Chapter 52: The Encounter of Two "Protagonists" (Third Update)

While Shar was moving in secret, on the third floor of the Storm Tavern in Storm Harbor, Roddy, dressed in a fitted gray outfit, sat face to face with a man. With a casual wave of his hand, he cast a simple soundproofing spell, effortlessly ensuring that neither ordinary people nor spiritmasters could eavesdrop.

His companion wore a black round hat, held a pipe in his hand, and had placed a black cane on the table. What was most surprising were his rare violet eyes, mysterious as amethyst, which set him apart. With delicate features and a petite build, he could easily be mistaken for a girl if one did not look closely.

These past days, Roddy had been constantly on the move, leading the spiritmasters of Storm Harbor to the vast underground cavern. Yet, when he finally brought them there, he found the place had completely collapsed. Carving a new path to the subterranean grotto would take at least ten days. Some spirit beasts gifted at digging, like pangolins, had remained behind to labor day and night, but Roddy’s own beast was ill-suited to such work, leaving him to await news in Storm Harbor.

It was then that this man had approached him, claiming to have something of utmost importance to discuss. Roddy, tall and solid, sat calmly—his previous recklessness washed away by recent events, replaced now by a newfound steadiness. “Mr. Allen, can you tell me at last what you wished to see me about?”

The man before him was also a second-tier spiritmaster, possessing two powerful evolved totems, a fact Roddy could not take lightly.

“Roddy, you have no idea what you’re up against. That organization is so powerful it could easily wipe out all of Faen County!” the mysterious man, Allen, said, lighting his pipe with a match and taking a deep draw.

Roddy’s gaze sharpened. The strange phenomena in the underground grotto had already made him aware that some great secret lay concealed there. He had never heard of such a vast forest existing beneath the earth, lush and primal as any ancient woodland.

He rested his right hand on the table, his muscular frame leaning forward. “Then, can you tell me what this organization truly is?”

In the enormous, enigmatic underground forest southwest of Storm Harbor, he had casually encountered two second-tier spiritmasters, and now, ever more terrifying beasts were appearing. One strange event after another made him realize the crisis lurking beneath the surface calm.

This world was not as peaceful as it seemed.

“Of course. That organization goes by many names: the Dark Council, the Thrones of the Gods, the Scythe of Death—but its true name is the Church of the True God,” Allen replied, exhaling a ring of smoke, his eyes growing distant.

“That group worships an evil deity and has lain hidden for centuries, attempting countless times to overthrow the Empire. Even those royal heirs assassinated throughout history were their handiwork.”

Roddy’s eyes narrowed with shock. He had not imagined the group so brazen as to dare assassinate members of the imperial family.

The Empire of Harrison, once ruler of both eastern and western continents, possessed unimaginable strength and heritage. Some bards even told tales of ten divine beasts guarding the imperial capital, enough to sustain the empire’s destiny itself. Even if these stories were exaggerated, there were at least three divine beasts, any one of which could easily destroy Storm Harbor.

Totems at the ultimate level were called legion-class, for they could single-handedly annihilate an elite legion. Those that had undergone further evolution to become divine beasts were called calamity-class—wielding powers as devastating as nature’s wrath: terrifying tornadoes, infernos that could incinerate a city, tsunamis that could drown all things. Their might was truly apocalyptic.

Divine beasts were the ultimate trump card of any empire or major power.

“To attempt to overthrow the empire means they must have at least one divine beast,” Roddy said hoarsely. When he saw Allen nod, his shock only deepened.

A divine beast lurking in the shadows—should it go mad, countless innocent lives would be lost, for it could destroy Storm Harbor in the blink of an eye. No wonder the organization had survived for centuries; unless the empire was certain it could eliminate their divine beast, it dared not launch an all-out purge for fear of mutual destruction.

Allen exhaled another smoke ring, his voice growing somber. “Even more terrifying, they possess not only a divine beast totem, but are plotting something greater still: to create a totem that surpasses even the divine beast, an invincible power.”

“That’s impossible!” Roddy exclaimed.

Throughout history, the divine beast was the final limit of totem evolution—the end of the road. Countless prodigies had tried to go further, but all had failed; it was, without exaggeration, a dead end.

“No one believed they could succeed—until they found the legendary Gate of Origin, and now may truly be able to open it. Both the empire and the authorities have begun to fear they might actually succeed.”

“The Gate of Origin?” Roddy asked.

“It is a portal to the world’s primal source, containing limitless primal energy. The mutated monsters that have appeared lately are the result of exposure to this energy, which has made them ever more like totem beasts—strong and fearsome.”

Roddy fell silent for a moment, absorbing all he had heard. Everything Allen said was beyond his wildest imaginings, as if he were hearing myth and legend. A secret cabal plotting to overthrow the empire, wielding divine beast totems, and seeking to create an even greater power—surely all the recent disturbances were connected to them.

This dreadful organization cared nothing for ordinary lives. In pursuit of their goal, they would stop at nothing—a fact that filled Roddy with rage. Were these despicable, selfish men not themselves someone’s sons, brothers, or fathers?

He had been raised by loving parents, enjoying the warmth and simplicity of ordinary life. From childhood, he grew up listening to tales of heroes, and the dream of becoming one was etched into his bones. He could not turn a blind eye, knowing all this.

His gaze burned as he fixed Allen with his eyes. “Then why have you come to me?”

He was, after all, just a lucky boy who had gained a spiritmaster’s legacy by chance and thus obtained a primary totem. He was so poor he could not afford even the gemstones needed for totem evolution, let alone a rune factory. Only in the recent mortal crisis had he forced his main totem to evolve, burning its power at great risk—almost killing Little Black in the process.

So what could Allen possibly want from him?

“Roddy, you are not the child of ordinary folk. Royal blood flows in your veins—the very blood of the present emperor,” Allen said calmly.

For a moment, Roddy felt the absurdity of it all. The idea of princes and princesses scattered outside the imperial capital belonged only in legend, never in reality.

A trace of suspicion crossed his mind, and he sneered. “And who are you, then? What makes you think I should believe you?”

Was this man a fraud?

Allen removed his little round hat, and his violet eyes glimmered with a faint light, deep and enchanting, as if containing endless secrets. He stood, hat in hand, and smiled.

“Because I can see the future.”