dozens already unconscious there. The Detective rolled on the blood-red wool carpet, only stopping when he collided with a leg of the long table.
Struggling to open his eyes towards the door, he saw the double golden doors that Miss Luisa had previously broken slowly rise and close under the man's 'tal Repair' Spirit Rune's Arcane Technique.
Shard, lying beside the banquet hall's long table, saw through the narrowing door crack the man walking with his back to them, ignoring the other three fallen people, instead ascending the stairs; the circle of magicians below was his true opponent.
The door slamd shut, the blood light flickered inside the room, gradually clouding Shard's vision. He did not know whether this was a sign of his impending death or the harbinger of the Evil God's forthcoming appearance.
His view growing blurry, he finally had the chance to cast Sorcery on himself, but the Sorcery could only ensure he wouldn't die, not keep him from succumbing to unconsciousness due to severe injuries.
But—
The small book in his pocket quietly radiated a soft glow, its sentences, written minutes before, now taking effect. The Poet-Level Relic, the "Orb of Silvermoon
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