Wizard: Stronger through Marriage Chapter 1306 - 608: Statues of the Gods (Part 2)

He swept his gaze over his companions; those resolute, solemn faces reflected an iron will tempered a hundredfold, like steel forged in endless flame.

Liya gripped the Staff of Life tightly, her limpid eyes gliding over the ruins and broken walls around them; golden Runes pulsed in her palm, radiating a warmth that was steady and unswerving.

"This time, no matter how dark the power behind it, we must uproot it completely."

Lucia’s shoulders were draped in a silver robe. With a gentle motion of her fingertips, a faint arcane ripple encircled the Array around them.

Her words were delicate yet powerful: "Though the star orbits lie far away, justice shall never lose its course.

The Witch Rider Corps will cleave apart the gloom of Eternal Night and return clarity to the world."

In silence, they walked slowly into the depths of the hall, and a suffocating, murky pressure rushed forth to meet them.

The walls were carved full of dense, indecipherable Runes and blood-red markings—taboo scars left behind by the Eternal Night Council; each stroke seemed to be narrating unspeakable secrets and sins.

Suddenly, a heavy iron door slowly creaked open, and a tall, brooding figure strode out at a measured pace.

His head of silver hair was mottled with white, yet his eyes remained sharp as a hunting hawk;

this was the last Chairman—Morse. Though his features showed the wear of age, there was an unignorable breath of defiance and a sly authority hidden within them.

"You have finally come..." Morse’s voice was hoarse, yet tinged with desolation and stubborn pride. "Witch Rider Corps... I admit you are far stronger than I anticipated.

But all of this is nothing but one more bout upon the chessboard of fate."

David met his gaze head-on, heavy yet unafraid. "Morse, you once swore to defend the dignity of the continent, yet now you’ve become a puppet piece in the Pope’s dark game. Why do you willingly let yourself be controlled?"

Morse’s expression twisted slightly, as if something within was being torn apart.

"The Pope... his avatars have used the Heart of Shadow to control me for a hundred years.

This shackle coils around me—I cannot break it, and I cannot resist..."

His voice was low, yet filled with helplessness and pain, like the final, desolate confession of a prisoner long trapped in a dungeon, powerless to free himself.

Hill tightened his grip on his sword hilt, fury blazing in his eyes. "Yet even so, you once had the right to choose!

Why give it up? Why willingly become a tool of wickedness?"

Morse let out a bitter laugh. "Choice? That was nothing but an illusion.

When the Heart of Shadow possesses you, it erodes your will, turns you into the humanoid puppet it desires; every struggle you make dissolves into futility.

I hate these shackles, yet all I can do is endure the agony they bring."

Liya calmly raised the Staff of Life in her hand, infusing holy power into the air until bright golden radiance surged upward.

"Today, we will win release for all the victims. This is vengeance—and redemption!"

The battle left no room for needless words. Hill was the first to swing his Longsword, slashing toward the nether gloom spreading around Morse, while the others displayed their strengths in turn: Cynthia’s frigid Sword Qi condensed into razor Ice Blades that crashed forward;

Lucia unleashed a torrent of arcane power that tore at space itself, cutting off any route of escape;

Liya wove Life Runes into a Shield, protecting her comrades from the backlash of counterattacks.

Though Morse was already in decline, the strange Energy radiating from the Heart of Shadow within him kept his movements swift and vicious; each punch he threw carried ripples of ghostly blue Shadow, like a reaper’s scythe cutting down the very life of the world.

His eyes shone with despair and madness, willing to sacrifice himself as an offering in a bid to drag them all down with him!

David clenched his fist, blue-white sacred flames flaring explosively across his body. He shouted, "Everyone together! Don’t let him escape—we must end this nightmare!"

In an instant the battle surged into its climax: blade-light and sword-shadows intertwined, weaving a net of destiny; at times frosty ice-spines tore through the sky, at times surging Soul Energy erupted outward, and every clash rippled through the air with deafening thunder.

All of it seemed like the grandest and most brutal scene in a cosmic epic staged between heaven and earth!

At last, under their persistent, united assault, that Heart of Shadow let out a shattering roar, like a meteor slamming into the Abyss beneath the earth, and the entire hall shook on the verge of collapse!

Morse screamed again and again, flung back by the impact to crash far away, lying sprawled and unable to rise. His body was spattered with blood, yet the stubborn light in his eyes had not fully gone out.

Hill approached, pressing his sword-tip to Morse’s throat, while David stood in quiet watch over the last Chairman, seeing a final, complex expression spread across his face.

Pain, remorse, despair—and a faint longing for release from the unknown future.

"Tell us the truth," David murmured. "Just how many secrets stand behind the Pope? How long will his conspiracy continue?"

Morse exhaled with difficulty. "The Pope... is no longer a single, simple being, but a dispersed ancient power, his avatars scattered across the Multiverse.

This Heart of Shadow is merely one of the key nodes. Through it he has controlled countless factions for nearly a century... You are facing a vortex far greater than you imagine..."

Before his words finished, his pupils abruptly lost focus; his gaze fell into stillness, as though his Soul had been drawn away.

Yet his words hammered into their hearts like leaden blows, and they knew: this war was far from over, and a broader, more intricate game was about to unfold!

David slowly withdrew his gaze and turned toward his teammates, his voice steely. "From this moment, we will officially take custody of the Eternal Night Council’s legacy.

This is not only a responsibility, but also a key—one that can open a new Chapter leading toward the future!"

Cynthia said coldly, "Safeguarding the continent’s dignity is our vocation and our mission. No evil shall be allowed to spread and fester again!"

Liya smiled gently yet with firm resolve. "We possess free will. That conviction alone is enough to light the darkest night. No matter how rough the road ahead, we will reach the dawn."

Lucia lifted her hand, gently touching the Arcane Array projected by the Star Orbit Calibration Instrument. Her silver eyes sparkled with the fire of wisdom. "With wisdom, we will repair order; with courage, we will guard hope. In this turbulent world, we shall reshape the order of a new epoch!"

The cold night still lay shrouded over the Earth; the stone walls of the Witch Rider Corps’ main fortress cast pallid, abyssal shadows under the moonlight.

The air was filled with the fresh scent of grass and leaves soaked in dew, accompanied by the soft breeze brushing the treetops and stirring a ceaseless rustling sound.

Lucia stood in silence atop the lofty observation tower, her silver-white hair teased by the wind. Her silver eyes, deep as the night sky itself, gazed upon the boundless stars.

"The oracles of the Sea God and the Elf God... have suddenly fallen silent." She whispered under her breath, fingertip stroking the Star Map hovering before her eyes.

Within the Arcane Array, faint blue-violet radiance surged, slowly shifting like a flowing river of stars.

Liya stood not far away, gripping the Staff of Life. The warm golden glow lit her face, steadfast and unafraid.

"The images of the gods... they have begun to crack." Her gaze was cold and troubled; the fissures spread like spiderwebs, each thread of breaking stone as if tearing apart the deepest serenity between heaven and earth.

Hill frowned, his hand clenching his Longsword so tight his knuckles turned white, chill seeping from the blade’s edge.

He stared at the distant sky, at the enormous statues whose silhouettes were turning dim and broken. "This is no coincidence. It is the ancient order trembling at its very foundations."

The members of the Witch Rider Corps gathered one after another within the observation hall.

Cast upon the walls were omens from the sea of stars: those colossal sculptures that embodied the powers of the old gods and the guardianship of Souls were beginning to crack and peel like waves battering jagged rocks; the textures on their surfaces appeared weathered by a thousand years of corrosion, yet also looked as though they were being gnawed away by some invisible force, flaking and collapsing bit by bit.

"The dormancy cycle..." Lucia’s voice quivered slightly, yet lost none of its solemnity. "This marks the divine realms entering a period of hibernation and slumber. It is an unavoidable, irresistible great calamity."

David stood at the center of the hall, clad in blue-white sacred flame Armor, his body circled by holy fire like the last searing ember before dawn.

His brows were tightly furrowed, yet within them was an unspeakable defiance and resolve.

He slowly raised his right fist, as though it contained the power of all the phenomena of heaven and earth; with each small tremor, it kindled the arcane Energy in the air around him.

"This is the prologue of a new era." His voice rang firm and clear. "The lofty Guardians of old will gradually retreat into hibernation, and from this moment on, mortals shall be the ones to rule their own fate."