In the cold light of dawn, a gargantuan crimson tower was rising from the Labyrinth. From this distance, it looked like a bloodied sword that some ancient titan had thrust into the heavens.
The crimson coral streamed from its walls like the blood of gods, spreading out from the base of the Spire to devour all of the Forgotten Shore. The tower itself seemed to stand on an island, which was surrounded from all sides by black water. Even though the sun was already climbing up, this part of the cursed sea did not disappear.
Instead, it lingered and moved endlessly, forming a giant whirlpool. Unclear shapes could be seen moving under the surface of the black water, drowning the hearts of humans who dared to approach the Spire with dread.
Amon worked in silence, his expression dark as he poured the blood of scavengers and centurions into containers, sealing them one by one. He had been at it for quite some time. It wasn't only Medici who was preparing for the upcoming battle but Amon was, too. Though, his plans weren't battlefield strategies. They were tricks, little schemes meant to give them an edge in the final fight.
This time, the dreamer army numbered not five hundred sleepers as it had in the novel, but seven hundred. He had done everything he could to raise their chances of survival on the Forgotten Shore. He had really tried. Even so, mistakes weighed heavily on him.
There were plenty of things in his plans that left him dissatisfied; missteps, compromises, gambles he wasn't proud of. But mistakes were part of growth, weren't they? He wasn't perfect. He was never meant to be. He was Error itself, the very flaw that allowed beings to move forward and evolve.
And yet… he was still human. And humans had feelings. It stung to think that, had he not faltered, more lives might have been saved. It left him bitter, too, how the other sleepers avoided him with fear and disgust. Sure, he joked about giving people PTSD, but he wasn't some twisted beast. If only he had figured out his real flaw earlier…
He sighed. No use regretting it now. What's done was done.
Around him, the camp hummed with restless activity. Sleepers gathered around campfires, eating in heavy silence. Others sat apart, dragging whetstones along their blades. The weapons would restore themselves in their soul seas anyway, but sharpening them by hand gave people something to do, a way to chase away the creeping dread. A few trained together, their sparring more a distraction than a preparation.
No one looked at the crimson spire. No one even wanted to. It loomed over them with an invisible pressure, as if declaring that this island would become their grave.
After finishing his work, Amon sighed and pushed aside the tent flap of the [Insert Name Here] clan. His gaze swept over his subordinates, lingering on the battlefield map spread out before them. His frown deepened.
Kai and Harus had done well. Together, they had managed to scout the entire perimeter around the crimson spire. Harus had likely blinded the abominations while Kai watched from above, charting the land drowned in crimson coral. The map was meticulous, each mark precise. Amon gave a silent nod of approval. With it, explaining the plan would become much easier.
The spire stood to the west of Dark City, at the very heart of the Forgotten Shore. Thanks to Kai and Harus, and his own obsessive work, he could say with pride that he possessed the most complete map of this cursed land. He had been drawing it in his notebook since Hollow Mountains, filling it with notes and details. Some of those details were useless now, the monuments of Dark City had been reduced to ash by his own hand.
Still, it wasn't completely useless, at least not for researchers in the field of history and for cartographers.
The island around the spire was vast, large enough to hold tens of thousands in open battle. In the novel, five hundred Sleepers had faced at least five thousand nightmare creatures under the Crimson Terror's command.
Not this time, though.
This time, there were seven hundred Sleepers and perhaps two thousand nightmare creatures. Amon could say with certainty that his fire had culled the horde. By burning the Dark City, he had not only denied the Crimson Terror a massive army but also bought the dreamers a chance. If his plan worked, then… perhaps he could save more.
It felt… good. To know that because of him, fewer would die. Maybe a three hundred, perhaps less. And even now, his mind churned, trying to find a way to save them, too.
Of course, no one would ever thank him for it. They didn't know, nor would they understand. Fame and recognition had never been what he sought, really. Yet he was still famous and recognized… for all the wrong reasons. And it left a bitter taste in his mouth that the very people he saved cursed him and avoided him like the plague.
Sure, he shouldn't feel that way, his goal had never been to be a hero or a leader. But feelings aren't rational. Words still cut deep, especially when they came from the very people whose survival had been his goal all along.
Well, there was nothing he could do about it. Just grit his teeth, shut his mouth, and keep working until he could finally get out of here.
I'm not a hero anyway. I'm the Blasphemer… which is about as far from a valiant warrior as one can get.
Amon shook his head faintly, eyes fixed on the map. Heh. This could really work.
"Caster," he said without looking up. "Call Medici and the others."
Caster sat cross-legged on the floor, chewing on a piece of fruit while playing cards with Harus out of sheer boredom. Well, he couldn't really be blamed, he always won. A person tends to lose interest when there's no challenge.
At Amon's words, he raised an eyebrow, then rolled his eyes lazily. A moment later, he simply vanished. Ten seconds later he reappeared, still eating, utterly unbothered.
"It's done," he yawned, leaning back with an air of arrogance.
Amon stared at him, half-bemused and half-irritated, before allowing himself a small smile. Eccentric bastard… He really had changed. His pride no longer came from being a Legacy, but from something far stranger: being chosen by Mr. Error and also being His blessed.
Amon couldn't help but wonder what his reaction would be if he learned that Mr. Error was Amon himself. Now, that would be funny.
Amon was certain Nephis had long since figured out Caster's original mission, yet Caster didn't seem to care anymore. The weight of returning to Valor gnawed at him far more than failing to kill Nephis. His father would demand answers, and the Han Li clan would definitely be punished. Execution by Valor's ambassador wasn't out of the question, either... Just like how deserters were executed.
And then there was his flaw. Weaver's Mask… there was no avoiding it. That was the only way to give Caster a chance at surviving. Amon still hesitated to lend him a Divine Memory, but he had plans for that as well. In the waking world, those plans would come to fruition. He couldn't just hand it over like it was nothing… but maybe, as a reward from Mr. Error? that could work.
And afterward, there was something else he needed to steal once he returned. If he managed to do it… then he would finally be able to digest Prometheus. That was the fastest path.
The tent flap opened. Medici, Rodrick, Luna, Seishan, Gemma, Nephis, Sunny, Cassia and Effie entered together. The moment they stepped inside, a palpable tension spread between them.
Outside, the sleepers had begun to whisper as they noticed the strongest of the Forgotten Shore gathering around Amon's tent.
"What do you think is happening? Everyone's gathering in his tent."
"I don't know… Last time he got involved, an entire ship fell on our heads. Then a whole city went up in flames."
"Hehe~ but don't you think Caster's handsome?"
"Girl, shut up and don't go near that tent. You think it'll be fun when Gunlaug grinds your bones to dust? Or when Harus butchers you and feeds your corpse to beasts? Or maybe when that wicked bastard kills you without you even knowing how?"
The girl went quiet, lowering her eyes. The young man who scolded her only shook his head, baffled by her ignorance.
It was clear enough. The name of the [Insert Name Here] Clan carried only two things: hatred and fear. And it wasn't just because of what Amon, Harus, and Gunlaug had done. The slum dwellers and a few sleepers fueled by their own grudges, fanned the flames, making everyone else more wary and hostile than they might have been otherwise.
The slum dwellers, especially, were bitter. To them, Amon's actions toward Nephis were unforgivable. As for the others… well, Gunlaug and Harus had done plenty of fucked-up things on their own, so their reputation spoke for itself.
Inside the tent, Amon listened, his expression darkening. He sighed and forced himself to look away, bitterness twisting in his chest.
Fuck it. I don't care. Just be glad I'm not some spiteful little shit with a narrow mind.
At the same time, the newcomers stared at the figures inside the tent. None of them spoke nor did they moved.
Gunlaug sat with his usual bored expression, drinking from a flask as if this were just another evening by the fire. Maybe it was. After all the hopelessness, the despair of knowing he might never leave this place alive, that he might just rot here, alone and forgotten... His tolerance for fear had grown unnaturally high. He really did seem fearless, as though he no longer cared about his own life.
Beside him, Aiko gnawed nervously on her nail. The sight was almost comical: the towering man and the diminutive woman sitting side by side, like a giant and a dwarf.
Across from them, Harus and Caster were playing cards. Caster chewed lazily on one of Kido's strange fruits between moves, while Harus grinned darkly, his hunched frame making the air feel colder. Sunny's stomach tightened as his gaze landed on him, memories rushing back... Memories of Harus speedblitzing him and Saint like they were nothing but children.
Harus, however, wasn't grinning because of that. He was grinning because, for the first time, he thought he was winning... But eh, he ain't winning shit.
Effie's eyes were fixed on Harus as well, her stare cold, her expression taut with loathing.
Kido was quietly mutating plants in a corner, making more fruits, while Kai with a bright smile gathered the ripened ones and placed them neatly on the table, gesturing for the guests to help themselves as if this were a dinner party.
And at the center of it all was Amon. He leaned over the map, hunched low, lips moving faintly as he licked them, marking certain spots with obsessive focus. His expression was unreadable and detached.
The silence stretched until, finally, everyone settled. Then Amon looked up and began to speak. His voice was calm and deliberate, as he laid out his plan. One by one, the others offered their thoughts. Arguments rose and fell, but in the end, all eyes turned toward Medici.
The crimson haired man leaned back in his chair, his gaze conflicted, caught between wry amusement and disbelief. After a long, tense pause, he sighed and looked at Amon.
"You're insane," Medici said flatly. His voice carried both accusation and a reluctant agreement. "You're planning to do that again?"
Amon shrugged, leaning back as he massaged the tension from his neck. His eyes looked tired, the fatigue of hours spent decrypting weighed heavily on his mind. On top of that, there was the physical labor of filling containers with the blood of scavengers and centurions the sleepers had hunted along the way.
"Yeah," he said simply. "If that's the only way to save the most lives."
Medici nodded, though hesitation lingered in his eyes. Amon… His expression darkened. Everything his old friend treated as normal seemed like madness, if he was honest. Maybe that was why Amon never shared his plans before. But this time was different. Now, he needed them to know because he couldn't do it alone. If their help wasn't essential, he wouldn't have said a word and would have simply acted on his own.
"Fine. We go with that."
Across the table, Nephis finally spoke, her voice flat and cold.
"Do you even understand how risky this is? How dangerous? If it fails, then..."
She let the words hang in the air, but Sunny cut in with a wicked grin, tilting his head in satisfaction as he imagined Amon's corpse.
"Well, if that bastard wants to die, why not? I'd be more than satisfied with that outcome."
Luna glanced at Sunny, tilting her head with a bright smile.
"Hey, Sunny…?"
Sunny frowned, glancing at her.
"What?"
"Shut up, femboy."
Sunny frowned again, unsure what "femboy" meant, but he knew it wasn't anything good. His displeasure flared, bristling from spite. Before the exchange could continue, Amon glanced at Luna first, then at Sunny. He wasn't in the mood right now, and spoke calmly.
"Then it's settled," Amon continued. "We do as I explained. Everyone follows my orders, or I can't guarantee your safety."
His gaze shifted to Gunlaug, a cold smile spreading across his face.
"Hey, Aquaman. Time to use your talents. What do you think? Can you manage?"
Gunlaug blinked, then his broad shoulders shook with booming laughter. With his golden hair, striking blue eyes, and towering frame, he looked like a Greek hero straight out of a museum.
"Can I? That's not the question. The real question is how well I'll do it."
Amon gave a sharp nod, satisfied by the man's confidence.
"Good. Everything depends on timing now. Every piece has to move in sync. No mistakes."
One by one, his subordinates answered. Gunlaug laughed again, his voice rolling like thunder. Caster merely shrugged, leaning back lazily. Harus's thin grin and bleak eyes made the air heavier as he stretched his hunched body. Kai nodded with forced steadiness, fear flickering in his eyes, yet resolving his heart to do what was necessary. Kido's expression hardened with determination, and she nodded calmly.
And Aiko… well, she looked utterly relaxed. After all, she'd be sitting in the safest place, far from the fighting.
Sunny stared at them in disbelief. Lunatics… all of them were lunatics. And it wasn't just him, others thought the same.
Amon felt chills running down his spine as he imagined it going wrong. His fingers twitched as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
After the meeting was over, Amon walked out of the tent to get some fresh air. He found a quiet spot, took a seat, and began eating his meal in silence.
A few minutes later, he finished and patted his lap. He looked around to see if anyone was nearby. Once he confirmed the area was truly isolated, he sighed and closed his eyes.
He then entered into deep cogitation to ensure his thoughts remained rational. He needed to be calm and composed for what he was about to attempt.
Raising a wall of spirituality around himself, he exhaled slowly. Then, he summoned the Weaver's Mask and placed it carefully on the cold stone. He began drawing webs on the stone, connecting them to the nexus that linked the weave, and finally sketched a spider.
Taking deep breaths, Amon looked down and nodded to himself.
"The Miracle Born from Nebulous Demon;
The Great Weave Encompassing All of Creation;
The Spell of Bringing Down the Old Era and Ushering the Universe in New."
Amon recited the honorific name he had made up for the spell. It wasn't a living entity, but it was an absolute existence with a semblance of consciousness.
Each honorific name was unique; it reflected the personality, experiences, and characteristics of its owner.
He knew that gods in this world did not have honorific names, but he still tried to assign one to the spell as accurately as he could.
It might not work, but he still had hope. He clasped his hands and closed his eyes.
"I pray for the benevolence of the Great Spell.
I wish to know the outcome of my plan."
He remained still for a few seconds, but nothing happened. He was about to remove the wall of spirituality in disappointment when he felt something stirring deep within his soul.
Then it felt as if his very essence had been yanked from his body. When he opened his eyes again, he saw majestic weave that felt like that it really was connected to everything and anything. There was countless stars, shining brightly but their luminosity was overwhelmed by the burning intensity of the eleven star. They felt greater than any other and nexus of spell was directly supported by them.
Amon felt as if he were staring directly at the Spell, yet he felt nothing from it. There was no hostility and no warmth. Only the natural coldness it carried toward everything. But it wasn't just the Spell he saw… there were the silver strings intertwined with every living being, and the golden strings as well.
When Amon saw them, his mind seemed to split open, as if someone were hammering nails into his brain. He wanted to scream, but he had no mouth; he wanted to thrash around, dig his nails into his skin from the overwhelming pain, but he had no body. All he could do was float aimlessly in the darkness.
Then, he was no longer floating in darkness but hovering in the air, overlooking the majestic stairs of the Crimson Spire. He saw sleepers running toward the gateway and himself, fighting something he couldn't perceive. Wounds appeared on his body, but the enemy remained invisible.
Amon's confusion spiked as he clutched his head in pain. It felt as if his mind and spirit were being damaged. But it wasn't the Spell that caused this. Everyone sees it after completing their nightmare, as part of the Spell's appraisal of their performance. No... this pain came from peering into the tapestry of fate itself.
He tried to focus on his vision despite the agony, but before he could make sense of it, his eyes snapped back to his body.
He gasped, clutching his chest, breathing heavily as his body was drenched in sweat.
After a few minutes, he calmed down and wiped the sweat from his forehead, thanks to cogitation.
So it worked? His plan had worked… Yes, it had! Excitement surged through him, and he momentarily forgot the suffering he had endured to reach this point. Ritualistic magic… Haha… Hahaha… It worked!
He laughed, leaning back on the stone and dismissing the Weaver's Mask. He wiped away the marks he had drawn and removed the wall of spirituality as well.
The Spell didn't have an honorific name, but he had made one up so he could properly address it. He had also used the weave he had drawn and the symbol of the Weaver to enhance its effects. After all, the Spell was the Weaver's creation. Finally, he had used the Weaver's Mask, a Memory of Divine rank, as a medium to ensure the divination's success.
Exhilaration coursed through him. So this was what my Aspect Legacy could do! Every Aspect Legacy was different, tied directly to its respective Aspect. But Amon and his friends already possessed the abilities of their pathways; there was nothing the Aspect Legacy could grant… nothing but knowledge of ritualistic magic.
That meant each of them would be able to create their own ritualistic magic, tied to their pathways and domains.
The characteristics of Amon's ritualistic magic were like this: Medici most likely wouldn't be able to use it, since he couldn't even employ cogitation until he became a pyromaniac. Luna, however, could. Each of their magics would be different.
For Amon, it felt as if he had stolen the vision from the Spell. For Luna, it might be directly granted to her. And Medici? Would he have to force a response? He didn't know.
So… I invented ritualistic magic in this world? Hmm… no. That was impossible. Amon wasn't arrogant or delusional enough to claim he had created something already existing.
He had merely recreated an already existing form of magic. Hmm… does that mean that, for example, anyone who inherited the Weaver's Aspect would have their Legacy be the learning of weaving sorcery? Most likely.
So that was why Caster had been able to pray to him. Uniqueness could be considered a deity, and Amon had the Uniqueness of the Error Pathway which meant the honorific name he created was pointing at the Uniqueness. And since the Uniqueness and Amon were one, it also pointed at Amon, allowing him to receive the prayer.
He was certain he could do much more with this, perhaps even grant boons if he ascended to divinity.
But soon, Amon's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice.
"What are you doing here?"
Amon opened his mouth, ready to boast about what he had accomplished… but quickly shut it, frowning as he looked up to see Nephis staring down at him with a cold glare.
"Hmm… nothing. Just… magic tricks, let's say."