The Money-Obssessed Archmage's Second Life As A Broke Duke-Chapter 82 - What Did You Do To Lune?!
Chapter Eighty Two
-Poof!-
The Weaver exploded without getting another statement past her lips as I stared at my surrounding, dumbfounded.
What the fuck just happened?! Wasn't she going to guide me to Spirit King? Where did she go after taking my memory?
[Ping!]
[We think she was definitely a thief.]
I agree. Tch. What a waste of memory.
[Ping!]
[Host should check her house. Maybe, we'll find something there?]
What if she comes back?
[Ping!]
[She won't.]
How are you so sure?
[Ping!]
[Just go.]
I sighed, standing in the center of the clearing, the silence that followed the Weaver's explosion was more jarring than the music that had led me here.
Tiny, glittering particles of starlight drifted through the air like radioactive snow, settling onto my boots and dissolving into the neon grass.
It's all glitters in this Realm. Does God love glitter a lot of something?
The ground stopped vibrating.
The air, previously thick as gelatin, had thinned into something metallic as if I was about to puke blood.
My forehead throbbed where her finger had made contact, a dull ache that felt less like a wound and more like a door that had been slammed shut hundreds of years ago was tampered with.
"Great," I muttered, brushing the shimmering dust off my cloak. "The guide is dead, I still don't have a map, and apparently, my brain is toxic enough to incinerate spirits. Remind me to put that on my resume."
I turned my attention to the massive silver stump she had been perched upon.
Trssshhh... Trssshhh...
Up close, the glowing runes weren't just etched. It was as if they were pulsing with a slow, rhythmic heartbeat.
The hollowed-out center looked less like a house and more like a throat leading into the belly of the earth.
I stepped onto the rim of the stump. Below, a spiral staircase made of white wood wound down into a amber luminescence.
Sysi, are you sure I should go down?
[Ping!]
[Affirmative.]
Well, it doesn't look like a death trap. Let's trust, Sysi.
I began to descent as the air grew warmer the deeper I went.
My boots made no sound on the wood, but the walls seemed to whisper as I passed.
The Spirit Realm could definitely pass as a horror house.
Faint, flickering images danced in the grain of the silver timber. There were scenes of wars fought with spears of light, civilizations rising and falling in the blink of an eye, and a lot of indescribable stuff.
"That Weaver really needs to fire her decorator," I whispered, my voice sounding flat and strange in the confined space.
At the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel opened into a cavern that defied the laws of underground architecture.
The ceiling was a domed sky of swirling violet clouds, and the floor was a mirror-still pool of liquid gold. Floating islands of moss-covered rock drifted aimlessly across the liquid surface, connected by bridges of woven light.
In the center of the largest island sat a small, humble hut made of driftwood and dragon scales.
I hopped across the floating rocks, my balance surprisingly steady despite the dwindling effects of the Yggdrasil vial.
Phew...
I reached the hut and pushed the door open. It wasn't locked.
The interior was cluttered with jars of captured whispers, jars of bottled starlight, and shelves of scrolls that hummed when I looked at them.
In the corner, a fireplace burned with a flame that was a deep, impossible green. But it wasn't the decor that caught my eye.
On a pedestal in the center of the room sat a single, crystalline orb.
So shiny... What is this thing?
Inside it was a tiny, miniature version of a forest was trapped, and moving through those tiny trees was a flicker of orange fire.
"Is this the path that leads to the Fire King?"
I reached out to grab the orb, but as my fingers brushed the glass, the green flames in the hearth roared upward, turning into a towering pillar of fire. The light blinded me for a second, and when I could see again, the hut was gone.
The cavern was gone.
I was standing on a ridge overlooking a valley of ash. The sky here was a bruised charcoal grey, and the "moons" were nowhere to be seen, replaced by a single, bloated sun that hung low on the horizon like a bleeding wound.
The heat hit me like a physical blow. My moonlight cloak, so useful in the indigo thicket, began to singe at the edges.
"From the freezer to the frying pan," I hissed, wiping sweat from my eyes. "Literally."
I looked down into the valley. Flowing through the center of the desolation was a river of molten slag, and beside it, half-buried in the soot, were the ruins of a temple that looked like it had been carved from the bones of a titan.
That's when I saw the movement.
At the base of the temple, a figure was fighting. It was fast.
To be more precise, it was a blur of white and orange that cut through the gloom like a streak of lightning. Opposing it were dozens of shadows, tall and spindly, wielding blades of hardened ash.
I scrambled down the ridge, my boots sliding in the loose soot.
As I got closer, the sounds of battle reached me.
The figure in white spun, and several massive tails swept through the air, knocking back a wave of shadow-soldiers with a force that sent a shockwave through the ground.
I skidded to a stop behind a fallen pillar, my heart hammering against my ribs.
... Is that the legendary nine tailed fox?!
The fighter stood in the center of the clearing, panting. Her white robes were torn, stained with soot and a strange, iridescent blue fluid.
Her ears twitched at every sound, and nine magnificent, snow white tails fanned out behind her, each tip glowing with a different colored flame.
She turned her head slightly, her eyes a piercing, crystalline blue that seemed to see through the very air.
"Akira?" I breathed.
The Kitsune froze.
Her tails stilled, the flames at their tips guttering low. She didn't turn around immediately, but the air around us suddenly grew heavy.
"A mortal. In the Spirit Realm. Smelling like my daughter."
"Huh?"
"Who are you?! What did you do to Lune!?"
