2026-07-05 03:01:31"Give it up, Aster Vale. Or we’ll have to use force."
The oneeyed Inquisitor’s voice echoed through the narrow alley behind the winery, carrying an air of authority that made the atmosphere stifling. Behind him, twelve silverrobed mages simultaneously slammed their staffs into the ground. A dome of silvery light—a HighLevel Mana Suppression Formation—encased Aster and Kaelen. The air inside the dome grew thick as sludge, forcing anyone with mana in their veins to their knees.
Beside Aster, Kaelen Drago did not kneel.
The protagonist’s crimson eyes burned bright in the darkness, radiating a bloodred aura that seethed and growled like a cornered beast. Hot steam rose from his shoulders, melting the night dew clinging to his cloak. Kaelen was ready to detonate his core—a suicidal act that would level half the district and kill the Inquisitors, but would also trigger a fatal backlash on his own body and invite the wrath of the World Laws.
"Master Drago, please, don't," Aster held Kaelen’s shoulder with one hand. His voice sounded remarkably calm, even as his heart hammered against his ribs like a sledgehammer. If you detonate here, we’re both dead! And if you die, who’s going to save the world from the Abyss Tide?!
Kaelen turned, staring at Aster’s hand resting on his shoulder. In Kaelen’s mind, shattered and reassembled by one hundred and fortyseven time loops, this simple gesture held profound meaning. Master Aster... is holding me back. He doesn't want my hands stained by the blood of these Clydes family lapdogs. He wants to handle it himself as part of testing my patience!
"Very well, Master. I will stand down," Kaelen whispered, his bloodred aura slowly fading, though his eyes remained fixed on the Inquisitors with intense killing intent.
The oneeyed Inquisitor—Vance—frowned, slightly surprised to see Kaelen Drago, the academy’s monster, obeying a scholarship student who didn't even possess a magical aura. But the arrogance of the Magic Tower quickly swallowed his suspicion.
"Hand over that cracked stone and the mindaltering artifact you used at the black market," Vance commanded, raising his lightningruneetched staff. "The Clydes family has accused you of allying with a dark cult. The Magic Tower is merely performing a purge."
Aster let out a soft sigh. A purge? You call extortion and robbery a purge?
Aster’s hand reached into his wide cloak pocket, touching the small cylindrical object he had fashioned that afternoon. His original intention was simple: he had run out of toothpaste in the dorms, and being too lazy to go to the store, he had recycled an old, flattened toothpaste tube, filling it with a mixture of powdered lime and wild mint from the backyard.
He pulled the object out. A dented aluminum toothpaste tube, the paint peeling, its plastic cap cracked.
Vance stared at the item in Aster’s hand, then laughed dismissively. "What is that? A miniature alchemy bomb? Do you think you can threaten the Magic Tower with trash?"
"It’s not trash, Inquisitor Vance," Aster said in a flat tone, looking straight into the man's single eye. "It’s a cleaning tool. And it seems you all have quite a lot of... grime attached to you."
Aster twisted the cracked cap and aimed the nozzle at the silver dome and the Inquisitors. He pressed his thumb against the dented aluminum belly of the tube.
Pshhhht.
The system in his head shrieked with a blinding mintgreen light.
[Item: Recycled Toothpaste Tube (Quality: F)]
[Error: Material does not contain standard cleaning agents.]
[Absolute Compensation Implanted.]
[Concept Granted: Absolute Conceptual Plaque Removal.]
[Defining 'Plaque' as: All forms of magical enchantments, killing intent, hidden contracts, and soul stains attached to the host.]
[Cleaning down to the roots.]
From the cheap nozzle, a thick, softly glowing white foam sprayed out. The foam didn't fall to the ground; instead, it expanded in the air at an absurd speed, carrying the sharp scent of mint and ozone that made the Inquisitors’ eyes water.
The white foam struck the silver manasuppression dome.
Krek... Kkrrakk .. ting!
The HighLevel magic dome, rumored to be able to withstand the rampage of an adult dragon, didn't explode. It peeled away. The magical runes forming the dome disintegrated and dissolved into the white foam as if they were nothing more than rust or stubborn plaque being scrubbed away by an invisible toothbrush. Within two seconds, the dome vanished, leaving behind the fresh, mintscented night air.
"W-What?!" Vance stumbled back, his eyes widening in horror as he stared at his staff. The lightning rune on his wooden staff was peeling off, turning into plain, smooth, clean wood without a trace of magical energy left.
The white foam continued to spread, sweeping over the twelve Inquisitors. They were not physically harmed. However, whenever the foam touched their skin, the mana inside their magic cores felt "scrubbed" until empty. The killing intent and arrogance that had been burning in their hearts suddenly vanished, replaced by a feeling of cleanliness, freshness, and an overwhelming urge to go home, brush their teeth, and get to bed early. Their magical weapons fell from their hands, turning into shiny, mundane metal and wood.
Kaelen Drago watched the scene, his breath hitching. The Magic Tower's Suppression Formation... highlevel weapon enchantments... all of them rinsed clean by just a spray of white foam?! Master Aster treats the Magic Tower’s prideandjoy magic as nothing more than dental plaque to be cleaned in the morning?!
"You... you erased our enchantments?!" Vance’s voice trembled. He fell to his knees as his mana was drained, the "clean" sensation forcing him to lose his fighting spirit. "What kind of magic is this?! Who are you really?!"
"I told you," Aster said, tucking the nowcompletelyempty toothpaste tube back into his pocket. "It’s just a cleaning tool. You all should be more diligent about your... personal hygiene."
Aster turned, intending to drag Kaelen away before the real Magic Tower reinforcements arrived. However, the leftover white foam from the spray slowly descended and landed on Vance's chest, right beneath his silver cloak.
And that was where the true nightmare began.
As the minty foam touched the skin on Vance's chest, the oneeyed man suddenly screamed. It was not a scream of physical pain, but the sound of a deep, causal bond being violently severed.
The toothpaste foam had detected a conceptual "stain" or "plaque" hiding deep within Vance’s soul. It began to scrub, forcibly pulling the stain out.
"ARRRGGGHHH! STOP! STOP SCRUBBING!" Vance roared, clawing at his own chest.
Before Aster and Kaelen’s stunned eyes, the skin on Vance’s chest split open, bloodless. From beneath his skin, a jetblack tattoo shaped like an eye with tentacles—the symbol of the Abyss Sect—was yanked out by the white foam. The tattoo shrieked at a high frequency that shattered the nearby warehouse windows.
Aster froze. Wait. What?!
In the original novel, Inquisitor Vance was a loyal dog of the Magic Tower. But that "plaque removing" foam had just revealed a truth never written in the book: Vance, and perhaps many other highranking members of the Magic Tower, had been infiltrated and controlled by Abyss parasites for years! The Clydes family hadn't sent the Magic Tower to arrest Aster. It was the Abyss Sect, having infiltrated the Tower, that hijacked the arrest order, utilizing legal authority to seize the "Dragon Heart Scale" (the Cracked Stone)—the only artifact capable of repelling the Abyss Tide!
The black parasite, forcibly pulled from Vance's chest, did not die. Sensing its existence threatened by the concept of "absolute cleanliness," the black mass shot upward, pierced the roof of the winery, and exploded in the academy city's night sky.
The mass formed a giant dark purple beacon that pulsed like a heartbeat, sending coordinate signals to another dimension. The purple light illuminated the entire Aethelgard night sky, bathing the city in a terrifying light of death.
[Critical Warning: The Abyss Summoning Beacon has been activated.]
[The Abyss Tide that was supposed to occur in Chapter 50 has been accelerated.]
[Time to arrival: 72 hours.]
Aster stared at the pulsing purple sky, the empty toothpaste tube slipping from his hand and hitting the ground.
"I think..." Aster muttered, his voice sounding weary and hollow amidst the academy’s warning sirens, which began to wail from every direction. "...we just made them very angry."
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Chapter 145: Back to the Shop
Nine o'clock at night.The bell above the door of Vale Junk Shop rang. Ting.The sound was small, rusty, and slightly out of tune. But to Aster Vale, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. A sound that meant he was home. A sound that meant the workday was over. And most importantly, a sound that meant it was time to count his money.Aster stepped inside, closed the wooden door with creaking hinges, and locked the double latch. He did not turn on the main light right away. Moonlight filtering through the front window was enough to guide him to the rocking chair behind the counter. The chair creaked in protest as he sank his tired body onto its thin cushion.From inside his woven rattan bag, he pulled out a notebook, a pen, and a broken mechanical calculator with a snapped indicator needle. Then, he began taking out bags of coins.Clink. Clink. Clink.The sound of gold hitting the wooden counter was tonight's symphony. Aster lined up the piles of coins, sorted them by income sour
Chapter 144: Two Different Paths
The corridor connecting Floor One to the surface was still intact. The stone steps creaked under the footsteps of Helena and Kael—two figures who should have never walked side by side. The Grand Inquisitor of the Church of Sacred Light. The General of the Valdris War Faction. Two institutions that had stood on opposite sides for two hundred years.Behind them, four royal knights escorted them. Not escorting them as prisoners. Escorting them as... witnesses. As people who did not know what to do about two individuals who had just stopped being themselves.Sunlight poured in from above. Real sunlight. Not crystal light. Not the glow of moss. Not mirror reflections. Sunlight that was warm, honest, and reflected nothing other than itself.Helena stopped at the dungeon gate.The black stone arch towered before her—ancient symbols eroded by three hundred years, security seals that were now dark, a surface no longer glowing. The gate looked old. Tired. Like someone who had stood for too long
Chapter 143: From Cult to Community
Malachar did not walk like a Grand Priest. There was no cape billowing without wind. No eyes burning with the fire of conviction. No voice sounding like dry bones scraping together inside a cave.He walked like an old man who had just woken up from a forty-year sleep, realizing that all his dreams belonged to someone else.His steps were short. Hesitant. His old shoes touched the mirror floor without confidence—without direction. Where should he go? What should he do? Who was he, if not the Grand Priest of the Abyss Remnant Cult? Who was he, if not a hunter of God? Who was he, if not anything at all?The Cracked Mirror still lay on the floor. Its cracked surface now reflected the ordinary light of the Maze—a light that showed no souls, no truth, nothing other than the surface. But Malachar did not need to look at the mirror anymore. He had already seen it. And what he saw was still burning behind his eyes.A former bishop. Alone. Fired. Without friends. Talking to walls.Not a Grand P
Chapter 142: Toby, the Unwanted "Prophet"
He found a gap between two cracked mirrors—a narrow two-meter space hidden behind the reflection of light. There, far from the battle, far from the screams, far from poison daggers, mana nets, and giant fists slamming into the floor, Toby did the only thing he could do while the world was collapsing around him.He cooked.The Kerosene Stove burned with a small blue flame. Its bent chimney puffed out thin steam that smelled like chicken broth mixed with damp moss and a hint of ozone from the dungeon air. Inside the dented pot he brought from the shop, dungeon water boiled—water he scraped from the leaks along the Maze walls, water no sane person with an appetite would ever drink.Toby stirred the soup with a wooden spoon he had chewed on in three places. A greasy apron was tied around his neck—an apron he found in a supply sack when they first entered the dungeon. It was way too big for him, but enough to keep his fur safe from splatters.This was not the thick, black, asphalt-smelling
Chapter 141: Aster Faces the Three Leaders
Reinforcements arrived in four minutes and thirty seconds.A platoon of Aethelgard royal knights—forty men in silver armor with golden lion crests on their chests—entered Floor Four in a two-column formation. Their captain, a woman with a scar on her temple and eyes that had seen too much to ever be shocked by anything, swept her gaze across the Maze.And even she stopped.Twenty Valdris shadow soldiers sat on the floor. Weapons lay beside them. Masks unfastened. Empty eyes. Not fighting back. No need to bind them—they weren't even trying to stand up.Twelve cult followers knelt on the other side of the Maze. Their red eyes blinked with a confusion never before seen on the face of any cultist. Some were crying. Some were staring at their own hands. Some just stayed quiet.Kael's five guards lay near the shattered mirror wall. Unmoving. Breathing, but unmoving.And in the middle of it all, three people sat in front of a small cracked mirror. Crying.The platoon captain swallowed hard.
Chapter 140: The Last Line of Defense
The effect of the Rusty Shop Bell pulled everyone to a single point. The effect of the Dusting Broom erased intent from everyone within a ten-meter radius. But not everyone was within that radius. And not all intent could be erased.Kael's five personal guards stood at the edge of the Maze. They felt the pull of the bell. They felt the broom's erasing effect. But they were veterans of three border campaigns—their souls had been forged too hard, too many times, for the outer layer of their intent to be wiped away by a single sweep of a broom.And four of Malachar's followers—four of the twelve who had been brainwashed too deeply, for too long, for the chains on their souls to be loosened by a single wave of cleansing—stood up. Their red eyes glowed. Ritual knives were drawn.Nine figures moved. Not toward the mirror. Not toward the three crying leaders. Toward Aster.Toward the old man crouching on the moss, his back to the world, pressing the buttons of a broken calculator.Kaelen mov
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