Rivers of the Night

It took no more than a flicker of his gaze for Theron to realize that he had fallen into a trap.

He was certain that he had lured the Patriarch away. Though, in the first place, he had never laid eyes on Patriarch Nightingale to begin with—the man had been too high in the skies.

The real reason Theron had never shown himself near the entrances was out of an abundance of caution.

His original plan was just as Patriarch Nightingale had assumed. He wanted to lure the lion away from the pride, and then target the more vulnerable cubs.

He was moments away from succeeding, and the longer the battle went on for, the more sure he was that Patriarch Nightingale likely wasn't here, or else why would he wait so long to take action against a mere Silver Mancer?

But here he was.

That tidbit of information, though… it was important, and it was something that someone else would have missed.

Why was it that Patriarch Nightingale had taken so long to act if he had been here the whole time? Obviously, it wasn't to allow Theron a chance to kill the disciples, or else he wouldn't have acted to save them just now.

Theron grunted and his knees felt like they were about to collapse under him.

His mask cracked further and a large piece of it fell to the ground, revealing the bottom quarter of his face.

Crack.

It cracked once again.

As the pieces fell and Theron's body threatened to shatter into motes of blood, there was an almost dull expression in his eyes.

Blackmaul landed heavily on his feet and slid back, his expression flickering continuously. Had he actually still lost again? Even so focused? If not for the Patriarch, he would be dead right now.

"Go and inform the Elder Council," Patriarch Nightingale said calmly, speaking to Blackmaul.

Blackmaul attempted to take out a communication device, but Patriarch Nightingale shook his head.

"No. I've locked down the region with my Third Eye and set up a formation. No communication in or out of this region will work. You will need to go by foot."

Patriarch Nightingale didn't explain any further, but Blackmaul seemed to "understand." This should be a precaution so that the Demon Chosen also couldn't ask for help.

Theoretically, this trial of the Chosen was meant to take place all on their own, and any life or death would be decided by them and them alone.

However, who would trust the Demon Corps to keep their own word about things like this? Or who was to say that they might not come for revenge after Theron's death?

They had to be very cautious with how they dealt with this, and involving the Hall of Ice and Heart was definitely the smartest approach as well.

Not doing so would be the pinnacle of foolishness. Or else there would be no one to save them once the ire of the Demon Corps came down.

With a nod, Blackmaul and the other two disciples struggled to their feet. Ilyssia still seemed to be in the worst situation of them all, and Serenya had to quite literally shoulder the burden of her weight lest she fall once again.

It was only after they were gone that Patriarch Nightingale looked to Theron. But it could be said that, from start to finish, the latter's senses had never left him. In fact, he was scrutinizing Theron to such a thorough degree that one would have soon thought him to be trying to feel out every cell in his body.

Theron felt as though he was some sort of specimen on a slab of stainless steel, his body being turned upside down and inside out continuously.

He could feel the senses then switch from him to the weapons in his hands, lingering for an especially long time on the foggy black dagger in his left.

Patriarch Nightingale didn't show any signs of greed or impatience, and yet his thoughts themselves were as naked to Theron as Theron himself felt in this moment.

A silence hung in the air, the pressure neither increasing nor weakening, and yet Theron still felt his stamina being sapped from him every moment.

Slowly, the Patriarch raised a palm.

And it was at that instant Theron acted.

Shu. Shu. Shu. Shu. Shu.

Theron couldn't move a single inch, but his Third Eye could. And that was enough to communicate with the Ebonstone Mine in his father's necklace and completely bury himself within an avalanche of them.

Suddenly, Patriarch Nightingale felt as though his pressure was falling into an endless abyss, and Theron, trapped within the avalanche of Ebonstones, was released so quickly he nearly fell to his knees, gasping for breath.

It had worked.

He had never felt a pressure like that before, but he knew that it was no different from an application of Mana Control. Patriarch Nightingale could solidify the Mana around him, allowing him to fly. It was just a half-step beyond that to use the Mana in the air to crush someone far weaker than himself—or maybe even use it telekinetically.

Despite never having seen this particular application of Mana Control, Theron saw through it in an instant, and using the cards in his hands, he found a counter to it.

What better to undo such a dense usage of Mana than a material designed to absorb and disperse Mana?

Patriarch Nightingale tried once to swipe the Ebonstone away, but it was like trying to use a spoon to dig up a trench. The resistance the Ebonstone had against it was too great.

Realizing the problem, the Patriarch swooped down to act personally, his expression finally showing the slightest hint of a change. He had never expected for Theron to use such an unconventional method. Who used unrefined ores as a defensive method?

BOOM!

Patriarch Nightingale suddenly flinched back, caution showing all over his face as the avalanche of ores suddenly shot out in all directions, a line of red blazing out of the other end.