The Oracle Paths Chapter 1228: The Battle That Never Was

Jake’s taunt landed like a heavy blow in the quiet—brief, savage, and overwhelming—before a raging bellow exploded through the air.

"THAT’S NOT WHAT WE AGREED ON!"

Master Eldrion’s shout boomed over the field of battle as if it were heavenly retribution, striking the troops behind him with such intensity that it left half his forces with ringing ears. Every Light Warrior knew without question that his fury was genuine.

The experienced fighters at his side—commanders, elite officers, battle-scarred hunters—had their eyes stretched wide in disbelief, their lips shaping shocked, wordless circles. One gripped his teeth so hard they ground together with a clear snap, as though the idea of what followed ignited an ancient survival urge he couldn’t hold back.

’He’s afraid.’

The aged fighter might have deceived the common soldiers, but not these tough veterans. The atmosphere among them grew thick, charged with unvoiced dread. A drop of perspiration slid down a veteran captain’s forehead, unnoticed until it dripped to his shoulder. Another fingered the amulet at his throat—a quiet plea, masked as adjustment. In their individual manners, each was gearing up for disaster.

From that point on, pursuing this enigmatic Player turned into a prime objective.

Rank 17. Oracle Knight. Head of the Myrtharian Nerds. Proxy Soulmancer King. A lone force of destruction.

Each of those labels alone could spark alarms—and chills.

Though they lacked pieces of the mystery—like the precise events on the field beneath General Corvac’s watch—the details gathered from multiple sources proved sufficient already.

In truth, they didn’t require full knowledge of Jake.

Understanding his followers was plenty to instill terror in him.

Consider the half-giants Gerulf and Rogen, for instance. These colossal brutes couldn’t manage discretion if they tried. Their brutal ferocity and blunt attitudes turned them into mobile catastrophes—and they obeyed Jake. Thus, simple deduction suggested their leader must be even more dangerous.

Yes, it was basic thinking. But the most secure kind.

The sole mystery remaining was the extent of their wariness’s validity.

Based on Eldrion’s explosive outburst... they were beginning to uncover it.

Naturally, a handful of obstinate fools still held to the notion that Jake’s success was mere fortune. That facing the Celestial or one of their Titans would have snuffed his supposed fame like a damp sparkler before it could glow.

If that wasn’t foolishness, it was sheer refusal to accept.

In that instant, only Lord Calyx appeared to pierce the pretense, his face contorted in doubt.

As the elder continued his tirade and frenzy, Jake idly scratched his ear.

And once Eldrion needed a moment to breathe, Jake interrupted, his voice parched and poisonous—yet clear enough to resound over both forces as if murmured to each personally.

"You done?" he said, tilting his head in ridicule. "So what? I don’t recall swearing on anything. And even if I did... what difference would it make? You’ve only got yourself to blame for being that gullible at your age."

"Y-You!!"

This time, it wasn’t merely Master Eldrion boiling with anger—it was his whole army.

Insulting one of their top leaders equaled defiling them all.

"Coward!"

A enraged fighter yelled, and soon the rest chimed in.

"You’re backing out ’cause you know you’d lose those duels!"

"Bet you ran out of decent fighters! Or maybe they all chickened out after seeing what we brought to the field, huh?!"

"You think we didn’t notice that pink-haired chick was about to croak?!"

Unlike the superiors forced to stay silent for a scrap of honor, the regular troops held nothing back. Their responses were pure, straightforward, and unrestrained.

But Jake remained unmoved. He simply stood, absorbing their rage like a rag in corrosive liquid—cool, detached, and exuding quiet threat.

The wiser ones sensed it. Not merely as unease in the stomach, but as a change in the atmosphere. It resembled the instant prior to a massive tempest—animals hushed, skin prickling, and the strange sense that something huge and inevitable was advancing.

They couldn’t explain it, but their gut feelings wailed. Gradually, they started easing away, avoiding the spot in the vanguard when chaos erupted.

"No need to be afraid," Jake said softly, addressing the common troops directly instead of their leaders. "If I wanted to wipe you out, I wouldn’t have bothered with this clown show. Anyone who drops their weapons right now will be spared. After that, the price will go up."

For an instant, the troops with keener senses hesitated. A few even dipped their spears, poised to yield.

But the bulk of the Radiant Conclave forces regrouped, raising arms in unison, their bravery fueled by utter cluelessness.

Those set to surrender abruptly became outmatched—and branded a traitor in such a setting meant certain doom.

"Your threats won’t break our Light Warriors!" Eldrion sneered, dripping with haughtiness and devotion.

The army erupted in laughter, ridiculing Jake for attempting the "logical" tactic.

If they believed that would unsettle him, they were sorely mistaken.

The following moment, an aura enveloped them.

But not an ordinary one—this was different. Something beastly. Overwhelming. Infernal.

It crashed over them like a noiseless blast, ripping through bodies and skeletons with the grace of a speeding locomotive. No glow, no noise—just force. Existence appeared to warp. The atmosphere contorted, flickered, then imploded as if a void had momentarily yawned at Jake’s base.

Basic recruits started oozing blood from every opening. Eyes flipped upward. Skeletons fractured. Fibers shredded. Ligaments yanked free from sockets like broken cords. Their minds suffered blows harsher than any brutal takedown—as though they’d charged into solid stone at maximum velocity.

Cries couldn’t even emerge. Veins ruptured prior to sound. Even the aware ones couldn’t wail, their chests caved by the immense burden of that dominating intent.

They fell like swatted insects.

Mid-tier officers suffered similarly. Some heaved immediately, dark vomit gushing as their guts rebelled against the inner harm. One scratched at his torso as if to extract the unseen grip on his ribs. Another discharged his gun reflexively, the shot veering upward before his limb broke at the joint like brittle wood.

Jake’s command of his Spirit Power had advanced well past standard limits. He adjusted the aura’s force precisely for each—from unit heads to branch overseers—and every one crumpled on the brink of demise.

And that wasn’t the height of horror.

When the brigade leaders and force heads tumbled like shattered puppets struck by a godly mallet, the field plunged into utter catastrophe.

The Radiant Conclave’s chiefs yearned to berate them, denounce their frailty, seek explanations—but speech failed.

For the reality proved far more chilling:

They followed.

Jake had directed a share of that identical aura their way—yet amplified many times over. Debilitating. Agonizing.

Lady Faye made no effort to fight it. She fainted outright, aware of the impending doom.

Lady Lyria endured as long as possible, blood streaming from her gritted mouth. Her spotless white attire stained scarlet swiftly, her flawless flesh turning into a bloody display.

"Such... spiritual power... How... is this... possible?!"

Those were her final utterances before darkness took her.

One could assume Master Eldrion—the eldest and allegedly mightiest—would persist longer.

He didn’t.

The holy white rod bestowed by Anthace, allowing root control and phantom fighter summons, glowed briefly... then died like a flame quenched by a gust.

A pulse afterward, Eldrion’s form shared the others’ end.

Shattered frames. Ripped tissues. Severed connections. Vacant, pale gazes.

Just prior to fading, his features warped in a blend of astonishment and sour remorse.

Blissful unconsciousness seized him finally.

Meanwhile, the Dusken Throne forces—who had watched the massacre in dazed quiet—were already speechless.

Their chins dropped to the ground.

Their gazes popped with a mix of terror and wonder. Some reeled away unwittingly. Others gripped their arms harder, not from preparation, but to steady trembling fingers. Seasoned survivors of numerous clashes muttered invocations to deities long forgotten.

You could catch swallows resounding in the hush, plus rattling jaws and legs. Several troops sank to a knee—not from allegiance, but reflex. Yielding.

That very idea shone on their visages.

Whether Jake truly held the Soulmancer King title or merely posed convincingly ceased to matter.

If he claimed it, then it was so.

But right as they assumed the whole Radiant Conclave lay defeated...

They spotted him.

A single figure upright.

Lord Calyx.

His look held no victory. It was shattered. His mouth formed words, but silence followed. Not pure wrath—at least not wholly. It was incredulity. Treachery. Dread. He scanned about, and for the first occasion in ages, he appeared adrift—like a commander rousing to realize his war was illusion... or deception.

His frame remained erect, but his resolve? Already splintered.

And beyond anything... he was furious. Furious for misjudging him. Furious that everyone had. Furious that one individual had demolished all their creations... without a single motion.