Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse novel Chapter 5532

Chapter 5532: Dimensionlapse!

Riding was a sensation Noah had to adapt to.

Not the seat. The seat was effortless, anchored by boons into a fact of existence! What required adapting was everything flowing through the seat, the drumming of a Fealty-heart the size of a realm beneath him, the tidal rhythm of Valor’s lungs, eighteen mixing Causes turning under his palms like an engine of virtues, and his own seas pouring down into all of it while her ancient rivers poured back up.

Two existences breathing in each other’s rhythm, and every breath of it settling deeper! It felt far, far too intimate than he expected.

And with his reformed body, reborn light and sharp from the Root, in addition to this ridiculous empowerment that came from mounting Hvitrmarr...Noah was able to very clearly sense the power that made this Steed want to run away.

His gaze rose across the blackened gigaparsecs.

And he looked upon the maddened figure of the Cursed Descendant.

Jarl Skallagrim burned against his own darkened skies, titanic and rotting and terribly awake, carried forward on his throne by eight dying Steeds whose eyes were all fixed on Noah, and from that distant lucid figure rolled a power that pressed against Noah’s newly-risen senses with a texture he had never once encountered.

It was terrifying enough to give a sense of hopelessness.

Even now! Even at A-Rank Idho, even seated on a First-lineage Steed, even twenty-five million strong, the presense of the thing on that throne registered in his weavings as something his frameworks simply could not hold! It did not belong to the Fifth Scale. It did not belong to the Sixth! It did not belong to ANY Scale, and Noah realized, with the cold clarity of a man updating his maps mid-journey, that he would need to find entirely new rankings of power outside of Vakochev’s Scales altogether, because...damn.

If Hvitrmarr, uncursed and eighteen-Caused and sovereign, still chose to run away from this monstrous thing...

Then they ran.

"Go."

Noah whispered it calmly while clasping the scale of Hvitrmarr below him, and in the next second, he and the massive White Steed beneath him turned their gazes across the dark, glared coldly at Jarl Skallagrim, rider and mount delivering one shared look of unhurried, imperial promise...

And disappeared!

The white-blue pillar collapsed inward on the empty ice, and where a queen and her Liege had stood, there was only falling snow!

And Jarl Skallagrim glared forth madly!

His rotting face twisted around its terrible lucidity as he rose from his throne, and he WHIPPED the reins of cursed lightning, and eight rejuvenated Steeds screamed against their harness and tore forward through the blackened sky, an entire hateful cluster hurling itself after the vanished point of its salvation as the chase began in earnest!

—

In this snowy area, upon the emptied ice where two impossible things had just departed, a golden cloud drifted down through the falling silence, and upon it stood a shocked old woman.

THE Recorder of Wilds stared at the point where Noah and Hvitrmarr had just been, and her ancient eyes were shining.

"Who is he to actually dare to reverse an action of one of Those Who Remain? Does he even know what he just did?" Her voice was hushed, and for once, it was not narrating.

"And more than that...a Cure for the Curse of this Cursed Dimension! This...how does this affect things..."

She had been speaking to herself when, in the next moment, the ice shook.

She turned.

And behind her, descending through the storm on legs like dying mountain ranges, was the Steed of Oblivion!

Ghrimhest’s colossal gray frame filled the snowing sky, chains screaming, its guttering eyes stretched wide and fixed on the horizon where the pillar had stood, and shockingly, atop the burden-bearer’s vast back, small against its enormity and burning with desperate power...

Was Jarl Erling.

The dying titan himself as he had seen the failure of his party through Ghrimhest’s senses, and he had used whatever unique power his Steed possessed to cross the Dimension himself! Now that he knew another Jarl was involved, there was no need for secrecy! The race was naked, and the prize was fleeing, and his titanic bronze face was filled with such regret and such pain that it had cracked new fissures beside the crimson ones.

He may have even missed out! The cure had been here, and Jarl Erling roared with everything his remaining years could carry!

"GO! GO GO! CATCH UP TO THEM!"

The Steed of Oblivion bellowed, and the mountain-frame surged forward through the storm, keeper and burden-bearer tearing off after the same vanished point as the Jarl before them, and THE Recorder of Wilds stood upon her cloud and watched them go, and slowly shook her head.

A Steed that was no longer cursed. So long as the fleeing ones were not stupid, they should not be caught.

They would be far from this Dimension soon. And the pursuit? It was impossible for the Cursed Steeds to leave this Dimension, fenced by the sentence itself. And for the Cursed Descendants, leaving was merely...hard. Not impossible, just very hard!

And more than hard, it was priced.

"Mm. And now the dawn has run off," the old woman murmured. "Words should be handled with the same care as eggs, but I will say this much. Among all the Descendants of all of Those Who Remain, the ones seeded under THE Sleepless Fiend have always hated their ancestor the most..."

"Recorder." His voice was the sound of a mountain being courteous. "I have been waiting for you. Though I did not expect to find you at the scene of an incident."

His gaze moved to the horizon where two hunts had vanished. "Did you see what happened here?"

"I saw. But that is the second thing I will talk about, as the first thing, the one that brought many of us to this Dimension, has to be discussed before it." She settled her sleeves, ancient eyes twinkling. "Haha, where are the other Primevals? O, Doku?"

"The others are meeting with the Jarls. The ones who still have many years left to live, and thus still have manners left to spend." His deep voice carried a plain, unhidden distaste.

"But I do not really agree with our approach here. Just because Cursed Descendants are easier to deal with...does not mean we have to work with them. There are countless possibilities out there. We are reaching for the nearest branch and calling it the best fruit."

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