As they were talking—
The figure suddenly moved.
Swoosh!
Without warning, the armored ghost rushed forward with a terrifying speed! Its sword tore through the fog in a pale silver arc, and following a whistle—
Clang!!
Cirsen swiftly intercepted the attack with her spear, while Mellia punched sideways, shattering part of the historical echo's shoulder into drifting mist.
The figure staggered backward, but it did not disperse!
However, before it could recover—
Buzz!
Pale blue threads formed from the soul erupted outward from Qucell's fingertips, wrapping around the historical echo like chains. The figure trembled violently, and Rotell immediately noticed something strange about its movements.
"…There's no consciousness? Then how could it attack? What was that I felt earlier?"
She looked around vigilantly.
She felt as if things weren't that simple.
"Could it be the fog…?"
"No! This is just normal fog, so what is it…!"
Quickly looking back, the ghostly figure fought mechanically. After breaking away from the soul chains, it jumped backwards, then rushed forward once again. It had no emotions, no fear, and only the most basic instincts. It was truly nothing more than a puppet-like existence, only with more history.
Boom!
Cirsen's spear finally tore through the figure completely, causing the armored body to explode into drifting white mist that quickly vanished into the surrounding fog.
"Will it reappear?" Mellia asked.
Rotell shook her head.
Although she didn't know, something told her they wouldn't.
The group continued moving through the forest, but the atmosphere had noticeably changed.
During the next few hours, they encountered several more of these historical echoes. A group of ancient soldiers silently patrolling through the fog, a headless human dragging a broken body, and even a mage wearing the robes from the tower family that didn't become the northern tower family in the end.
Seeing the last one, Rotell felt her heartbeat speed up.
Only Cirsen caught her change, but in the end, she chose not to bring it up.
Each encounter only deepened the group's unease.
As they continued walking—
Mellia suddenly stopped, frozen in place.
"No, wait…"
Her face slightly paled, finally realizing the source of her discomfort.
For a while, there had been a nagging feeling in the back of her mind, but it was only now that she had finally managed to bring it to light. "I-If these really are copies of the people who appeared back then…" She slowly turned toward Rotell. "…Then wouldn't that mean the patriarchs from the nine migrating families could also—"
Before she could finish!
Hum!
Hum!
Hum!
The fog ahead suddenly parted, and dozens of figures appeared.
Standing in the very center—
Was a devastating silhouette that slowly emerged from the white haze.
She had long legs and a powerful build. She was broad-shouldered and built like a seasoned warrior who stood with a relaxed, lazy posture. Her waist-length crimson, flame-streaked red and black hair carried streaks of white, but her hollow eyes were sharp, clearly much more focused compared to the surrounding historical echoes, and far too sharp for someone who appeared so old.
Shudder!
Rotell's pupils contracted violently.
This woman!
This was Cindil Dimebeck, the founder of the Cross Continents Dimebeck Family!
A peak Fifth-Order practitioner!
***
Just like what Rotell had experienced, these historical echoes had appeared throughout the Secret Realm. Everything from the most common letter boys to ancient and elite soldiers, guards whose names were forgotten, and terrifying practitioners from the nine migrating families all emerged from the fog one after another.
Only the Hellion Family seemed to be absent…
As the sun slowly rose and the day gradually progressed, things became more and more complicated.
No matter where people traveled, no matter where people ran, they all eventually encountered them.
And naturally, as the largest force within the Secret Realm, the Blue Sea Guild clashed with these historical echoes the most. Deep within a shallow valley covered by foliage, dozens of practitioners from the Blue Sea Guild stood atop broken terrain while the fog drifted around them.
In the center stood a sickly middle-aged man wrapped completely in heavy cloth and bloody bandages. Only his black eyes remained barely visible.
The surrounding fog strangely curved around his body, almost as if it instinctively wanted to avoid touching him.
Nobody nearby spoke.
Then—
Hum!
The fog ahead slowly split apart, and soon, an old figure emerged.
Like the historical echo Rotell had encountered, this one also carried an overwhelming pressure, clearly unique compared to the others.
He wore dark robes covered in hanging metallic rings, while dozens of broken weapons orbited around his body like drifting stars. Spears, swords, hooks, nails, and shattered metal continuously rotated through the air behind him, forming an almost vertical halo.
This was the patriarch of the Rollallrin Family, a retired master of the Royal Tower, a fallen legendary figure from the history of the Cross Continent, a master of magic weaponry and collector of knowledge.
The surrounding members of the Blue Sea Guild immediately became tense.
But strangely…
The sickly man in the front did not retreat.
Instead, his half-concealed eyes quietly narrowed.
Then, beneath the folds of cloth concealing his body, his hand slowly reached into his pocket.
He took out a small empty glass jar…
It was tiny, clear, and completely ordinary, but the moment it appeared—
The surrounding fog subtly distorted.
The bandaged man quietly stared at the approaching historical echo, and through the fog, the man seemed to feel something.
Their eyes met.
He looked up, and on his face was not fear, not caution, no, it was almost… expectation?
* * *
The Dragon Clan encountered their historical echo within the fog. While passing through a canyon filled with drifting white mist and dense forest—
Boom!
A wave of spiritual energy erupted through the surroundings as an elderly man wearing creamy white robes slowly emerged from the fog and blocked their path. The surrounding space seemed to melt as the air began to solidify. Entire sections of the canyon cracked unnaturally, like brittle rock, while fissures in space silently twisted and dripped down around his body like heated glass.
The Dragon Clan immediately stopped, even looking a bit vigilant.
Rifrit narrowed his eyes, then stepped forward with a huge grin.
Meanwhile, Popo quietly stared at the old man's techniques with fascination.
* * *
As for the twelve Telltera, they encountered a historical echo when passing beside an old cave beneath a large forest ridge.
Here, the air smelled of metal, ash, and fire.
Standing beside a massive natural forge formed from rock and magic was an old, dwarf-like man with charcoal-stained skin and two glowing gold eyes. Molten metal flowed continuously through the surroundings, carving paths into the earth around him. In his hands, he held a large hammer that emitted a terrifying aura.
This man was a master alchemist and legendary weapon craftsman.
Even just seeing his large back was enough to know his identity, and that was the current master of the Black Tower, the legendary craftsman, 'Ordorin Blackroot!'
The Telltera silently observed him from the fog.
Nobody moved carelessly.
Then—
With his back still to the group, the elderly blacksmith slowly raised his hammer.
Clang!
It crashed down, striking something on the strange stage he had built soon after he manifested.
The entire forest shook violently!
A newly forged crimson bone emerged from the molten furnace behind him, radiating enough heat to distort the surrounding air.
To the shock of the Telltera, he slowly turned his head. With eyes that illuminated the night, his small face gave a wide, knowing grin, causing the surrounding secret realm to tremble violently. Something in the depths of his gaze seemed to twist, revealing a churning vortex deep within his eyes.
Seeing those eyes, even the Telltera were momentarily stunned by what they felt.
* * *
Deep within an isolated part of the forest—
The Demon Clan, still cloaked, finally encountered one of the recreated patriarchs from back then.
Currently, lightning filled the fog, and a storm had sealed off the surroundings.
An old man wearing storm-patterned robes floated silently above the forest while countless arcs of white lightning continuously spread across the sky behind him.
The Zenif Family patriarch, or the founder of the Storm Tower!
A terrifying Fifth Order Mage who had mastered a large number of natural phenomena!
His eyes glowed with a pale blue light, while the surrounding fog repeatedly vaporized from the sheer pressure leaking from his body.
The demons below quietly stared upward.
"How troublesome…"
BOOM!!
A pillar of lightning snapped down from the heavens!
* * *
Boom!!
Rotell's body violently smashed into a tree. Her spine bent backwards as a piercing shock ran through her body! Blood sprayed from her mouth as she cried out loud.
"Agh—!"
The world spun violently.
Many of her ribs were broken, her left arm hung limply at her side, and directly ahead, the founder of the Dimebeck Family slowly lowered her bare fist.
The Fifth Order historical echo calmly stood amidst the ruined forest, while fog continuously drifted around her figure. Her crimson-black hair slowly swayed through the air, and despite being only an echo of the original, every movement carried overwhelming pressure.
Her eyes flickered with disdain as her spear remained resting on her shoulder.
Up till now, she had not even used it, choosing the most primordial approach instead.
In her eyes, Rotell and the others were just children not worth taking seriously.
There was a large difference in their realms, but this was not the only reason she looked down on the first princess.
To her, Rotell lacked what it took to become a true warrior!
To her, Rotell was no different than a child playing!
This fight had been completely one-sided!
It wasn't even close!
Boom!
Cirsen was slammed into the ground mere moments later, her crimson armor unscratched, but one of her shoulders had collapsed inward, while blood continuously flowed from beneath her armor.
But even then, this monstrous woman still laughed with wild abandon!
"Haha—! This old lady's insane!"
Cirsen grinned, forcing herself back up.
Nearby, Mellia and Qucell were in an even worse condition.
The small badger beastmen had lost a tooth, one foot was twisted unnaturally, and her limp tail had nearly been torn off during an earlier exchange. Even with this damage, she still tried biting every time she got close, and while combined with her summoning ability, Mellia was like a small storm that was unwilling to stay down.
As for Qucell, the blue-haired necromancer looked pale.
Half of her soul had been damaged, causing blood to continuously drip from her nose and eyes. Her newly advanced Fifth Realm cultivation clearly hadn't stabilized yet, making such an intense battle many times more difficult than it should be. If she wasn't careful, she could suffer from sequelae that would permanently hinder her future cultivation.
Only Old Man Roe remained relatively unharmed.
But like the others, he looked grim.
Hundreds of roots erupted from the forest floor while massive formations spontaneously and unpredictably lit up throughout the battlefield.
Hum!
Hum!!
Hum!!!
The Fifth Order historical echo of the Dimebeck Patriarch finally slowed down a bit…
Rotell immediately noticed it!
"…Now!" She roared!
Boom!
-
Time passed…
Finally, after one last deafening crash—
BOOM!!
The historical echo of the Dimebeck family's patriarch shattered apart into countless drifting wisps of white mist before slowly dissolving back into the surrounding fog.
Silence followed soon after, and the ruined battlefield became still.
Broken trees littered the surroundings while the earth had been overturned from the intensity of the battle. Cracks spread throughout the forest floor, and lingering spiritual energy continuously distorted the drifting fog.
If not for the inherent incompleteness of these historical echoes, then if Rotell and the others were to face the real Cindil Dimebeck, the chances of them winning were almost zero.
At this time—
Everyone collapsed.
Rotell shakily exhaled while staring upward toward the pale forest canopy above.
They won!
Barely…
Just barely…
"Ha!"
Cirsen had fallen onto one knee while using her spear to support herself. Blood continuously dripped from beneath the cracks in her crimson armor. Mellia was sprawled face-first against a rock while groaning miserably, and Qucell now looked pale enough to resemble an actual ghost.
But before anyone could relax—
Clap… clap… clap!
Slow applause echoed throughout the forest.
Rotell's exhausted eyes instantly narrowed, and she swiftly stood back up.
Several figures slowly emerged from the surrounding fog.
A moment later, more appeared, then more, and more! These people—
Were all members of the Blue Sea Guild!
"…Damn it," Rotell cursed.
Her expression immediately darkened.
What was their problem!?
Why were they so unwilling to let her go!
For a brief moment, she almost felt like she had returned to Imai. The repeated assassination attempts, the constant schemes, the endless pressure from hidden enemies—
This feeling was exactly the same!
Rotell grimaced!
More than thirty practitioners quietly surrounded the ruined battlefield, while staring toward the exhausted group with cold, predatory eyes.
* * *