{Chapter: 172: Divination Ceremony}
After a moment of contemplation, a demigod with silver armor and sharp, violet eyes spoke up. "If we can't cure the plague itself, perhaps we can eliminate the one who released it. Based on what we've observed, these plagues share numerous characteristics. Their emergence was nearly simultaneous. That suggests a common origin. If we can trace it, we might be able to sever the source. Even if we can't be sure that killing the one responsible will neutralize the plague, it's a lead we can't afford to ignore."
Henry looked at him and gave a slow, deliberate nod. "That thought crossed my mind too," he said. "We tried."
He paused briefly before continuing, his expression darkening. "I summoned a team of over a dozen legendary-level wizards—masters in the art of divination and prophecy. Each of them attempted to locate the entity or force responsible for the outbreak. And every single one of them failed."
His voice dropped lower.
"It wasn't just failure. Some of them… encountered something else. Something beyond our comprehension. Their minds were invaded by distorted, incomprehensible visions—horrors that defied description. Several of our best seers were mentally damaged. One is still unconscious."
A hush fell across the room.
These were not ordinary mages—these were legends, trained to peer through the veil of fate and pierce hidden truths. And yet they had been broken.
This was no ordinary plague.
This was something deeper, something ancient and unknowable.
The room, already heavy with tension, seemed to grow even colder. For a long time, no one said a word.
Henry leaned back in his chair, the weight of command pressing heavily on his shoulders.
"We are not just fighting an illness," he said finally, his voice bleak and hollow. "We're fighting an enemy we cannot see, cannot trace, and cannot predict. One that may not even operate within the rules we understand."
After stroking his long beard thoughtfully for a moment, Charlie, a seasoned demigod-level wizard known for his sharp insight and calm demeanor, turned his gaze toward another demigod sitting nearby. His eyes narrowed slightly with determination as he said, "Since they only witnessed something distorted but didn't suffer fatal consequences, it suggests that the other party hasn't completely slipped beyond our perception. They're still within a reachable range—just veiled, not vanished. I may be able to give it a try."
Upon hearing this, Henry Moore's expression brightened considerably.
As the highest-ranking general within the defense line, he was often forced to play the role of diplomat, mediator, and commander. Still, when it came to understanding the full extent of demigod capabilities, he had long admitted to himself that he was out of his depth. These demigod-level beings had each lived for centuries, even millennia, accumulating vast and often esoteric powers, hiding countless trump cards under layers of mystery. Their knowledge was as deep as the ocean, and none among them could be fully read.
So, when Charlie, one of these elusive figures, actually offered to step forward and attempt another divination, Henry didn't hesitate. He gave his full support without reservation.
"Anything you need—spell components, enchanted foci, or assistance—I'll make sure it's arranged. No cost is too great if it helps us find the source of this plague," Henry said firmly, his voice resolute.
Encouraged by Charlie's initiative and Henry's backing, several other demigod-level spellcasters, who had remained noncommittal until now, finally stepped forward as well. Their faces were solemn, but their resolve had been kindled. One by one, they declared their willingness to participate and lend their strength to the divination ritual.
After a lengthy discussion and careful planning, they collectively decided to perform a grand-scale ritual—one that would pool their collective power in an attempt to pierce the veil of secrecy and identify the hand pulling the strings behind the plague.
---
Not long after…
With the full cooperation of the various factions inside the defense perimeter, resources and manpower were gathered swiftly. Some groups contributed powerful mages and ritual assistants, while others supplied rare magical reagents—precious metals, enchanted crystals, herbs soaked in elemental energy, and even relics that hadn't seen the light of day for centuries.
In the heart of the fortress city, a large ceremonial square was chosen as the staging ground. There, a massive arcane formation—intricate, symmetrical, and humming with latent power—was carefully etched into the earth. The formation spanned thousands of square meters and was surrounded by protective wards and energy flow stabilizers. Every symbol, rune, and channel had to be placed with precision, each line carrying ancient intent.
Once all was ready, the group of demigod-level wizards stepped onto the centre of the ritual circle. They exchanged glances, silent words passing between them, and then slowly closed their eyes in unison. A hush fell over the area.
They began chanting.
Their voices wove into one another, forming a harmonic resonance. Complex syllables in forgotten languages stirred unseen forces, drawing power from the heavens, the stars, and the deep ley lines beneath the world. As their magic reached out across planes, an invisible ripple pulsed outward like a wave from a falling star.
---
Meanwhile, hundreds of kilometers away…
In a desolate area ravaged by demons, a group of hapless wanderers was being chased and beaten by monstrous entities. Among the chaos stood Dex—the enigmatic figure who had, for the past few days, basked in quiet leisure amidst the hellscape, treating the demonic invasion as little more than a background noise to his daily routine.
Dex had just sent a mid-tier demon flying with a punch so powerful that the creature's head was liquefied midair. Yet, he didn't even glance back at the result.
His body stiffened slightly. His eyes—normally calm—narrowed as he turned his attention toward the distant direction of the defense line.
"…Interesting," he muttered, a crooked grin forming on his face.
He could feel it—an enormous wave of arcane probing had just reached out in his direction, filled with urgency, determination, and unmistakable hostility. Dozens of the long-term protective enchantments he'd layered upon himself, particularly those designed to counter scrying and forced divination, had begun to react, triggering in response.
He wasn't the least bit panicked.
In fact, he seemed amused.
"This time, the commotion is much bigger than before… looks like they're getting serious," he murmured with a low chuckle.
Until now, many had tried to find him with magic, but those were mere flickers of effort. This, however—this was a storm.
Reacting with uncanny fluidity, Dex's will surged outward. Like an ink spill sliding into water, his consciousness twisted into a surreal, shadowy form and vanished from the material plane. Within moments, his manifested will intercepted the divination ritual directly, flying into the heart of the arcane attack with fearless precision.
There, in the plane of thought and intention, began a fierce battle—a silent war of willpower and reality-shaping force.
---
Back at the ceremonial site…
"Cough… cough… cough!"
A sudden violent coughing fit broke the sacred rhythm. One of the elder demigod-level wizards staggered, clutching his chest as veins bulged across his forehead. Blood trickled down the corners of his mouth.
"P—puff!"
He coughed up a mouthful of blood and collapsed to the ground.
A collective gasp rang out.
Ritual attendants rushed to his side, beginning emergency procedures with glowing potions and stabilizing spells. Despite their best efforts, the wizard's condition remained grim, his aura dim and unstable.
The other demigods still stood in place, eyes tightly shut, enduring the strain. Though they had yet to collapse, their bodies trembled ever so slightly. Their faces were pale, beads of sweat rolling down their brows. Some bled from their noses, and several had subtle spasms in their limbs.
The backlash was real—and growing.
The atmosphere was now tense with unease. Onlookers began to murmur, their earlier hope being slowly eaten away by fear and doubt.
Whatever they were probing had fought back.
Hard.
And this was no mere spell resistance. This was an active, deliberate defense—will meeting will, power against power.
Henry clenched his fists behind his back, the veins on his forearm pulsing. He knew this battle would determine more than just the fate of the city.
It would determine whether they stood a chance against the plague's creator at all.
*****
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