Phelion didn't even spare a glance at the collapsing world around him. He merely whispered something only he could hear. His left hand distorted, melding into the space itself—like a chameleon dissolving into its surroundings.
Before the arm could fully blend with the environment, he twisted it, pulling outward as though peeling away a curtain.
Professor Will's giant hand twisted in the same instant—warping, mutating into an amorphous, gelatinous mass of flesh.
Will's entire form distorted. He transformed into a stylized, modernized purple palace, draped in flowing sheets of fabric arranged in circular, rippling layers.
At the very center of the palace stood a podium made of plaster and glass, with ornate flowers placed respectfully on both sides.
And atop that podium stood a figure holding a black umbrella—face swallowed in darkness, leaving only two pale-white pupils floating in the void.
"So, you want to 'make a speech' inside my mind palace?"
Will asked, appearing out of nothing.
Phelion, who had been staring at Will, suddenly turned his gaze aside.
There—he saw what he wanted. What he had always yearned for.
Yet it was not here. Not anywhere within this mind palace. Only two silhouettes remained. That told him exactly what he needed to know: Wellay had taken it.
"You want it? Too bad—it won't be easy!"
Will quickly attempted to seal the palace, shutting off all exits to prevent Phelion's escape.
But Phelion didn't seem to care. In fact, this made things far easier for him.
Superreal Mana from Rank 6 onward depended on the mind palace—the ideal inner architecture constructed through one's own mana, used as a vessel to generate superreal mana.
However, forcing an intruder into one's mind palace—or manifesting it into reality—turned that very palace into a fatal weakness.
Even so, the trade-off was immense: a tremendous surplus of mana, and—depending on one's level—potentially infinite supply, along with the ability to repair the palace over real-world time to prevent structural decay.
"The cane of the blind man…" Phelion muttered as he raised the umbrella in his right hand.
…
Step, step—
The pounding footfalls of hundreds echoed. Strange figures wrapped entirely in hide and blood slipped into the sewer tunnels.
"Unit One!"
The grotesque cultists scattered, running in all directions, indifferent to the filth and the suffocating stench.
Rats gathered around them, squeaking sharply, staring at the lunatics—then scattering in fear.
Seeing that, the cultists eagerly chased after the rats.
At the end of the sewer tunnel, an albino rat stared directly at the oncoming crowd.
It chirped sharply, urging its kin to retreat, staying behind alone. Suddenly it opened its mouth wide and gagged.
But instead of regurgitated food, it vomited out a head… then a torso… then legs. In mere moments, a human drenched in bile-covered mucus emerged.
The woman was naked—no clothing whatsoever—her figure obese, massive, heavy.
"Begin."
The others pulled out tools—screwdrivers, wrenches.
They moved to manually open the drainage gates and slipped inside.
"Move!"
The fat midwife urged them on. None dared oppose her; they could only follow.
Then one of them stepped on feces, nearly slipping, and reached for the wall to steady himself.
"You idiot—didn't I tell you to be careful—"
Just as the fat midwife spoke, an arrow pierced straight through her skull in an instant—silent, without warning, without scream, without even the sound of impact.
The cultists froze. No—more than that—they could not make a sound.
They clapped hands over their mouths, crouching low, terrified to exhale too loudly.
The fat woman's body swayed, then collapsed without a sound.
Brain matter, blood, and white fluid spilled out—yet no sound existed, as if she had already been erased from the world.
"Shhh~"
A warning hiss echoed through the sewer. Everyone in the tunnels shuddered in terror.
They had provoked the demon of this place—the Mind Demon.
Clap, clap—
Applause rang out. A figure appeared behind them, wholly indifferent to the danger and the need for silence.
Jax clapped again, then slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out an unwrapped chocolate bar.
…
Five terrorist organizations had joined this attack.
On top of that, a cult organization had also joined in, worsening the chaos even further.
Based on reports, on the fifth day they would split up: two groups would attack civilians, two would attack and kidnap nobles, and one would infiltrate the armory.
The reason they had waited so many days was simple: none of them trusted each other, and the first five days had been spent negotiating and signing their own twisted contracts.
However, they were not the only ones moving.
The city's defense groups had been working tirelessly. They didn't sit still; preparations had continued nonstop.
One of those preparations was the creation of two suppression bombs derived from the two slain demons—tools specifically designed for counterterrorism.
Thus, they first needed to deal with the two demons. This had already been calculated and proposed by the princess herself.
…
At 17:00 on the fourth day, the Heavenly Blaze Demon finally began breaking free from its seal. Two of its suppressors could no longer endure.
They were rushed into emergency care, treated immediately in a specialized ward—their wounds deemed critically severe.
But at 17:03, when the Heavenly Demon manifested, a figure appeared before it and put on a pair of glasses.
From within the lenses, something emerged—pushing outward, manifesting physically, glowing before its image began to fade.
It was Marcus's flesh-and-blood spear—created when Marcus himself had been twisted into this weapon.
I grasped it, stretched my arm back, and hurled it with full force at the monstrous train-beast.
The demon wearing the form of a locomotive screeched—and exploded.
…
Elsewhere, the Earth Demon was also breaking free from the chains forged by Euni.
Euni clutched the chains tightly, gritting her teeth as she waited.
Then Rack appeared—wearing a pair of glasses identical to the ones from earlier—shining with golden light.