The Guardian gods-Chapter 570

In normal circumstances, this conceptual assault would have been a mere annoyance to the shielded minds of the mages. But nothing about their current situation was normal; their minds were already stretched thin, barely protected as they desperately held the psychic barrier in place.

The ceaseless, high-frequency assault forced the mages to funnel immense magical energy and mental fortitude into shoring up the shield’s integrity against the unnerving, internal vibrations. Yet, this was merely the prelude. The insidious high-frequency nature of the Demon Queen’s attack birthed a vicious psychic feedback loop within the very core of the barrier. This generated an escalating torrent of mental static, like a screeching feedback from an overloaded amplifier, making telepathic communication a torturous effort and splintering their collective focus.

The male mage at the heart of their formation bore the crushing weight of this onslaught. The moment the loop ignited, the dark, misty psychic creatures swirling beyond the barrier surged, striking with renewed, frenzied intensity. This left the central mage terrifyingly vulnerable. His mind, already stretched taut, snapped. He was forced to abandon her hold on the failing barrier, but not before shoving a desperate, urgent order into the minds of the fifth-tier mages and Kaelen: they were under attack.

A heartbeat later, Kaelen’s booming, guttural roar ripped across the fortress, cutting through the growing panic. "Get in position, now!"

The fifth-tier mages, having abandoned their tents, now ascended into the night sky, a massive magic circle shimmering above each of their heads. This was an experimental magic they had been developing, designed to alleviate the immense mental strain on the sixth-tier mages upholding the primary barrier. As that grand shield flickered and fell, the newly formed circles from the fifth-tier mages seamlessly took its place. The exhausted male sixth-tier mage was left behind, slumping to recover, while her two counterparts flashed outside the new barrier. There, they were met with the disquieting sight of the torn space and the unsettling, web-filled realm beyond it.

Instantly, a shield woven from their own domains encased them, a protective shimmer against the unknown. They glared cautiously at the gaping rift. The enemy was clearly visible before them, and there were only two of them. All that remained was to surge forward, to jump into the fray. Yet, an invisible force held them back; they were hesitating.

The enemy’s actions were entirely unforeseen, a move they hadn’t accounted for or planned. Vorenza’s maneuver was abnormal and seemed to serve no logical purpose. Intelligence reports had clearly stated she was injured, yet here she was, brazenly taunting them to come.

There was a high chance she was bluffing, but an equally unsettling chance she wasn’t. Faced with such an unfamiliar situation, the true test of their loyalty to the Empire now hung in the balance. There was a high probability that if both of them charged in, only one would emerge. But who would it be? They were sixth-tier powerhouses, reaching a realm most beings could only dream of glimpsing in their lifetime. Could such power, such existence, be so easily thrown away at a moment like this?

Meanwhile, back in Rattan’s tent, the instant the fortress’s primary shield shattered, Rattan’s eyes went blank, his consciousness receding as Phantom took over. Chief watched, mouth agape in silent astonishment, as a shimmering, ethereal construct of Phantom’s true figure materialized behind Rattan, standing like a silent, ghostly sentinel.

Phantom didn’t risk spreading his senses to encompass the entire fortress; his massive consciousness would certainly draw immediate attention. Instead, he employed a unique form of sight, one that only he possessed.

In Phantom’s perception, the fortress was suddenly awash with a massive, intricate web of threads. Each thread, unseen by mortal eyes, extended from the very flame of ambition burning within every creature in the fortress. Whether that ambition was hidden deep within a soldier’s heart or openly displayed by a commander, it was utterly transparent to him.

With one incorporeal hand, Phantom reached out and delicately grasped these countless threads. His other hand flipped open, revealing a perfect, miniature replica of the fortress, glowing faintly as if carved from starlight. With a smooth, decisive motion, Phantom brought his hands together, merging the threads of ambition with the glowing replica, beginning to create a stage of dreams.

Kaelen was the only one who experienced the sheer weirdness of the situation firsthand. One moment, he was barking orders, his voice echoing across the camp. The next, his entire army and even the mages each developed a subtle yellow glow in their eyes, staring off into the open space with a blissful, unsettling smile plastered across their faces.

They looked far too serene, too lost in their own worlds. To make matters worse, the fifth-tier mages, who had just taken over the crucial shield, abruptly dropped it. It was in this precise moment that Vorenza’s waiting demon army surged forward, charging into the now unprotected fortress.

Kaelen watched in bewildered horror as his seemingly blissful army, still smiling, began to clash with the invading demons. He found himself instinctively retreating, his eyes fixated on the surreal scene unfolding before him. They weren’t losing against the invaders; in fact, they were holding their ground remarkably well for an army caught in an ambush. Yet, it was precisely this unnatural effectiveness that rubbed Kaelen the wrong way.

Anyone with clear sight could see his army wasn’t in their right mind, utterly devoid of control over their own actions. Yet, paradoxically, their teamwork and formations remained as crisp and effective as ever. If Kaelen could best describe it, it was as if his army and mages had been pulled into a dreamland, where they were battling an army of demons, their every action within that dream reflecting perfectly in reality.

An unnerving example of this played out before him: the psychic smoke creatures, now with free reign to unleash terror upon the soldiers, were inexplicably being stopped. A fifth-tier mage, still wearing that unsettling, blissful smile, cast a shield spell over the soldiers at the precise, perfect moment.

There was no order given, yet there was order.

Kaelen roared with a profound anger at this bizarre, infuriating display, his eyes flaring with a fierce, blue glow. Immediately, his magi tech core hummed to life, a torrent of real-time battlefield analysis, enemy weak points, and optimal combat strategies flooding directly into his mind, each datum sharp and undeniable.

From his body, two spectral constructs, identical to Kaelen himself, burst forth, shimmering outlines of his own furious will. These constructs immediately dissolved into pure light as they sprinted across the chaotic, dream-tinged battlefield, their singular purpose to pinpoint whatever insidious force was influencing his men. The initial analysis from his tech core showed that whatever this entity was, it had to be weaker than him, and it knew that, which explained why it remained hidden while leaving him untouched.

The analysis also indicated that the target’s ability had nothing to do with mana. There were vague fluctuations of psychic energy, like distant echoes in a vast cavern, but these were far too indistinct and difficult to pinpoint, especially considering they were in corrupted lands teeming with psychic creatures. His constructs were designed to run intricate diagnostics on the ground, tightening their search in an ever-decreasing circle to precisely locate the hidden enemy, closing in like silent, glowing hunters.

Meanwhile, Vorenza watched the two mages hesitate, their caution a tangible thing, almost a physical barrier between them and her trap. Remaining utterly still, a serene, predatory focus in her four eyes, she began to weave a new concept: "Reflection." This concept didn’t manifest as webs extending beyond the torn space; instead, it spread like intricate, living roots of shadow and light, gripping and stabilizing the very edges of the rift in reality, making the tear a part of her domain.

Then, four more magic circles, crafted from her ethereal web, erupted from her. These expanded rapidly, dissolving into the open air around the tear, like spectral ripples. These were the four accompanying concepts she had meticulously woven: Mimicry, Illusory Boundary, Perplexity, and Futility. Each hummed with a subtle, insidious energy, destined to distort the perceptions of any who entered.

Having meticulously set her trap, Vorenza no longer concealed her form. She stepped out fully into the open, a clear, beckoning challenge. The two hesitating mages, the moment their eyes landed on Vorenza, their faces hardened with resolve, their internal debate silenced by the lure of direct confrontation. Without further delay, they stepped into the inviting, yet perilous, realm she had so carefully constructed.

Vorenza’s figure curved into a chilling, knowing smile as a colossal spider leg, thick as a tree trunk and gleaming with a predatory sheen, slammed down from the inky, oppressive sky of the web-realm, shaking the very air. The two mages, seasoned in the dance of danger, parted like water, dodging the crushing impact with practiced grace. As one mage swept past, their hand brushed the descending limb. Instantly, the leg began to scream with the sounds of freezing ice, a frost-white blight spreading like a plague, until with a splintering crack, it shattered into countless icy shards, raining down like glittering, frozen dust.

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