Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

Chapter 402: Chapter 86: The Ancients All Lived Past a Hundred Years

"So, Master, you should now understand the intention behind the coronation and the renewed ringing of the Morning Star Bell, all pushed forward by Saint Cyril. Judging by the overt logic of the game being played by all sides, things are proceeding very smoothly."

Margaret’s projection tilted her head slightly. "I had intended to wait for a more opportune moment to reveal the secret of the Morning Star Bell as a surprise for you, Master. I never expected the Star Speaker to approach you so directly..."

Murphy fell silent for a moment, then asked a critical question. "If I don’t go to the Holy City, what will the consequences be?"

Margaret’s projection gazed at him quietly, her voice growing soft and profound. "Master, the consequences may not be immediate. The Star Speaker likely told you because they fear that possibility coming to pass."

Murphy’s gaze suddenly grew sharper. He stared directly into Margaret’s illusory eyes and asked slowly, "Margaret, you didn’t tell me this secret at the first opportunity... were you also waiting? Or should I say, did you anticipate the Star Speaker’s inevitable appearance?"

Margaret shook her head.

"Master, that is another unspeakable secret. You need only trust that I am on your side."

...

「Sanctuary.」

「Half-Plane.」

There was no sky, no earth—only a boundless, seemingly eternally flowing sea of milky-white mist.

Light, from an unknown source, diffused evenly through every inch of space. It was neither dazzling nor dim, maintaining a constant, unchanging brightness.

In this world composed purely of a sea of clouds, upon a relatively solid patch, two young women with nearly identical features sat casually at the edge of a platform condensed from the mist.

On the left was Margaret.

She wore a pure black, off-the-shoulder, court-style gown. Its layered skirt bloomed like an ink-black flower at midnight, spreading a patch of shadow across the mist.

She wore a pair of jet-black, calf-high stockings that accentuated the delicate curve of her ankles, and on her feet were black, mid-heeled leather shoes.

On the right was Othilia.

She was dressed in an unblemished, pure white gown. Its style was minimalist, with clean, sharp lines, like a veil woven from the first snow.

She wore matching pure white stockings that stretched up beneath her hemline, and on her feet was a pair of unadorned, white, mid-heeled leather shoes.

The two of them sat quietly on the edge of the cloud sea, their slender legs dangling over the side, swinging gently. It was as if below them was not an endless void of mist, but the edge of a pond in a garden on a quiet afternoon.

"Maggie," Othilia was the first to break the silence. She tilted her head slightly, her deep black eyes glancing at the sister beside her. "You seemed to be in a good mood just now?"

Margaret didn’t answer immediately. She raised a hand, letting a milky-white tendril of mist coil around her fingertips like a ribbon before slowly dissipating.

"It’s nothing. I just handled some minor affairs in the outside world."

"Minor affairs?" Othilia sighed softly, the sound seeming to blend into the surrounding mist. "For us, being able to perceive the outside world, to have even a shred of connection with it, is no minor affair. In this cage of nothing but clouds, even time has lost its meaning. Of course you’d be happy, getting to occasionally speak with that little lover of yours out there."

The hand Margaret was using to toy with the mist paused. She turned her head, her own deep black eyes meeting Othilia’s. "Othie, if you’re so bored, you could always find a lover for yourself."

"Find a lover?" Othilia shook her head, her dark eyes gazing into the depths of the endless cloud sea, where there was only eternal, unchanging white. "To me, deliberately seeking out that kind of bond, trying to use someone else’s existence to fill the void here... now *that* would be even more boring. I’m not..."

Just then, Othilia’s placid expression suddenly shifted. Her brow furrowed, and a flash of annoyance crossed her dark eyes. "Damned Noe VII! His own Cardinals ’invited’ him into this Sanctuary to ’meditate,’ yet he still has the energy to chase us. He’s like a ghost you can’t shake!"

Margaret, however, didn’t seem surprised. "Perhaps his relentlessness is the real reason the people of Saint Cyril grew so uneasy. No matter where he is or what his circumstances, he stubbornly adheres to his own philosophy and methods. It’s why they went to such extreme lengths to imprison him here. After all, to anyone with their own agenda, an individual who cannot be assimilated, cannot be predicted, and whose convictions are terrifyingly firm is the greatest possible variable."

Othilia said irritably, "Persistence? I call it fanaticism! Whatever, I can’t be bothered with him."

She stood up, her pure white gown swaying with the motion. "Stay here long enough, and even boredom itself becomes dull. Maggie, want to move around a bit? If I sit any longer, I feel like my body will assimilate with this mist."

Margaret also rose gracefully, smoothing the hem of her dark gown. "Very well."

Othilia extended a slender, stocking-clad foot and lightly tapped the empty space before her.

HUM!

The pale mist beneath her feet suddenly collapsed inward, spinning to form a white vortex rimmed with a faint, silvery glow.

At the same time, Margaret responded in kind. The hem of her pure-black gown lifted slightly as the mist at her feet churned, forming a corresponding vortex of deep, impenetrable black.

The instant the vortexes formed, their figures began to blur and turn transparent, as if they were about to dissolve into the pure essence of black and white.