Chapter 593: Star Fla Art
After parting ways with Silus, Klaus, and Nortan, Max wandered alone through the strange hall filled with countless mirrors. The floor beneath him was smooth, almost like glass, and the faint hum of energy lingered in the air.
The walls were lined with mirrors of all shapes and sizes, their surfaces occasionally flickering with unnatural light.
Max approached one, standing directly in front of it. For a mont, it showed his reflection clearly—his white hair, calm expression, and sharp eyes.
But in the next instant, his image vanished completely, leaving only a foggy, colorless void behind the glass. A faint, earthy scent drifted from the mirror—subtle but unmistakable.
Max narrowed his eyes slightly. ‘This mirror is releasing wood aura,’ he thought, stepping back. It wasn’t his field of mastery, so he left it behind and walked toward another.
This ti, the mirror was cold and dull. It did nothing, offered no response to his presence, no aura, no image. He moved on again.
At the third mirror, he saw sothing. The surface shimred faintly, and a vague silhouette began forming—sothing sharp, sothing fast. A piercing sensation pricked at his senses, not like a blade, but still deadly. ‘A spear concept?’ he guessed. It wasn’t what he was looking for.
He kept moving, trying mirror after mirror. So responded a little, others not at all. Then he reached it.
This mirror radiated an oppressive heat, its surface pulsing faintly with flickers of red and gold. Max’s eyes sharpened. The heat was real, tangible, and the concept it carried was unmistakable—flas. Not ordinary fire, but sothing deeper, more refined, like a concept fla had taken form within.
Without hesitation, Max raised his hand and touched the surface of the mirror. The mont his skin made contact, the glass rippled like water and began to dissolve away. Within seconds, the mirror no longer reflected anything—it had transford into an open path.
Max stepped through.
He found himself in a small, isolated room, devoid of distractions. Its walls were smooth stone, yet the temperature inside was warm, even welcoming.
In the very center of the room sat a lone table, carved from red-hued rock, glowing faintly as if absorbing ambient fla energy. Atop it rested a single box—modest in size, unadorned, but thrumming with hidden power.
Max took a slow breath, eyes fixed on the box. ‘That must be the treasure,’ he thought, his instincts sharpening.
But Max didn’t imdiately reach for the box. His eyes narrowed, scanning the area with caution.
He could see a thin, almost invisible wall of energy surrounding the table—so kind of forcefield, humming faintly with a resonant pressure that warned against approaching carelessly.
Just in front of that field sat a glass sphere, roughly the size of a human head, placed delicately on a stone pedestal. Max stepped closer and studied it carefully. The sphere was transparent and smooth, but within it was nothing—an empty void, like it was waiting for sothing.
He reached out and touched the cool surface with his palm. The mont he did, a tiny speck of black fla sparked inside the glass, flickering like a dying ember. Max’s eyes glead with understanding.
‘So I need to light it up? Feed it my flas?’ he mused silently. Without wasting another second, he placed both hands on either side of the sphere and used his black flas.
Black flas—wild, chaotic, and burning with a dark majesty—burst forth from his hands, engulfing the sphere in a hellish blaze.
But to his surprise, the sphere barely reacted. No matter how much black fla he poured in, the speck inside grew painfully slow, like a stubborn ember refusing to ignite fully.
It was like the sphere wasn’t rely absorbing the flas—it was consuming them. His vast reserves, his endless flow of cursed fire, all of it was being drained like water into an unfillable abyss.
Still, Max didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. He gritted his teeth and focused harder, maintaining a constant stream of flas. Ti passed. First a few minutes. Then an hour. Two. His arms trembled slightly from the sustained output, and sweat beaded down his brow. But his flas never ceased.
Only after nearly three full hours did the interior of the glass sphere begin to shift. The black speck had grown—slowly, steadily—until it now filled the entire sphere like a miniature sun of darkness, pulsing with power.
The mont it filled completely, a loud hum echoed through the room. The forcefield around the table wavered—crackling once—and then vanished into thin air.
Max exhaled sharply and lowered his arms, stepping back slightly as the oppressive energy faded. The path to the box was now open. The test was complete.
Max stepped up to the table, his footsteps slow and deliberate, the air still warm from the lingering black flas that had filled the glass sphere just monts ago. Now that the forcefield was gone, he reached out and gently lifted the small box resting in the center of the table.
The surface was smooth, tallic, and warm to the touch—almost as if it had been waiting for him.
With a soft click, he opened the lid. Inside was a single, thin book with a cover that shimred faintly like embers glowing beneath ash. Engraved across the surface in silver letters were the words: Star Fla Art.
“Star Fla Art?” Max murmured aloud, curiosity flaring in his eyes as he flipped open the first page. The mont he read the initial lines, his brows lifted in surprise.
It wasn’t just any technique—it was a Legendary Rank fla technique. As he read further, the technique’s concept began to unfold in his mind, sparking his interest even more.
According to the introduction, the Star Fla Art allowed one to transform ordinary or elental flas into what were called Star Flas—a unique variation of fire imbued with weight. Not just taphorical weight, but literal mass and pressure.
Flas that could crash down with the heaviness of stars. In combat, these flas would beco a terrifying force, each strike carrying not just heat and destruction, but also a gravitational force that could smash through defenses and crush enemies like falling teors.
Max’s eyes glead with intrigue as he reached the end of the first page. The most fascinating part was that while the Star Flas would gain imnse weight in combat, the user wouldn’t feel the burden at all.
It would be like wielding a star with the ease of a feather—only the enemy would suffer its full wrath.
“This is… a damn cool technique,” Max whispered, a rare, genuine smile forming on his face. He gently closed the book and stored it away with care.
There would be ti later to study it in depth, refine it, and perhaps master it. For now, the Citadel still had more secrets to reveal—and he intended to uncover every last one of them.
After securing the Star Fla Art, Max stepped back through the shimring surface of the mirror and returned to the strange hall where countless mirrors, paintings, and murals lined the endless walls.
The mont he erged, the surreal quiet of the place wrapped around him once more—an eerie calm where no roof shielded the sky, and yet everything was brightly lit, bathed in an unnatural glow despite the overhead darkness.
He exhaled slowly and glanced around.
‘One down,’ he thought, his gaze sweeping over the array of mirrors stretching into the distance. ‘Now to find others that resonate with .’
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