Chapter 47: The T'lan Imass

......

Jeanne awoke once more from her slumber. She tucked the blanket around Viola, who was nestled in her arms, then changed into her outdoor attire and walked alone through the corridor, past the giant dolls that stared at her expressionlessly, to the ground floor entrance hall that led directly to the street. The sky outside was still overcast, and everything on the street had a blurred and soft outline: the road like a black fluffy carpet, the old walls covered in curly sunken holes and protrusions, the grotesque trees that looked like many human limbs stuck on wooden stakes, all still as disgusting as ever.

Over the past few days, aside from coming to the ground floor to supervise Salser channeling magic, she had little else to do. As for learning how to read with Viola—she never did such unnecessary things. Moreover, due to Miss Effie's extremely loose lips, she soon learned that this "Miss" was actually Astolfo—a man who privately enjoyed cross-dressing, and was the tin head she had asked for directions from at the foot of Mount Karaskai. As for Saya and Prinn, their lips were much tighter than Astolfo's; he still thought they were just an ordinary mage couple. 

But then again, according to Salser, a mage marrying a thirteen-year-old girl wasn't exactly ordinary.

　　

But that was just Salser's opinion.

　　

The culture in some parts of the Lether Continent and its regions didn't seem to have this custom, at least Astolfo showed no reaction to it.

As for her—a Dark Young was still a Dark Young, no matter what skin it wore, it was just not the right time to act. If there was an opportunity in the future, she would definitely purify that disgusting thing.

The dim light from the open door barely illuminated the corridor. Without spirit vision, it appeared exceptionally clean—like a villa inhabited by a noble. In fact, there was nothing else in this house, nothing to be vigilant or fearful of.

The witch's soul was already imprisoned in a gem, who would care about a few invisible bloody handprints? 

Salser was in the room at the center of the corridor, directly facing the main door.

The room was a long, rectangular hall, its walls painted a pristine white, contrasting with the gray floor tiles that mirrored the overcast sky beyond the entrance. The atmosphere was suffused with a cozy dampness, the savory scent of a meal, and an undercurrent of disquieting magic. As one stepped inside, a small dining table was positioned against the corner wall, evidently relocated for the purpose of dining and resting. Adjacent to it, two long benches had been similarly arranged, serving the same dual function of dining and resting.

Silence reigned, even the faint sound of her boots on the floor tiles could be heard.

In the center of the hall, a rolled-up scroll floated in the air, almost solid white light swirling around it, like the arc lamp of the lighthouse in the dream.

　　

The scroll was inscribed with cryptic runes, written in the ancient language of the T'lan Imass, as well as the common language used by the Church—however, she could not understand either.

Jeanne placed the food she brought along on the wooden table.

"You made this?" Salser, resting on a chair, opened the wooden basket and asked casually.

"How did he know I made today's meal?"

Salser glanced at her, as if quickly understanding what Jeanne was thinking, "I've been in the Senate's service for quite some time, you understand the implications, don't you?"

"Is he implying my cooking's not up to par with that transparent dead spirit's? Not cool, now I'm tempted to cut him down with my sword."

"I offed that transparent chef 'cause it and its stash of human bodies in the warehouse made me sick."

"Quite fitting for you," Salser commented, extracting a bread parcel filled with cooked meat and lettuce. After taking a few bites, he added, "It's passable, suitable for the standard of a peasant girl."

"Spare me your evaluation."

"Do you have a glass heart?"

Damn Dark wizard, I'll snuff you out!

"You've wasted so much time—have you bothered to contact even one of the T'lan Imass?" Jeanne asked him with a twisted expression.

"Surely, you don't expect me to simply channel the magic from the Outer God's Warren into it, do you?" Salser took out another piece of bread, bit into it while walking towards the floating scroll, "Purifying this essence is a tedious task, particularly refining it to a purity that your token and the First Throne can tolerate. It's a significant waste of mana."

His words were really casual.

"How many more days do you need to finish this?"

Salser looked at her for a while:

"In one or two hours."

"Are you trying to provoke me?"

"Are you perhaps a bit too sensitive?" Salser lowered his head, focusing on observing the scroll, and said to her, "I'm not in the mood for a dispute right now. Please, take a seat on the chair; it won't be long before it's finished."

A moment of silence. Although Jeanne was very dissatisfied, she sat back on the chair and silently waited for him to complete the ritual.

......

"Done?" Jeanne asked him two hours later.

"Theoretically, it's done," Salser took a shallow breath. He began to survey the floor and walls around him, "But—is that it? What happens next?"

"I've never performed a ritual to summon the T'lan Imass," Jeanne honestly told him.

"You really are..."

Salser's words were cut short as he abruptly cursed. A surge of white flames erupted, engulfing him and ascending in a crescendo, resembling a robe woven from innumerable rings of radiant light. "T'LAN IMASS!" he roared, unsheathing a black-red sword, "Noli me tangere!" His feet lifted from the ground, and a searing white light burst forth from his eyes and mouth. He hoisted the sword, which now burned in unison with his body—the blade emitted a deafening echo, as if the flames themselves were exploding. The air groaned under the heat wave, crying out in pain.

　　

The blinding light illuminated every corner of the room.

Jeanne's position allowed her to see Salser gathering magic against the gray mist in the air.

　　

Before she could react, she incredulously saw the twisted magic slice through the dense mist like a sharp blade, piercing through the walls like hot coals through ice, turning trees, roads, and bricks within a ten-meter radius into a pile of white dust, which then evaporated into a mist in the repeated vibrations.

　　

However, amidst the hazy dust from the exploding walls and floor, a bony hand suddenly materialized, piercing through the flames and grabbing the dark wizard's ankle. The sound of bones breaking came, and Salser cursed again. White light flowed from his mouth like water, turning into a dazzling white flame—as solid as if it could be touched directly.

　　

This twisted light drew a glaring arc under the gray sky, shooting towards his feet.

　　

The large mass of gray-black dust was pressed into the floor by the colossal presence of this radiant entity. The beam of light convulsed violently—now it was neither light nor fire, but a white snake formed of blazing flames, undulating ceaselessly, akin to the snake the Dark wizard had used to intimidate Jeanne, but magnified manifold. The gaping maw at the end of its massive body resembled the entrance of a grand hall, with flames for fangs; its forked tongue appeared as a thick noose wrought from chains, ejecting torrents of incandescent flames that reduced the ground and walls it contacted to cinders; it twisted and turned wildly, churning into a murky mass on the burning floor.

　　

Jeanne could see the glass-like scales of the white snake under the flames, its eyes like six blood-red balls lined up.

　　

Then, a rough, long sword resembling a worn-out stone slab—sliced across the snake's head. The sword cut through the floor like a branding iron through ice, parting the flames, and lifting the snake's illusory body, as if it were a real body being lifted.

　　

That stone sword—its bizarre power ended the existence of this magic creature, causing it to burst into a shapeless mass of fire, dissipating weakly in the air.

　　

The broad flint sword, gripped by a shriveled hand wrapped in rotten fur, thrust into the air from the ground in the next instant. It effortlessly pierced through the barrier encasing the dark wizard's body, akin to slicing through butter, and met the black-red sword in his grasp with a resounding clash, sending forth a cacophony of screeching noise and a shower of dazzling sparks.

"I didn't summon you to help off the Dark wizard! T'LAN IMASS!"　

　

As Salser gathered another mass of incandescent flames and prepared to directly strike at his feet, Jeanne shouted out.

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