Mystic Calling：Stone of Glory-Chapter 827: This World Doesn’t Allow Peace

But—

Ethan didn’t even draw a weapon.

He simply raised his hand and flicked his fingers.

The storm took shape.

A blast of compressed wind formed instantly, slamming straight into the skeleton’s chest.

BOOM—!

Bones scattered.

The body shattered.

The skeleton didn’t even have time to register what had happened before its form was already collapsing.

"...What?!"

Its consciousness reeled in shock.

But before it could even begin to reassemble, an even more violent force crashed down.

Ethan appeared in front of it, one hand gripping the flaming skull and lifting it high into the air.

His grip tightened.

"Tell me."

His voice was cold—so cold the air around him dropped several degrees.

"Where’s the strongest being in this place?"

"I might—"

"Let you live."

The flame in the skull’s eye sockets flickered, dimming for a split second.

But just as it was about to speak—

Something went wrong.

A surge of overwhelming power—completely foreign to the skeleton—erupted from within its skull.

BOOM—!

The head exploded on the spot.

The flame snuffed out instantly.

And the world fell silent once more.

Ethan frowned.

In that instant, he knew one thing for sure—

That explosion wasn’t an accident.

The power hadn’t come from the skeleton itself.

It came from deeper within.

Something—or someone—had detonated its soul core remotely, with pinpoint precision.

And that kind of control didn’t belong to any ordinary Bonehell creature.

"There’s something watching us," Ethan said quietly.

His gaze swept across the dim, cracked sky, as if locking eyes with something invisible.

Then he pulled his attention back, voice calm again.

"Feylora," he said, "find an open area with intact structure."

"We’re setting up camp."

"I want to see what exactly this place is hiding."

Feylora didn’t hesitate. She nodded and moved out immediately.

The Fairies scattered, using their innate senses to search for a safe zone in this dead world.

Before long, they stopped in front of a ruined village.

It had clearly been abandoned for ages.

Collapsed houses, broken streets, the air thick with rot.

But strangely—

Despite the outward decay, most of the village’s internal structures were still intact.

As if something had deliberately preserved them.

Ethan settled into a relatively spacious courtyard.

His aura slowly spread outward, like an invisible net sweeping the area.

At the same time, his system interface quietly unfolded, assisting with deeper scans.

This was Bonehell.

And in a place like this, even the slightest carelessness could be fatal.

Time passed.

The group gradually began to relax.

Then—

The distant gray mist suddenly tore open.

A figure stumbled out, sprinting like hell was on its heels.

"Something’s coming," Feylora warned in a low voice.

Ethan was already on his feet.

In the next instant, he flashed forward like lightning, intercepting the figure mid-run.

They skidded to a stop, nearly crashing into him.

It was a person.

At least—on the outside.

No bones.

No soulfire.

And most importantly—

No trace of death energy. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Instead, they radiated a warm, steady life force.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

He stepped forward and clamped a hand down on the man’s shoulder.

Power surged out like a tide, instantly locking down the stranger’s entire body.

"Who are you?"

His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a pressure that brooked no resistance.

"You don’t belong here."

The man flinched, clearly startled.

But once he realized he couldn’t break free, he calmed down instead.

He raised his hand, revealing a tattoo on the inside of his forearm.

"My name’s Balric."

"I’m one of the Daybound."

He gave a bitter smile.

"Went out exploring during daylight, accidentally crossed the boundary."

"Figured I could hide somewhere for the night and slip back in... but the Nightveil found me anyway."

Ethan’s brow creased slightly.

Daybound?

Nightveil?

He didn’t press for answers right away. Instead, he activated a system scan.

Data streamed across his vision.

The results came fast—

Balric wasn’t lying.

And the structure of this world was even more complex than Ethan had expected.

Bonehell wasn’t home to just one race.

There were four.

Daybound.

Sunborn.

Starborn.

Nightveil.

They didn’t live together.

They were split—cleanly—into two opposing factions.

Daybound and Sunborn—

Aligned with the day.

Starborn and Nightveil—

Aligned with the night.

As Ethan pieced the information together, a brutal, efficient world rule began to take shape.

Daylight races were drastically weakened at night.

They could barely leave their own territory.

Night races were the same.

During the day, they had to hide underground or rely on mist and barriers just to survive.

This wasn’t belief.

It wasn’t choice.

It was a restriction etched into the world itself.

"So..." Ethan murmured.

"You’re practically incapable of waging war on each other’s turf."

Balric nodded.

"Exactly."

"At first... everyone just stayed in their own zones. No one crossed the line."

"Until that day."

His voice dropped.

"There was a fight over a Primordial Lake."

"That’s when the war started."

Ethan’s gaze sharpened.

Go on.

Balric took a deep breath.

"There are only two times we can actually fight."

"Dawn."

"And dusk."

"During those hours, both day and night races are suppressed."

"No one has a clear advantage."

He paused, weariness creeping into his tone.

"So every battle ends with heavy casualties..."

"But almost no real progress."

The courtyard fell silent.

Ethan didn’t speak.

But his eyes grew colder.

He’d seen the truth of this world.

This wasn’t a war of belief.

It was a deadlock—

A war of attrition, forced by the world’s own rules.

Ethan raised a hand to his chin, brow furrowed.

He wasn’t hesitating.

He was thinking.

What kind of prize could drive two factions to keep fighting a war they knew they couldn’t win—

No matter the cost?

"This Primordial Lake," he said slowly, eyes locking onto Balric.

"Can you take me there?"

Balric froze.

Almost instinctively, he glanced over his shoulder.

On the far side of the mist, dozens of figures were closing in.

Nightveil.

Their steps were silent, but they moved with the speed of night itself.

Each one radiated a cold, taut killing intent—undeniable and unhidden.

This wasn’t a pursuit.

It was an execution.