Wizard: Unlimited Profession Slots Chapter 776 - 353: One Punch Explosion_2

"However, various events could alter the scoring standards of the New Star Plan. If the Conquest Faction seizes control, the importance of real combat skills in the evaluation might rise."

Confronted with this dire scenario, Ron displayed no hint of alarm, instead revealing a smile full of assurance.

That smile conveyed profound wisdom, igniting a strange feeling of eagerness in Eliot’s heart.

"Thanks for the intel, Eliot."

Ron nodded toward his companion, who had shared numerous crucial pieces of information:

"This knowledge proves invaluable to me, particularly the specifics on rival participants."

"Got any strategies?"

Eliot inquired with curiosity, aware that his friend’s poise stemmed from solid grounds.

"I do have an impending breakthrough in my studies."

Ron replied enigmatically, his tone laced with firm belief:

"Details remain under wraps for the moment, yet I hold great faith in my outcomes."

He halted briefly, his gaze turning deep and insightful:

"Upon my return to the Central Lands next month, I’ll reveal these achievements. At that point, the rankings will sort themselves out naturally."

Eliot let out a resigned sigh, unsure what else to add.

Still, his companion had always shattered records, outpacing others by miles, and this occasion might follow suit.

"I’ll look forward to it then." The golden-haired young man’s words brimmed with hope:

"Just stay cautious, particularly around Uphemia. The Blood Moon Clan has ramped up activity recently, as if gearing up for a grand scheme."

Once the call concluded, Ron sank into thought.

The New Star Plan’s rivalry burned fiercely, yet it presented an ideal stage to display his research accomplishments.

Details on these rivals sharpened his grasp of the Wizard World’s rising young Wizards today.

Dale gazed at Ron, lost in reflection by the window, a peculiar anxiety stirring within her.

She sensed the growing distance from him, like he was climbing to peaks beyond her reach.

This truth filled her with pride and terror alike.

Pride in beholding his ascent, yet dread that his realm might forever elude her comprehension.

Beyond the glass, the observation station’s core framework loomed quietly amid the gloomy heavens.

The intricate building masses throbbed gently in the shadows, akin to some beast’s vital organs.

Far off, the Abyss’s silhouette hovered, ever warning of their perch on the edge of order and turmoil.

Ron fixed his eyes on the dark chasm, myriad ideas swirling in his thoughts.

Regardless of future twists or his shot at "King of Eras", he had to press on.

For halting spelled doom, whereas advancing at least promised possibility.

............

Seventh Floor of the Abyss, heart of the "Soul Abyss".

This realm itself embodied sacrilege.

Thirteen seats arrayed like a colossal eye’s iris, each forged from myriad captive souls.

Former sages now served as the living substance of these chairs.

Their visages sporadically surfaced on the seats’ exteriors, mouthing voiceless wails before vanishing into fleshy voids.

The floor amid the thrones featured writhing bone slabs, each hewn from rulers’ craniums.

They endlessly snapped their maws, emitting subtle gnashing sounds, as though relishing enduring terrors.

The gray whirlpool at the center churned wildly today, echoing a dread orchestra of perished realms’ death throes.

Now and then, vignettes erupted from the swirl’s core.

Flames devouring metropolises, warped firmaments, anguished countenances, and final gasps of doomed souls in extinction.

At present, grotesque forms occupied every throne.

Perched on the first was "Void Spider" Maggs, its form a writhing mass of dark filaments, faintly exposing myriad racial visages.

The mask upon it broadcast psychic pulses that burrowed into others’ psyches.

"Yet another such assembly..." Maggs’ "voice" dripped with revolting viscosity, like myriad filaments slithering through the hearer’s psyche:

"Truly, I’m starting to question if we ’High Apostles’ achieve anything beyond mutual griping and bellowing in this place?"

The second throne stood vacant—that belonged to "Dragon-headed Fiend" Chai Ye.

Upon the third, "Invisible Mist" Nas’s cloud-like form spun languidly.

Innumerable orbs inside gazed every which way, some scanning now, others probing yesteryear, a few probing tomorrow.

Its tone evoked cosmic static gales:

"Maggs, your words ring true enough. We’re like caged beasts, reduced to snarls with no other outlet."

"Corrosion Monster" Agasa from the sixth throne unleashed a piercing cackle.

The colossal horror now "exposed its torso", unveiling a squirming core within:

"Hahaha... Least we can still converse, eh? Ponder those fools stripped of even awareness; we’re the fortunate ones."

She grazed her seat’s arm, spawning vast fungal blooms at once:

"Plus, Cassandra’s frenzied campaigns supply us ample... novel decay fodder, right? Ruins of her toppled societies inevitably drift to our realm?"