Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes-Chapter 54: Lack of Money

The silence lingered, thick and heavy, as the Master of Cruelty prepared to respond to Nathan’s words. Just as he opened his mouth, a loud, sharp noise split the air—like the shattering of glass.

The Master’s head turned sharply, his gaze piercing through the barrier, far beyond the distance that would have been possible for any ordinary being.

His expression remained unchanged, but his voice carried a hint of surprise.

"I see…" he murmured, his voice calm but laced with something dark and calculating. "The other Throne Holders are quicker than I expected."

He turned his attention back to Ivaim, his gaze heavy and unyielding. Nathan’s presence was dismissed entirely, as if the man was no longer even in the room.

"Spirit," the Master’s voice rumbled, sharp and deliberate, "I can feel the power of Fortune swirling around you. Tell me, what do you believe luck has in store for you now?"

Ivaim froze for a moment, caught off guard by the question.

’He knows I’m a Reality Master…’ A cold chill ran through him. ’He can even sense and see the authority I control?.’

He fought to keep his composure, weighing his response. For a brief instant, his mind scrambled for an answer, but then, with a quiet confidence that surprised even him, Ivaim spoke.

"Fortune tells me that you’re going to let us live."

The words hung in the air, bold and unwavering, their weight pressing down on the space between them. Ivaim’s voice was steady, yet beneath the calm, there was the faintest tremor of uncertainty. The Master of Cruelty’s response, however, was far from what Ivaim had expected.

The Master’s low, menacing laugh echoed through the space, dark and mocking.

"Ha! Fortune truly favors the bold, doesn’t it?"

His words were edged with amusement, like he found Ivaim’s belief not just foolish, but absurd. "Such arrogance. So sure of yourself, even in the face of certain death."

Before Ivaim could respond, the world around them began to shift.

The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the air seemed to warp, bending and twisting in unnatural ways. The colors in the surroundings bled together, as if the very fabric of reality was unraveling.

The sky, the earth—everything around them seemed to melt and reshape like an impressionist painting gone wrong.

Ivaim, Nathan, Reves and even the Black Veil Master stood frozen on the ground, each feeling the pull of reality being torn apart. The world no longer felt solid, no longer felt real.

They watched in stunned silence as the world around them bent in impossible angles, the landscape shifting as though it were no longer bound by the laws of nature.

Then, with a flash of light, a glowing notification appeared before them, its message clear and unmistakable. The words burned brightly against the ever-shifting backdrop, searing themselves into their minds.

[You have been forced into a Fractured Reality]

Before they could fully comprehend what was happening, a distant voice—faint and echoing—drifted through their minds, a whisper so soft it could barely be heard. But the words it carried were like a weight in their chests, pressing down with an unbearable force.

"The prophecy is true... and I am the first to fall."

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...

Ivaim’s eyes snapped open to blinding sunlight. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and his senses were sluggish, as though waking from a long, unsettling dream.

The smells of the street hit him first: burnt food, the stench of sweat and horses, and the sour tang of something rotting. The sound of people talking and the clatter of wooden carts echoed around him.

But something was wrong.

His body felt different—heavier, weaker. His arms, normally strong and agile, were thin and shaking as they propped him up on the cold cobblestone ground.

He blinked, squinting against the harsh sun, trying to make sense of where he was.

A sharp breath escaped his chest as his confusion deepened. He was in the middle of a bustling street in what appeared to be quite a lively one.

He could hear the distant clanging of metal, voices shouting, and the heavy footsteps of soldiers marching through the streets. Above him, towering buildings cast long shadows over the alleyway where he lay.

A beggar’s blanket was draped loosely across his shoulders, and a tattered hat sat askew on his head. His clothes were ragged, barely resembling the well-fitted attire he used to wear.

His hands were now dirty and covered with grime. A small wooden cup, barely visible beneath his hand, had coins scattered inside—some of which had spilled onto the ground.

His mind raced as he tried to piece together his surroundings.

’Is this the Fractured Reality of the Master of Cruelty? Did he... let us in?’

His thoughts swirled like a storm. The more he tried to focus, the more disoriented he became. He glanced around, trying to make sense of the massive streets, the towering buildings, the crowded marketplace.

’It’s enormous,’ he thought. The sheer scale of the city stunned him. His own Fractured Reality was only a little more than a confined space—a room, perhaps the size of a modest home.

But this... this was beyond anything he had imagined.

It was like walking through the ruins of a world he barely recognized.

Ivaim lifted his head, noticing a young woman passing by—her dark, flowing hair shimmering like a shadow against the bright sun.

She walked briskly, eyes forward, clearly in a hurry. Perfect. She looked like someone who might know more about this strange place.

Gathering what little strength he had left, Ivaim called out to her, his voice hoarse, but desperate.

"Excuse me, miss, do you know where I am? What city is this?"

The woman paused mid-step, glancing down at him with little more than a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She studied him briefly, taking in his ragged appearance, his cup of coins, his unkempt hair.

"I-I’m sorry," Ivaim continued, trying to soften his tone, "but I’ve lost my way. I don’t know this place. Please... can you help me?"

The woman’s gaze shifted slightly, her face unreadable. Then, without a word, she shook her head and took a step back.

"Sorry, I have no money," she said curtly, her voice cold and dismissive.

She didn’t even spare him a second glance before she turned away, her heels clicking sharply against the cobblestones as she walked off, her pace quickening.

Ivaim sat frozen, the sting of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He blinked, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.

’The hell you mean no money?’