Chapter 186: Meeting The Master

  Abel’s heart pounded as he walked down the quiet path just outside Reinhart’s borders.

  The air felt heavier the closer he got, his mind racing with thoughts. A message from the Tower Master himself — it felt almost surreal.

  Would the Tower Master even listen to his request? Abel wondered. He desperately wanted to ask for the chance to see his family again, but would such an influential figure care?

  Memories of his last encounter with Master Stone flickered in his mind—the searing pain in his eyes when he tried to meet the man’s gaze, the unbearable weight of his presence—it was as if he was staring at the sun.

  Even now, Abel worried if he could stay standing in his presence for long.

  Leaving Reinhart, he wondered if any avengers would arise.

  Still, he reminded himself that Reinhart was in good hands.

  Abu was here now, steady and powerful. Lena’s strength had grown remarkably, and Hector had proved himself capable as well.

  Burt’s recovery had only made him stronger, and with Golden’s network operating quietly in the background, the town was better protected than ever.

  Abel could leave without feeling like everything would crumble in his absence.

  Ten minutes of walking later, he reached the meeting point.

  There, standing calmly on a golden carpet that hovered inches above the ground, was Master Stone.

  The Tower Master’s gray and golden robe seemed to shimmer faintly, almost like living stone woven with threads of metal.

  A stone crown rested atop his head — simple yet undeniably regal.

  His face was stoic, expression unreadable, yet Abel still couldn’t fully discern his features. It was as if his presence bent perception itself, warping the air around him.

  Abel froze for a moment, feeling the overwhelming pressure that seemed to radiate from

  Master Stone. It wasn’t just magical power — it was presence. Like standing before an ancient mountain that had witnessed the rise and fall of entire eras.

  Taking a breath to steady himself, Abel lowered his head and bowed deeply. “Tower Master,” he greeted formally, his voice steady despite the weight in the air.

  “None of that,” Master Stone replied, his voice calm yet powerful. “Just call me Master Stone.”

  Abel swallowed hard and straightened.

  “Come.” Master Stone gestured to the golden carpet beside him. “We have much to discuss.”

  Abel hesitated only a moment before stepping forward and climbing onto the carpet. The air shifted beneath his feet, as though the ground itself had become weightless.

  Abel stepped onto the carpet, feeling it shift beneath his feet the moment he settled in place.

  His sense of balance wavered, his body instinctively tilting as the carpet began to rise.

  The sudden sensation of weightlessness unsettled him, but after a moment, he adjusted, planting his feet firmly and regaining his composure.

  Master Stone chuckled lightly, the sound a rare hint of warmth from the otherwise stoic man. “The first time is always strange,” he said.

  Abel gave a small nod, still unsure of how to carry himself in front of the Tower Master.

  The sheer presence of this man — a being whose strength felt like it belonged in myth — kept Abel guarded.

  As they ascended higher, Stone's voice turned more serious. “You did well, finding the spirit,” he said. “Because of that, the Tower Masters were able to take on the calamity directly — and even help secure Bask’s independence.”

  Abel nodded humbly, taking in some of the words Stone said. “I was fortunate to survive.”

  “You were lucky I saved you,” Stone corrected, his tone neither harsh nor boastful — just stating a fact. “Be careful next time.”

  Abel nodded again, this time more deeply.

  “No reward could properly match what you’ve done,” Stone continued. “But I’m here to give you what I can.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “Along with your request, you’ll receive a generous amount of contribution points... and a few treasures, handpicked by me.”

  Abel’s heart skipped a beat. His pulse raced with excitement, but he forced himself to remain calm. “That’s... too generous,” he said. “I only did my duty.”

  Stone’s gaze sharpened for a moment, then he gave a rare smile. “Good. Stay like that.”

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  The conversation shifted as Stone gestured for Abel to speak his request.

  Abel didn’t hesitate. “I want to go to Duskton Village,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s where my family lived.”

  Stone’s face grew more serious.

  “I haven’t heard from them since the attacks,” Abel continued. His voice wavered, but he pushed through. “I know... I know what might have happened, but... I need to see it for myself. There’s still hope — even if it’s only a little.”

  Stone considered his words carefully before speaking. “I’ve read about you,” he said. “Your movements... your origins.” His gaze lingered on Abel. “That village — Duskton — it’s secluded. Even the Duskfang Bastion rarely keeps tabs on it. Is that why you feel the need to see it yourself?”

  Abel nodded, unsure what else to say.

  Stone’s expression shifted slightly. “Your last name... Noria. That’s a noble family name from the Central Region, known for their banner of a fist within a triangle and their powerful earth techniques.”

  Abel blinked in surprise. “The Vice Tower Master mentioned that before,” he said, “but... I always thought it was just a coincidence.”

  “Maybe,” Stone replied. “But noble families in the Central Continent are complicated. Their bloodlines run deep — and their customs?” He shook his head. “They’re... strange. Whether it's a coincidence or something more, you’d do well to remember your name carries weight. Perhaps more than you realize.”

  Abel wasn’t sure how to respond, so he simply nodded.

  “You must also understand something deeper,” Stone said, his voice calm yet heavy with the weight of experience. “As you grow stronger—as you rise through the ranks as an Apostle—your lifespan will stretch far beyond what it once was. Decades will pass like seasons. And while that may sound like a gift, it comes with its own price.”

  He glanced at Abel, letting the silence linger before continuing.

  “The people you knew—your childhood friends, neighbors, even your family if they remain mundane—they won’t be able to follow you on this path. Their lives will pass in the blink of your extended years. You may find yourself watching them grow old, fade, and eventually disappear while you remain... unchanged. That’s not a punishment, but it is a reality. A painful one.”

  Stone’s voice softened, as though he were speaking not just to Abel, but to a younger version of himself. “It’s one of the truths of being an Apostle. With each step toward power, you step further away from the world you once knew. You’ll carry their memories with you, but eventually, you’ll walk alone. And that… is something you must learn to accept.”

  Abel nodded, understanding what Stone was insinuating.

  By now, they had risen far above the land, drifting quietly through the sky. Abel looked out across the vast expanse below, watching the world stretch out beneath him.

  The wind whipped past, cool and crisp against his face. The sensation stirred memories — of the day he had first flown high above the earth, led by Gravedigger on their way to the illusory world.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Stone’s voice broke through his thoughts.

  Abel smiled faintly, still in thought. “Yeah... it really is.”

  Stone’s gaze hardened slightly. “It’s nothing,” he said, his tone almost dismissive. “Bask is small — a mere speck of dirt in this world.”

  Abel’s smile faded. He looked out over the endless horizon, suddenly feeling just how insignificant they really were.

  As the golden carpet drifted through the clouds, Stone’s gaze shifted toward the horizon, thoughtful. “There are many other continents out there,” he said, his voice steady against the wind. “Each with their own histories, cultures, and forms of power. Some of those powers don’t resemble magic at all.”

  Abel glanced over, curious. “Like… Faith?”

  Stone raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You know of it?”

  Abel nodded. “I’ve read about it. Just surface-level things. Enough to know it’s something different. In Reinhart, I came across a group that called themselves the Pale Order. Their power didn’t feel like magic… it was something else. Heavier. Disturbing.”

  The expression on Stone’s face darkened. “The Pale Order,” he repeated, voice low and deliberate. “Now that is a name you don't want echoing too far. Dangerous zealots, those ones. Clinging to ancient faiths best left buried.”

  “They were operating quietly in the town,” Abel continued. “I kept it contained. But…”

  He hesitated, reaching into his bag of holding. “I found something in their hideout. A painting. Ever since then, it’s been… affecting me. It’s like it wants to be remembered. Like it wants me to keep looking at it.”

  Stone’s eyes dropped to the item in Abel’s hands—then briefly to the bag itself. “A bag of holding,” he noted, his voice shifting into a more surprised tone. “You don’t see many of those anymore. Even among peak apostles. Rare. And incredibly valuable. You really are quite fortunate.”

  Abel said nothing. He simply pulled out the painting and held it toward him.

  The moment Stone laid eyes on it, his jaw clenched. A murky, oppressive aura radiated from the canvas, subtle but unmistakable.

  The colors looked wrong, like they had been painted in blood and ash. The shape—a strange, crowned figure surrounded by spiraling script—seemed to pulse with a malign presence.

  Stone shook his head slowly. “Garbage,” he muttered. “Twisted, misleading garbage. These zealots... they serve things they can’t even comprehend.”

  He glanced at Abel, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You’re lucky. This thing would’ve broken the mind of a lesser apostle. Turned them into a puppet.”

  Abel shifted, uneasy. “I didn’t realize how much it was affecting me until it was too late... my star affinity protected me from further corruption but...”

  Stone didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his robe and pulled out a small, smooth white stone. It shimmered faintly with a pure light.

  “Just in case,” he said.

  With a quick motion, he shook the stone once. A gentle beam of white light extended from it, washing over Abel like a wave of clarity. Abel felt something leave him—something sticky, something wrong. His breath caught in his throat for a second before it passed.

  The light vanished. Stone returned the item to his robe.

  Then, his voice sharpened.

  “We’re destroying this. Now.”

  Abel stepped back as Stone’s aura swelled, the very air thickening with pressure. Earth-affinity mana pulsed from him as the sky above them began to darken.

  With a flick of his hand, a massive stone hand materialized in the air—colossal, sculpted with ancient runes glowing faintly across its knuckles.

  Stone tossed the painting upward, and the stone hand surged forward with terrifying force. Its fingers curled into a crushing grip—then slammed shut, creating a deafening boom that shattered the sky above them. Light flashed, then disappeared.

  The pressure faded. Silence followed.

  “You had some corruption,” he said. “Not a lot, but enough to plant seeds. You did well not to fall completely.”

  “Thank you,” Abel said quietly.

  Stone studied him for a moment longer. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Though I’ll admit… I’m surprised.”

  Abel blinked. “Surprised by what?”

  “That this was the kind of corruption clinging to you.” Stone’s voice was more curious now. “Given your star affinity… I expected something else.”

  Abel tilted his head, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Stone looked ahead again, his eyes distant, thoughtful. “It’s complicated,” he said. “But let’s just say… there’s a reason so few carry the star affinity. And fewer still can master it.”

  Abel said nothing. The wind whistled past them, cool and quiet, as if giving space to let those words sink in.

  And they did.