Rivers of the Night

Theron's eyes narrowed. This spear thought he was a descendant of the Nightingales? Was this where this treasure came from?

Long before all of this, Theron had already felt that there was something odd about Patriarch Nightingale's origins, and his scheming also seemed to be a particular oddity.

He was planning things on a scope that seemed to outline an ambition that was quite grandiose. But Theron couldn't understand why he was so confident in himself to even try such a thing.

Of course, he had certain advantages. But was an increased lifespan really all he needed to start jumping off the deep end like he had?

Then there was the existence of Goddess Sacharro herself.

Logically speaking, Goddess Sacharro had some grand master plan in mind. She had said something about saving Existence back when she appeared on the continent, but Theron had been too enraged by the loss of Malaya to care at all.

But thinking back, if she really was plotting something for the betterment of Existence, and she was truly so powerful that she could control such talented incarnations, wouldn't she choose the absolute best starting location for said incarnations?

Why would she choose such a backwater Sect to start?

There was a possibility that she simply couldn't control where her incarnations appeared, but Theron didn't believe that.

If she could take control of the Dark Spirit Theron had recently learned had once been Sadie's, given her power it would be child's play to guide the young Sadie to a Sect with much brighter prospects.

Unless… there was something here that even Goddess Sacharro was interested in.

Or, at the very least, even if her main body wasn't actually interested in it, she thought it was valuable enough for her incarnation that it was worth the lower starting position.

And now, it seemed that in her arrogance, Matriarch Macie had actually risked such a thing falling into Theron's hands.

The only shame was that it was a legacy tied to a spear instead of a short sword. If Theron had a legacy for his dagger and matched it with one for his sword, he would be unstoppable.

But for now it didn't matter.

The only reason he had a fondness for his two starting blades was because he felt like they gave him more control, and one of them was the blade his father had passed down to him.

Since he wouldn't be able to use them for a while, though… this would have to do.

Theron had all of these thoughts in a flashing instant. A breath later, a beam of darkness pierced his forehead and when he awoke he found himself in a secret realm of sorts. Or, at least his soul certainly was.

He stood on a ground of endless fog. Extending outward before him was a path that ended in a wide set of foggy black stairs.

And then, at the end of those stairs was an altar and a looming statue of a black-feathered bird that must have been at least 20 meters tall, if not more.

The statue stood there as though its wings had become a cloak and its eyes were piercing into his soul. Even standing there, Theron could feel a special weight on his soul that was difficult to describe, heavy and vast as it was.

And then the bird's head suddenly tilted up.

"Descendant of the Nightingale… step forward."

Theron hesitated.

He was no Nightingale descendant. If there was some sort of bloodline detection item here, what would happen once this spirit realized that he wasn't one of their own?

Theron hesitated for only a short while. A moment later, he was already stepping forward, his thoughts pure and simple.

If he was correct and this was what Goddess Sacharro was really after, then she would certainly have had a way around it. And if her purpose here was for him to replace the use of her incarnation, then whatever method she had around it just might be something she had already baked into his body.

He couldn't see an easy way out of this now, so this would have to do for the time being. If this didn't work, then he would see if he could control his body from afar to pull his soul out of this place.

Theron walked up the steps until he was before the altar.

"Kowtow to your ancestors."

Theron didn't hesitate to do as he was told. He didn't feel a need to attach a great amount of pride to things. He would do whatever it took for him to survive.

Every kowtow seemed to come with a rush of power, surging tides of Dark Mana pouring into him as though to nourish him.

However, by the time the first started to burrow into his pores… something changed.

"Hm?"

The voice as ancient as time paused, realizing something odd.

Theron tensed, thinking that he had been caught before the voice actually spoke again.

"You are… a Dual Resonance Mancer… and your Water Mana has already shown signs of Returning to your Ancestors… How… unexpected… it seems both of your parents have quite shocking origins."

'Returning to Ancestors? Could he mean…?'

"This is truly unexpected… I do not know what to do… if I help you by erasing your Water Mancer origins, then if you should fail, the Nightingale Clan still has a chance.

"But… if I allow you to keep your Water Origin, then it will take what remaining energy I have left… in such a case, should you fail, the Nightingale Clan's last hope will be wiped out entirely…"

Theron frowned. He didn't like the sound of that.

He didn't even want Dark Mana affinity to begin with, and now this voice was speaking of erasing his Water Mana affinity entirely. That was unacceptable.

His affinities had been given to him by his parents, his real parents. He refused to allow some other bloodline to replace it.

While he might be willing to do anything to survive, even he had his limits.

"This is… a chance I… cannot take…" the voice said slowly.

Theron's heart skipped a beat.