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Chapter Summary
Dark espera was something that only demons or their worshippers—the heretics—could use, and even then, only partially due to their human origins. The dark espera was controlled to strictly flow in a single stream, while the pure espera was made to flow in a way that did not interfere with or obstruct its path, making a two-way channel into his body. Yet, in front of Ophelia, he felt like an ant—someone insignificant, someone that could be killed any second, just like squashing an insect.
Chapter 297: Balance!
Clan!
Chapter 297Oliver was indulging in a taboo action at this moment.
If any prominent exorcist were to witness this moment, they would not hesitate to attack him.
Dark espera was something that only demons or their worshippers—the heretics—could use, and even then, only partially due to their human origins.
So, a human being able to use dark espera fully was something never seen before.
Oliver was probably the first of his kind to actually be able to use dark espera despite being human.
Or perhaps...
because he was no longer entirely human.
The pure espera that had earlier been sticking to him was instantly destroyed as particles of dark espera rushed towards him, entering his core.
Oliver remained focused, with eyes closed and posture fixed, as he continued gathering dark espera from the surroundings.
He was collecting the dark espera like a sinkhole drawing water.
Greedy.
Endless.
Silent.
The dark espera, as soon as it entered his body, was channeled into his espera channels while, at the same time, into his espera veins.
Being both a physical and spiritual exorcist, he had to work twice as hard as normal exorcists.
So, double the amount of dark espera was being used just for him to form a core of dark espera.
Not to mention that espera and dark espera were naturally contradictory to one another, and trying to use both of them was life-threatening.
However, since he was no longer a pure human, his body had undergone internal changes as well.
It had become something capable of achieving what the two could not.
A bridge between destruction and purification.
As he welcomed the intake of dark espera, the pure espera in his veins shifted—albeit very slightly—creating a pocket of space just above, in the espera veins and espera channels.
The dark espera was controlled to strictly flow in a single stream, while the pure espera was made to flow in a way that did not interfere with or obstruct its path, making a two-way channel into his body.
What he was attempting right now was extremely dangerous, and if interrupted, could lead to deadly consequences—and in the worst case, he could even die on the spot.
And what was even more dangerous was the lack of guidance for him.
Such a thing had never been done successfully in history by anyone; even the greatest of minds would not attempt something so bizarre.
However, Oliver had something that others didn’t—tenfold the talent of a terrifying genius!
Controlling espera for him was as natural as breathing.
It was not a process, but an instinct for him.
And controlling the two opposing energies finally posed his talent a sufficient challenge—it was a provocation.
A dare whispered by the Abyss itself.
Time passed just like that, and he kept on gathering the dark espera from his surroundings hungrily.
The cave had rich dark espera, and he had no problems at all.
And suddenly, the air around him shifted.
A terrifying pressure enveloped the entire cave, and a dark and powerful feeling surged from his being as an eerie atmosphere clutched the surroundings.
He finally opened his eyes, and a sharp glint flashed through them.
They were no longer the eyes of a boy seeking power.
They were the eyes of something becoming power.
_______________ On the Other Side of the World Things had taken a turn for the worse, as the Mystic Purge Clan was enveloped in a tense atmosphere.
Most of the common folk didn’t know what was actually happening, but they could sense the air around them was unusual and cold.
A dark and heavy atmosphere clouded the inner region of the clan.
It was the same place where most of the influential figures of the clan lived.
The atmosphere here was even more pressing.
Some of them knew what was happening, while others were laying low, not daring to act out.
In the center of the inner region, there was a tall and extravagant building.
As beautifully crafted and luxurious as the establishment was, the inside atmosphere at this moment was chilling.
An elderly man was prostrating himself on the soft wooden mat.
His head, full of white hair, was touching the ground as he knelt.
His posture was rigid, and his muscles were stiff.
He didn’t dare move an inch as he maintained the same posture toward a certain direction.
In front of him was a translucent curtain made out of simple wood and paper.
A shadow was visible from behind the curtain.
It clung to the walls like smoke, heavy and unseen but everywhere.
The old man did not even look at the shadow, his head not moving an inch, as he awaited the shadow to speak.
The shadow moved slightly as its features became more apparent—a woman.
A feminine shadow flickered slightly behind the curtain.
The old man suddenly tensed as the shadow’s gaze fell upon him.
His hair stood on end as his skin crawled with goosebumps.
After all, the one behind those curtains was none other than Ophelia, the matriarch of the clan.
The surrounding air was chilling, and a hint of killing intent was vaguely present in the atmosphere.
The old man’s brows were covered in sweat as his heart pumped in anticipation of what she would say.
"Where is he?
" She asked.
Her first question—straight to the point—felt like a sharp sword stabbing right through the old man.
"We...
are still searching for the fourth young master.
We have yet to trace his whereabouts, madam.
" The old man spoke with some strain.
The pressure inside the room was tremendous; it was not something someone normal could endure.
The old man could feel his bones shaking.
"Why?
" A simple yet emotionless reply came from behind the curtain.
The old man felt chills down his spine.
It was as if someone had put a blade right before his throat, ready to slice it apart at any moment.
His fingers trembled.
It was a scene of wonder.
The old man was an elder of one of the strongest clans in existence—an exorcist with centuries of experience.
Countless demons had been exorcised by him—both deadly and ferocious.
He was battle-hardened, and his spirit was strong.
Yet, in front of Ophelia, he felt like an ant—someone insignificant, someone that could be killed any second, just like squashing an insect.
Her presence erased rank, age, history.
In her presence, there was only obedience—or death.
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