The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order Chapter 2328: Masked Race

Cain’s gaze remained fixed upon the statue of the Samsara Lord for several minutes, his eyes unblinking as he attempted to delve deeper into its essence. Time and again, he pushed his perception outward, hunting for any trace of latent power, a lingering fragment of will, or a hidden mechanism buried within the ancient stone. Despite his meticulous scrutiny, however, nothing manifested beyond the familiar aura he had detected initially.

A flicker of confusion crossed his features.

It was already known to Cain that the Samsara Lord’s reach extended into the Crimson World; the Neo-Demon Core pulsing within his own heart served as undeniable evidence. Yet, based on his gathered knowledge, the Samsara Lord appeared to maintain a remarkably hands-off approach.

While he exerted influence over various worlds through the Samsara Arsenal and the Neo-Demon Core, he never seemed to interfere directly with the shifting tides of the universe.

According to Cain's understanding, there had been no recorded evidence of the Samsara Lord taking a direct hand even during the monumental Great War that occurred billions of years in the past.

"He helps those he considers worthy, but it is up to those warriors to determine the fate of their homes—not him."

This was the definitive conclusion Cain had reached regarding the Samsara Lord’s conduct. Paradoxically, he found this detachment to be fair. Struggle, after all, was the core catalyst for growth. Without such trials, the evolution of one's Cultivation and will would be devoid of meaning.

Refusing to squander more time trying to fathom a being existing on a plane of reality he couldn't yet grasp, Cain turned away from the effigy. He began to navigate the ancient city once more, retracing his path with care to ensure no significant detail had been overlooked.

His search yielded nothing.

As he continued to contemplate the true nature of Origin Island, a hypothesis slowly crystallized in his mind.

"This place came from somewhere else... from a location where the laws and rules are so mighty that even those at the peak of the Third Realm could barely harm it."

It was a realm where entities like the Samsara Lord were not merely known, but revered.

Though certain gaps remained in his theory, Cain felt confident he was moving toward the truth. The original coordinates of this island remained a mystery, yet a single image haunted his thoughts—the massive structure he had glimpsed within the stolen memories of the Ancestor of the Root.

The tower.

Considering the architectural parallels between the Crimson World and that far-off place, suggesting a connection was far from a leap of logic.

Regrettably, these academic musings did little to assist Cain with the immediate perils of Origin Island. Nevertheless, he etched the information into his memory. A gut feeling told him it was vital, as if these facts would serve as a pivot point for his future.

Ultimately, the only path forward for Cain was to advance.

He shut his eyes for a brief moment, invoking the Power of Chaos and allowing its dark resonance to steer him toward the island's heart.

---

A sprawling garden lay hidden within the innermost circle of Origin Island.

The atmosphere shifted drastically the moment one crossed its threshold. The area felt like a sacred haven of tranquility and concord, where every component was arranged in flawless equilibrium. From the rolling terrain to the vibrant flora, everything formed a natural circle, manifesting a perfect ecosystem that seemed untouched by the ravages of war.

A shrine stood at the very epicenter of this garden.

Constructed entirely from the timber and foliage native to Origin Island, its design merged perfectly with the landscape. Eight figures stood within the shrine, each possessing the same striking white hair and violet eyes. Their countenances were grim as they looked upon the captive held at the center.

Chains of obsidian energy were coiled tightly around the man's frame, sealing his power entirely. His vacant, drifting eyes made it obvious that he was locked in a profound coma.

The identity of the prisoner was clear.

It was Bradly.

Just as the group prepared to speak, a fresh presence manifested. At once, all eight figures bowed their heads in respect.

The newcomer also possessed violet eyes, but his hair was pitch black. His gaze held a depth of ancient authority and age—a weight that could only be acquired by one who had survived for countless eons. He was clad in dark, flowing robes of intricate layers, projecting an aura that was both regal and threatening. Long black hair framed a face that was composed, stern, and filled with resolve.

"Leader," the eight spoke as one.

With a grave nod, the man stepped toward the captive and pressed a single finger against Bradly’s brow.

The Neo-Angel’s body began to shiver violently.

Torrents of knowledge erupted, pouring into the minds of everyone present. Every secret Bradly had struggled to shield was laid bare with a mere touch. As the revelations took hold, the expressions of the violet-eyed warriors turned increasingly dark.

Dozens had infiltrated Origin Island, and among them were individuals of immense power—warriors capable of standing against them even if they tapped into their ultimate forms.

Once the psychic transfer concluded, the group looked toward the horizon.

A streak of obsidian energy tore through the heavens and landed at the shrine, coalescing into a physical shape. Upon recognizing Ideonus, their moods grew even more somber.

Atena had failed to crush her adversary, though she hadn't met with disaster. Ideonus, however, had been pushed to activate their race’s ultimate life-saving technique, a testament to the lethality of his encounter.

The leader let out a weary sigh as he processed the threat to their sanctuary.

"Ahhh... once more, they came," he murmured. "Those from the realm below us are aiming at the King."

The eyes of the surrounding warriors turned sharp with killing intent.

"The sacred duty of the Masked Race is to protect this island until the King’s awakening," the leader declared, his voice ringing with iron determination. "And we shall fulfill that duty to the end."

He looked over his soldiers, his sheer presence filling the shrine.

"Let us depart. Regardless of who they are, we shall purge all trespassers. They may leave our home... or they can be ground into dust."

Without a moment's hesitation, the warriors of the Masked Race bowed low to their leader before vanishing toward the battlefield.

Left alone, the leader raised his hand toward the sky.

In the following instant, the heavens above the entire island began to shake.