The 'Messenger' saw that shadow fall in his shaky vision, disappearing into the darkness. He took two heavy breaths, pressed his pale, withered hand against his chest, and coughed. The undead spells allowed him to withstand the erosion of magic power at the cost of his life, and once on this path, one can only end up as an undead creature.

And for those who haven't taken that step, all that awaits them is for their lives to burn out into dark sparks. But he sneered, clutching the feeling of strength in his hand, a truth those weak alchemists would never understand.

The massive ghoul turned its head to look at its master. But the 'Messenger' did not spare it a glance, pushing it aside, he loosened his grip, then re-gripped the Skeleton Staff, supporting it on the ground, and bit his teeth, moving forward.

The opponent's 'falling' appearance was different from what he had imagined, but at least the final result was not far off.

Darkness receded in the direction the light advanced, the torchlight flickered slightly, bursting forth a spark. The shadow carved the undead's pale sunken face, with the soul's flame motionless in the pitch-black eye sockets.

The 'Messenger' took step after step forward, yet in the darkness, a silent tempo was counting down his pace.

"Ten, nine..."

"Eight..."

"Seven, five..."

"...Three, two..."

"One."

The light reflected a corner of the 'Sorcerer-Ghoul's' dirty robe.

The 'Messenger' softly coughed, lifted his head, and silently grinned. He extended his right hand, a silver heraldry on the pale back—a Broken Horned Giant Dragon, pupils like golden flames, shimmering above the mundane earth.

An invisible power swept to the ground through the Skeleton Staff, but in the darkness, the anticipated clank of metal dragging on the ground did not sound, nor did the Holy Sword of the Foremost, which once drank the blood of seven Giant Dragons, appear as expected.

The smile froze on the 'Messenger's' face.

The dirty robe vanished, the purple Crystal Staff that fell to the ground also transformed into starlight, like fireflies, dispersing into the darkness. The Undead Guard behind was staggering onto the wooden bridge, and the torchlight gradually revealed the things hidden in the darkness.

A construct, with a brass exterior, entirely like a sphere, except for its three ruby pupils, turning squeakily in this direction.

Mirrorer.

"What the hell!" The 'Messenger' realized something was wrong, raising his staff, his left hand pointed forward with two fingers, penetrating the spherical body's shadow with an undead spell.

But the dark light only pierced the fading sphere's shadow.

In the darkness, Fang Hong's pupils were reflecting the system's eerie blue light.

He blinked lightly, and the three Clockwork Fairies, monitoring the scene from different positions, simultaneously clicked, switching lenses. He raised his right hand, gently clenching in the air.

"Swap—"

The sphere turned into a pale blue phantom.

The dark light passed through the sphere, hitting the greyrock floor behind it, silently etching a few-inch-deep pit there—

And the pale blue light was morphing its shape in mid-air, finally solidifying into a four-legged, double-bladed Construct Swordsman, materializing and crashing to the ground. This is one of the two unique skills of the Mirrorer, swapping the positions of any Flexible Construct on the field.

It brought with it a Walker Type-II.

But within the Seven Seas Travel Group, others liked to call this variant Walker 'Fire Claw Swordsman.'

The Walker crashed to the ground, the dust yet to settle. 'Yi' its head's light yellow crystal eyes—or vision target capture device—slid to one side along the cross track, the focus narrowed, locking onto the 'Messenger.'

"Walker Type-II?" The 'Messenger' understood he was ambushed, but still sneered—even though he didn't know what relation these people had with the Sorcerer-Ghoul— that purple Crystal Staff lingered in his mind, an ingrained impression that persisted.

"...What antique did you bring from?"

He growled low, waved the staff, and at the same time grabbed with his hand, a rustle, a sharp bony claw rose from the underground, grasping towards the Walker's four legs.

But it was at this moment, the 'Messenger' felt a distinct throbbing in his heart.

That throbbing was less a keenness to danger, more a foresight of the magic power flow, like an instinct upon a spider's web, the thrumming of magic, transmitting the terrifying energy wave erupting from one point to every node on this web instantaneously.

The ill omen barely rose in the 'Messenger's' heart.

He already saw beams of light, like the first light of dawn, surging from every seam of the Walker Type-II structure. That light was so dazzling and brilliant, even the Construct's crystal eyes emitted a splendid beam.

And in that light, turning to ashes.

With a whoosh, the light of the three torches extinguished instantaneously.

And a golden Ring of Flame was birthed from the darkness, sweeping across everything.

Far away in another cave, Luce was sprinting forward, but the shockwave behind also caught up, throwing him off his feet and harshly biting the dust.

He got up gray-faced, looking back somewhat bewildered.

Is this also the Natural Historian's spell?

At the entrance of Area A3.

Those hiding in the tunnel felt the gale sweep across the wooden boards, the sensation like a scythe sweeping over their heads. Everyone looked upwards simultaneously, but only saw a sweep of drifting dust.

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