The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order Chapter 328 Masked Race

Cain’s attention remained fixed upon the statue of the Samsara Lord for several minutes. His gaze was steady, attempting to penetrate the secrets of its construction. Repeatedly, he pushed his perception outward, hunting for any trace of hidden power, a lingering will, or a secret mechanism buried within the stone. Despite his rigorous scrutiny, nothing manifested beyond the familiar aura he had already identified.

A look of confusion crossed his features.

Cain was well aware that the Samsara Lord’s reach had extended into the Crimson World; the Neo-Demon Core pulsating in his heart served as undeniable evidence. Yet, based on his current knowledge, it appeared the Samsara Lord maintained a remarkably hands-off approach.

Though he exerted influence through the Neo-Demon Core and the Samsara Arsenal, he never seemed to intervene directly in the cosmic events of the universe.

According to what Cain had gathered, there was no record of the Samsara Lord taking a direct role even during the Great War that had ravaged the stars billions of years ago.

"He provides aid to those he deems worthy, but the responsibility of deciding the fate of their worlds falls upon those warriors—not him."

This was the theory Cain had formulated regarding the Samsara Lord’s conduct. Surprisingly, he found such a philosophy to be just. Struggle was, after all, a core component of growth. Without the trial of conflict, the evolution of one's strength and will would lack true meaning.

Choosing not to squander further time trying to fathom a being on a plane of existence he couldn't even grasp yet, Cain turned his back on the monument. He began to navigate the ancient city once more, meticulously retracing his path to ensure no significant detail had escaped his notice.

His search yielded nothing.

As he continued to contemplate the essence of Origin Island, a new hypothesis started to take root in his mind.

"This land originated elsewhere... from a place where the laws and fundamental rules are so potent that even experts at the peak of the Third Realm could scarcely leave a scratch on it."

It was a realm where entities like the Samsara Lord were not merely known, but held in divine reverence.

While several links were still missing from Cain’s logic, he felt confident that his intuition was correct. The exact origin of this island remained a riddle, yet a specific image kept flashing in his mind—the massive structure he had glimpsed within the 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 between them was far from irrational.

Regrettably, these theories offered Cain no immediate help in navigating the perils of Origin Island. Nevertheless, he committed the information to memory. He sensed its importance, believing it would serve a vital purpose in the days to come.

Ultimately, the only path available to Cain was to press onward.

He shut his eyes for a brief moment, then channeled the Power of Chaos, letting its resonance steer him toward the island's center.

Situated deep within the inner sanctum of Origin Island was a sprawling garden. The very air changed the moment a traveler crossed its threshold. It felt like a true haven of tranquility and order, where every leaf and stone existed in perfect equilibrium. The terrain and flora were arranged in a natural circle, forming a flawless ecosystem that seemed entirely isolated from the violence of the outside world.

A shrine stood at the very heart of this garden.

Constructed entirely from the timber and foliage native to Origin Island, the building was perfectly integrated into the landscape. Inside, eight individuals were gathered, all possessing the same striking violet eyes and snowy white hair. Their faces were grim as they looked upon the captive held in the center.

Chains of obsidian energy were coiled tightly around the man’s frame, sealing his power completely. His eyes were vacant and glassy, indicating he was trapped in a profound coma.

The identity of the prisoner was clear.

It was Bradly.

Just as the assembly prepared to speak, a fresh presence manifested. Without hesitation, the eight figures bowed their heads in respect.

The newcomer also possessed violet eyes, but his hair was as black as night. The look in his eyes held an ancient authority and a depth of years—a weight only achievable by one who had survived for countless eons. He was draped in a dark, flowing robe made of complex layers of fabric, giving him an air that was both noble and threatening. His long black hair framed a face that was composed, stern, and filled with resolve.

"Leader," the eight greeted him as one.

With a solemn nod, the man walked forward and pressed a single finger against Bradly’s brow.

The Neo-Angel’s body began to shudder violently at the touch.

Torrents of information erupted, flooding the minds of everyone in the shrine. Every secret Bradly had struggled to hide was stripped away by that single contact. As the revelations took hold, the expressions of the violet-eyed warriors turned increasingly dark. The invaders who had stepped onto Origin Island numbered in the dozens, and some possessed power so formidable that they could challenge the residents even if they tapped into their ultimate forms.

Once the extraction was finished, the group shifted their attention toward the horizon.

A streak of obsidian energy tore through the sky, crashing down toward the shrine and taking a human shape. Upon recognizing Ideonus, their moods grew even heavier. Atena had failed to crush her foe, though she hadn't met with disaster. Ideonus, however, had been pushed to activate their race's ultimate survival technique, illustrating just how lethal the conflict had become.

The leader let out a heavy sigh as he fully understood the threat to their domain.

"Ah... they have returned once more," he murmured. "Those from the lower realm are targeting the King."

The eyes of the violet-eyed warriors burned with sudden intensity.

"The duty of the Masked Race is to protect this island until the King’s awakening," the leader declared, his voice ringing with unshakable purpose. "And we shall fulfill that duty." He swept his gaze over the warriors, his aura filling the shrine.

"Move out. Regardless of who they are, we will purge all trespassers. They may depart our home... or they may be ground into dust." Without a moment’s delay, the Masked Race warriors gave their leader a deep bow before vanishing toward the battlefield.

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

In that instant, the sky above the entirety of Origin Island began to vibrate with power.