Dionysius Spencer closed the light screen displaying Jeming, lazily lounging on a chair made of pure energy, playing with a transparent force field ball in his hand.
Inside the ball, a miniature figure was silently roaring, none other than the God of Blade whom he had captured alive.
But at this mont, the once exalted Holy Spirit was like an insect trapped in amber, struggling in vain.
Dionysius Spencer’s gaze penetrated the force field, directly reading the deepest mory fragnts of the God of Blade’s soul.
Those ancient secrets, sealed by ti and perhaps even blurred to the God of Blade, unfolded before him one by one.
After so many years, Dionysius Spencer finally found what he was looking for.
The scene reconstructed in his consciousness: Eons ago, the Master of the Aerial Plane clashed with the Master of the Divine Continent, who arrived through the Gate of Space.
The battle between the two Seventh Level beings raged fiercely, shaking the planes.
Just as the Master of the Aerial Plane was about to be defeated and fall, the four "Subordinate Gods" who accompanied the Master of the Divine Continent launched a despicable sneak attack on their own lord!
They intended to profit from the situation, yet they severely underestimated the terror of the Master of the World.
Even when at the end of his strength, the Divine Continent’s Master’s casual counterattack still severely wounded the four, leaving them on the brink of death.
However, this sudden betrayal gave the Master of the Aerial Plane a fleeting chance.
He seized this epheral opportunity, detonating the origin cores of both himself and his opponent... In the end, the two Seventh Level beings perished together.
But how could a being at the level of a Master of the World be so easily obliterated?
At the final mont, the Master of the Divine Continent completely disintegrated everything that remained—will, flesh, soul, and law—transforming into this mist enveloping the plane.
This was an extrely sophisticated survival technique. In theory, as long as this "mist," which represented His origin, could return to the Divine Continent where it was born, absorbing the power of the world’s origin, it could slowly reconstruct His divine body and revive anew.
The four heavily injured "Subordinate Gods" sensed the vitality and tendency for return within the mist, horrified.
They knew that once their lord revived, what awaited them would be a reckoning more terrifying than death.
So, they hastily fled back to the Divine Continent and forcibly sealed the World Gate, cutting off the mist’s route to return.
Thus, the resurrection procedure of the Master of the Divine Continent was forcibly interrupted, stuck midway.
Yet, in an unexpected twist, this transformation resulted in a series of unanticipated outcos—the entity turned into the mist has, over the long years, unconsciously continued to rge with the origin dispersed after the fall of the Master of the Aerial Plane, and the free energy of the entire Aerial Plane!
It beca larger and more refined, with its essence slowly evolving towards a higher level—Eighth Level.
But because it was a chaotic amalgam of the origins of two Seventh Level beings and lost a guiding consciousness, its soul essence couldn’t unify, preventing it from truly crossing the chasm to achieve a complete Eighth Level.
One could say that this seemingly harmless mist covering the two planes is, in essence, an extraordinarily unique, so-called "Half-Step Eighth Level" chaotic creature!
When Dionysius Spencer accidentally discovered the Aerial Plane and noticed the anomaly of this mist, he imdiately realized its unparalleled value.
For him, a Seventh Level Wizard, a being attempting to advance to the Eighth Level, whose process was completely "frozen" midway, had research significance even greater than that of a complete Eighth Level existence.
This ant he could observe and analyze the entire transition process from Seventh Level to Eighth Level, as clearly as dissecting a specin.
The law evolution, energy condensation, will sublimation... every bit of information was extrely precious.
Thus, he planned and led this expedition.
The opening of the Space Gate and the conquest of the Divine Continent were not for re resources.
The real purpose was to create an environnt.
To allow the mist, representing the origin of the "Half-Step Eighth Level" being, to spread across the Divine Continent without obstruction.
To simulate its originally programd "return" path, thereby stimulating its evolution process, enabling him to observe and study this miracle completely.
"How pathetic and ridiculous." Dionysius Spencer withdrew his gaze from delving into the mories, mockingly glanced at the God of Blade still struggling futilely in the force field ball, "Betrayed for power, then self-sealed out of fear, tens of thousands of years have passed, and even old wounds haven’t healed, truly... useless."
He casually tossed the sealing ball aside, letting it float amidst the starlight.
For now, everything was progressing smoothly.
The mist was spreading as planned, and research data was pouring in.
The other three Fourth Level Wizards had captured divine spirits, and with their thods, it would take a long ti to extract the ancient secrets of the sa level from those shattered souls, nothing to worry about.
The small episode on Jeming’s side had also been resolved; the white mist the little guy had collected would be the "reward" for borrowing his fate trajectory. The ripples of fate had already subsided.
Now, the only remaining doubt that caught his attention slightly...
"Those four ’Otherworlds’ conquered by the Holy Missions..." Dionysius Spencer’s gaze turned to the distance, as if penetrating layers of space, landing on that "World Gate," currently undetectable.
He had carefully examined it, and the World Gate of the Divine Continent itself did not have the function to actively connect to other Planes.
The mory of the God of Blade also confird that when their Master of the World created this gate, they did not endow it with such capability.
"So, it’s not the gate connecting to them, but they... actively connecting to the gate." A cold and sharp light flashed in Dionysius Spencer’s eyes.
Four Planes, at the sa ti, acting in unison, actively connecting to a closed Plane, one not abundantly rich in resources?
Moreover, from the mory of the God of Blade, those four worlds are so resource-poor that the four "Divine Spirits" have been unable to regain their peak strength over the years.
This pattern resembles less of plundering and more of... establishing an outpost?
Or rather, a transit station!
"Collective action, clear objectives, behavior carried out with organization..." Dionysius Spencer’s fingers lightly tapped the armrest of his Energy Seat, emitting a silent rhythm, "It seems so reckless little bugs have sniffed out sothing and plan to make so small moves right under the nose of Wizard Civilization."
A sinister and cold smile appeared on his face.
He never minds assuming the worst malice towards potential threats lurking in deeper layers.
"Given that, this ’unexpected discovery’ needs to be reported ’upwards’."
At the mont he made this decision, an invisible, extrely encrypted ssage had already been transmitted through the Endless Void, heading towards the power core of the Star Ring Federation.
...
...
The conquest of the Divine Continent and the Aerial Plane is entering the final stage.
Large-scale warfare has ended, with remaining tasks mainly involving resource counting, slave placent, and establishing long-term governance order.
For Jeming, the gains from this journey have far exceeded expectations, and staying any longer holds little aning.
Although these two Planes still have considerable value, for Jeming, who owns the "Self-Stabilizing Field Regulation Protocol," these scattered resources and profits no longer arouse his interest.
With over one hundred million military rits coming in steadily each year, he has been given the freedom of choice without needing to expend energy on trivial "scraps."
The end-of-war managent of Planes is relatively relaxed, and the movent of personnel is freer.
Jeming’s quiet departure triggered not even the slightest ripple in the still bustling Expeditionary Army camp.
He silently and unknowingly slipped back into the Golden Garden on the Elorcia Plane through the cross-plane teleportation network, like a drop of water into the sea.
After being away for over eighty years, his laboratory still operates smoothly.
The maintenance dolls have faithfully executed all the commands he set before leaving, maintaining the Array, tending the garden, and all research projects remain in a frozen, awaiting state.
After a swift check confirming everything was in good order, Jeming did not linger but directly passed through the private Teleportation Gate in the tower, stepping into a world entirely his—Purgatory Sulfur Plane.
A familiar hot wind carrying the pungent scent of sulfur assaulted him.
Eighty-so years is but a fleeting mont to a Plane.
Looking around, the crimson earth, the rolling rivers of magma, the twisted formations of sulfur crystals... the scene was almost unchanged from when he left.
Even the Incubation Pool he had deliberately set up, with a few Chaos Crystals as Black Giant Cores, had only gone from dormant to emitting a faint glow.
Jeming checked carefully and sighed helplessly: "Only completed the very initial Energy peration... the real incubation and formation are still far off."
However, Jeming knew well that under limited Energy supply, the cultivation of a warfare weapon like the Black Giant was destined to be a lengthy process.
After roughly inventorying his backlog of tasks, Jeming couldn’t help but feel a sense of "happy trouble."
There are simply too many things requiring his personal effort: installing the planned Seventh Level Large Elental Pool for Purgatory Sulfur Plane, delving into the nurous rare biological samples and unique materials brought back from the two conquered Planes, analyzing the essence of mysterious and powerful "white mist," optimizing the design of Black Giants based on new insights, improving his combat system, designing and mass-producing new types of reconnaissance cannon fodder units...
Initially, a conventional two-hundred-year rest period seed quite long, but in comparison to this list, it suddenly felt barely adequate, even sowhat "short."
Jeming couldn’t help but smile, realizing that his perception of ti had indeed been unconsciously reshaped by the long wizardry career.
In the eyes of mortals, two hundred years is an unreachable length of ti, but now, to him, it needs to be budgeted and utilized carefully.
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