The Oracle Paths Chapter 1238: Where Luck Leads (part 1)

Deep within the obscure Duskwight Lands, a small, inconsequential tribe's territory was situated. Their sole settlement, appearing more like a haphazard collection of rudimentary huts and worn tents, lacked even a name marker at its entrance. Instead, crude axe-hewn stakes, totems adorned with animal skulls and bone trinkets, and ethereal violet flames burning without any fuel in the center of a dusty clearing were present.

This starkly contrasted with the Lustra Plains, characterized by their pristine white ramparts and magnificent architecture, and even further from their atmosphere of wealth, civilization, and cultured refinement.

Here, in the Duskwight Lands, existence was more unforgiving. Drier. More rudimentary.

While typically not a destination for visitors, the current carnage unfolding within the region transformed it into something far more terrifying—a place to flee from without ever looking back.

From the periphery, a few warriors, their chests bare and bodies etched with scars and adorned with spiritual talismans, could still be observed engaging in combat. With tribal chants echoing, they slammed blades against tough leather shields in what appeared to be a desperate last stand against inevitable doom. For such a remote area, their numbers and individual prowess were remarkably high; any single one of them could have been a match for a division commander.

Even more preposterous, Soulmancers with clouded pupils loomed above, conjuring possessed artifacts—shattered masks, straw effigies, obsidian bells, and menacing spears inscribed with shifting runes. Restless spirits swirled around them like an unseen flock of vultures, their spectral energy so dense it felt almost tangible.

And despite all this... the nameless settlement—which by all logical accounts should have been defended by little more than a few elders and youths not yet old enough for the front lines—was succumbing.

As in every other place.

Aside from the monsters, Anthace's roots had violently erupted from the soil like immense serpents, shattering huts, impaling warriors, and tearing apart rudimentary altars. Buds the size of houses pulsed between earthen structures, detonating in bursts of Black and White Lumyst. Reanimated Saints clawed their way out, their lifeless eyes fixed forward, weapons held aloft.

It was the very picture of an apocalypse.

Barbarians were impaled mid-charge. Soulmancers attempted to seal the encroaching roots with arcane incantations, only to be obliterated by a will far surpassing their own. Enchanted beasts, part flesh and part specter, shrieked as they launched themselves into the chaotic melee.

The very ground shuddered. The air was thick with the stench of blood and charred sap.

And situated right in the heart of the pandemonium—

Tim was walking.

With an unhurried pace. His hands were tucked into his pockets.

Lily Wilderth trailed closely behind him, her jaw tightly clenched to prevent herself from staring too intently at either side. A colossal root erupted from the ground less than three meters away, annihilating a hut in a violent explosion of dirt and splintered wood.

She came to a halt.

The root... ceased its advance.

Then, it slowly drew back.

As if it had just registered an unintended action.

As for the monstrous entities and the vacant-eyed resurrected beings emerging from the pulsating buds, they navigated around the pair as if they were imperceptible.

A monstrous abomination, adorned with numerous yellow, swiveling eyeballs, lunged directly towards them—only to abruptly change course mid-air, as though guided by an unseen force, crashing instead into a group of warriors to their right.

Not a single one of them made contact with the pair. None of them seemed to perceive them.

Or perhaps they did. However, their focus appeared strangely erratic in those moments—magically diverted by anything and everything other than the two of them.

Lily struggled to maintain her composure, though her fingers trembled slightly as they gripped her fairy wand, poised to unleash a torrent of banishment light spells at the slightest misstep.

The young boy had undergone significant growth over the past four years. She now resembled a teenage girl becoming aware of her own allure, rather than the naive child she once was. At least when monsters weren't attempting to end her life.

"Tim...?"

He didn't even turn his head. Both were teenagers, yet compared to her, his physique appeared undeniably adult—as if he had dedicated himself to training for a championship. Only the absence of facial hair and the residual softness in his features hinted at his true age.

This was something people often overlooked the instant they met his mesmerizing golden eyes, which pulsed with a nebula-like luminescence eerily reminiscent of Jake's. The pact the boy had forged with his idol had proven immensely beneficial, making him substantially more powerful—and transforming his former reliance on fortune into a far more concrete advantage.

"Hm?" Tim finally responded after Lily delivered another sharp jab to his ribs.

Precisely at that moment, a deafening explosion reverberated behind them. A Soulmancer's scream was abruptly silenced.

Lily swallowed audibly.

"Why... why aren't they attacking us?"

A root slowly slid across the space above their heads. It moved deliberately, as if hesitant to make contact with something it couldn't quite comprehend.

Tim offered a slight shrug.

His smile remained unchanged. Effortless. Almost detached.

"Just a bit of luck."

A bloom unfurled ten meters away. Resurrected Light Warriors, blades slick with Black Lumyst, materialized. They paused, then veered aside. A passage opened before them.

Tim continued his advance.

And it was peculiar how the dying city seemed to yield to their path.

Lily moved alongside him, stepping over a fallen body without glancing at its features.

Whoooosh!

A Soulmancer was suddenly impaled by a root, no thicker than a spear, a mere meter from their position. Above him, his artifact flickered with unstable energy before fading to black.

Lily’s jaw clenched audibly.

"Tim… why are we here?" Her voice, despite her attempts at control, carried a tremor.

There was nothing to protect. No stronghold. No armory. No discernible artifact—not even the customary Netherwell Chapel. It was merely a remote tribal settlement within the Duskwight Lands, too insignificant to register on a continental scale.

And yet…

The concentration of high-ranking warriors and Soulmancers present was far too substantial for such a desolate location. Excessively so. It was as if this meager outpost was safeguarding something it didn't even comprehend.

Tim offered no immediate reply.

He proceeded as if guided by an unseen trail, neither rushed nor hesitant, simply… directed.

A root sprouted from the ground a short distance away. It veered sharply at the last possible moment.

A resurrected Saint turned its head towards them. Then, it looked away. Their presence apparently didn't warrant even a second glance.

Tim’s pace slackened.

They had arrived at a section of neglected land, partially concealed by several robust huts and a tall, dark stone barrier erected to deter observation—a peculiar feature for a place of this nature.

Besides the remnants of a fire extinguished prematurely, only scattered rocks, a few dilapidated steles, and a patch of yellowed grass, parched by the arid climate, were visible. Perhaps an old graveyard. Or perhaps simply abandoned terrain.

Seemingly insignificant. At first glance.

Tim took three more steps. He stopped. His head tilted slightly.

"Hm."

He nudged the ground with the tip of his boot.

Once.

Twice.

A subtle smile then graced his lips.

"If my senses don't deceive me, this is the correct location."

Before Lily could inquire 'correct location for what?', he made a simple gesture with his hand.

The ground upheaval occurred—or rather, it detached. An entire section of the earth—soil, desiccated roots, dust—rose as if gravity had momentarily ceased to function. The detached slab lifted cleanly, revealing a dark chasm below.

A staircase. Ancient. Hewn directly into the bedrock.

Lily stood frozen.

"…What?"

She blinked, then fixed her gaze on Tim, as if attempting to pinpoint the precise instant he had transformed into a walking enigma. Ever since the Ordeal commenced, this had become his defining characteristic.

He had found her in a similar manner. Out for a leisurely walk. Following the whim of his footsteps. She had long lost count of the improbable situations they had stumbled into, accumulating fortunate finds with remarkable ease. Whether considering their equipment or their personal power, their standards had elevated dramatically in mere days.

It was almost excessive.

For Tim, submerging himself in the Lumyst River was hardly a gamble given his exceptional luck. And because its fortune extended to her, it hadn't been one for her either. If not for the fact that luck eventually falters beyond a certain enchantment threshold, they might have even attempted to bathe beneath the twin waterfalls.

This staircase represented yet another windfall awaiting them. As always.

Yet, she found herself never tiring of it.

Within this grand adventure, where she was undeniably a secondary figure, outcomes consistently favored them. Zero suspense involved.

Tim offered her a composed, almost guileless look.

"Coming?"

He was already placing his foot on the initial step. The abyssal darkness below seemed to consume all ambient light.

Lily drew a deep breath and took his hand. Almost instinctively. To mask her apprehension. To reaffirm his tangible presence.

He gently tightened his grip around her fingers.

And together, they commenced their descent.