Chương 443: Playing with Fire

If you want to trick two ancient, hyper-vigilant galactic factions into tearing each other apart, you don't use a blunt instrument. You construct a deception so conceptually flawless that their own scrying arrays cannot tell the difference between a real strike and a manufactured lie. True false-flag operations succeed only when they leverage the enemy's deepest blind spots and systemic biases against them.

For two days following my proxy's destruction on Necropolis-Beta, I remained in Bastion, collaborating with Kasian, Leoric, and Jeeves to engineer a strike that would force the Necromancers and the High Courts into an open conflict. In order to properly undertake the different kind of mission, I had to manufacture another highly specialized [Echo of the Ashen] proxy. Leoric forged the proxy's outer basalt-steel shell in the deep foundries, reinforcing its conduits to handle extreme thermal and spatial friction.

But instead of loading its core with my standard mix of Essence tinged with black-red [Voidflame], Kasian and I spent hours carefully filling its conduits with a high-density, divine starlight-mana, derived from my affinities Consumed with the Hunger.

To make the forgery absolute, I pulled an authentic High Court artifact from my [Armory of the Ashen] — a silver-and-gold Divination Key that I had no use for since we had recovered it from the battle against the High Court Diviner kept specifically for such a purpose. Mounting the Divination Key inside the proxy's central Star-Core was an extremely delicate, high-risk process.

Leoric used atomic-forging arrays to align the Key's runic relays with the proxy's mana-conduits, ensuring the artifact's passive aura bled seamlessly through the basalt-steel skin without triggering its built-in self-destruct traps. The result was a masterpiece of deception. To any scrying array, diagnostic sensor, or soul-perception expert in the sector, the proxy radiated the exact, unyielding signature of a High Court Diviner enforcing their 'divine' Law.

Before initiating the strike, I established a strict moral boundary with my inner council.

"I want to ignite a war between the High Courts and this Necromancy Faction," I told Kasian and Jeeves in the Hall of the Chronicle, leaning against the slate desk as the blue light of our planetary maps washed over us.

"But I am not slaughtering innocent civilians or low-tier workers to achieve it. Give me a tactical plan that achieves our goal without unnecessary bloodshed." Kasian pulled up the subterranean map of Necropolis-Beta, his spectral face carrying a thoughtful, ancient expression.

"The solution lies in the ideological rift between the two factions," Kasian explained, projecting a comparative diagram over the stone table.

"The High Courts and the Pale Threshold operate on completely opposing cultivation models."

"How so?" I asked, taking a sip of warm tea.

"The High Courts cultivate through a system known as Sanctioned Faith," Kasian revealed, tracing the gold-and-silver lines on the map.

"Their higher-tier Architects and Judges rely on the collective belief and devotion of lower-sector populations to stabilize their conceptual authorities. Because of this, they must maintain a public, galactic image of being just, righteous, and lawful gods." Kasian pointed to the Marrow Vault's Host Catalyst.

"To the High Courts' dogma, the Necromancers' attempt to hijack the Wheel of Reincarnation and forge composite soul-vessels is the ultimate cosmic heresy. They view tampering with the Wheel as a direct threat to the universe's systemic order."

"So a High Court strike team wouldn't just assassinate an Auditor," I realized, my eyes flashing as the strategic puzzle clicked into place.

"They would attempt to sanctify the cathedral. They would destroy the Host Catalyst, shatter the Soul-Looms, and liberate the captives to enforce their divine Law."

"Precisely," Kasian nodded.

"If your proxy executes that exact strike, the Pale Threshold will have zero doubt that the High Courts launched a righteous purging raid to crush their Prophet's resurrection." With the tactical objective locked, we initiated the Spire sequence. I loaded the specialized proxy onto the Spire, sending it through the uncompiled deep-void corridors back toward Sector K-14. Three days later, the false-flag operation commenced.

Taking direct control of the proxy's consciousness from my inner sanctum in Bastion, I steered the High Court Diviner proxy as it dropped through the ash-grey necrotic clouds of Necropolis-Beta. Wreathed in a blinding, golden corona of divine starlight-mana, my proxy didn't use stealth.

It descended directly over the Marrow Vault's central cathedral like a vengeful god, breaking through their upper thermal barriers with a roaring kinetic shockwave that shattered the surrounding bone-stone spires into clouds of white dust. The raid was swift, violent, and utterly terrifying.

"Heresy!" My proxy's voice boomed across the subterranean cathedral, amplified by the High Court Divination Key to sound like a choir of righteous judgment.

"This profane altar is condemned!" My proxy unleashed a storm of divine starlight lances, targeting the cathedral's primary infrastructure. The blinding beams of light cut through the marrow-stone arches, shattering the floating soul-flame lanterns and sending rivers of molten brass cascading onto the stone floor below. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

The dark-robed low Tier Necromancers panicked, their silver masks reflecting the golden glare of the destruction. The automated marrow-stone defense turrets fired streams of necrotic plasma, but my proxy used [Void Emperor's Omnipresence] to step effortlessly through their fire, translating its coordinates straight onto the central altar platform. I didn't strike the cultists or the fleeing workers. Instead, I brought a massive, starlight-infused gravity-slope directly down onto the primary Soul-Looms.

The three-story mechanical arrays constructed from runic brass and polished bone collapsed into smoking rubble, their runic looms snapping like brittle twigs under the crushing weight. Simultaneously, my proxy hurled a concentrated beam of divine starlight directly into the four bone-chains holding the Host Catalyst. The stasis chains shattered with a deafening metallic screech.

The colossal, violet-gold soul-cocoon plummeted into the central blood reservoir, its unstable, woven soul-scars rejecting each other and erupting into a blinding, harmless flash of uncompiled sparks. Before the cultist guards could surround the altar, my proxy raised its hand, unleashing a sweeping spatial wave that shattered the iron locks on every captive cage across the cathedral floor.

"Flee, lost souls!" My proxy declared righteously, its voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

"The Order breaks your chains!" Thousands of drug-addled captives, suddenly freed from their necrotic suppression chains, poured out of their cages in a chaotic, stampeding wave, fleeing through the cathedral's blast doors into the Sepulcher Markets outside. With the Soul-Looms destroyed, the Host Catalyst shattered, and the captives freed, the operation was complete.

To ensure the evidence was absolute, my proxy ejected the authentic High Court Divination Key, driving the glowing silver-and-gold artifact deep into the center of the ruined slate altar. Then, my proxy ignited its internal Star-Core before any of the Grand Necromancers could arrive.

The proxy detonated itself in a magnificent, blinding nova of pure, sanctioned starlight that vaporized the central platform, leaving behind zero physical remains of my basalt-steel shell — leaving only the High Court Divination Key embedded in the scorched stone as an undeniable signature. The telepathic connection severed, snapping my consciousness back across the light-years to my physical body sitting in Bastion.

I opened my physical eyes, taking a long, quiet breath as my star-cores slowly settled back into their normal rotation. The false-flag operation appeared to have been a success. To the surviving Grand Necromancers of the Pale Threshold, a High Court Diviner had just descended from the sky, set their life's work a few years back, freed their test subjects, and left behind an authentic High Court artifact as a bloody signature.

However, as I sat on my cultivation mat reviewing the proxy's final diagnostic data, my brows narrowed. During the final moments before the proxy's self-detonation, my [Lattice Perception] had picked up a subtle, deeply unsettling anomaly. Hovering deep within the third Void Layer miles above the cathedral, a faint, microscopic presence had been observing the entire raid. The presence hadn't belonged to the High Courts, nor had it belonged to the local Necromancers.

It felt impossibly ancient, like a sleeping leviathan that had briefly opened a single eye in the deep void to watch my proxy's performance. It had remained completely cloaked, making no move to intervene or stop my proxy. But as my proxy detonated the Host Catalyst, my perception had caught a faint, unmistakable emotional pulse from the hidden observer. It hadn't been angry or hostile. It had been... amused.

Someone far more powerful than the local cultists had watched my false-flag operation from the shadows, and they had found my theatrical performance delightfully entertaining. I kept the thought in mind, asking Kasian to try to find out more while continuing my primary preparations.

For the next two weeks, I returned to my hyper-accelerated cultivation routine in Bastion, practicing my Stretch-and-Deny soul expansion method while checking in daily with Kasian, Jeeves, and the ANON supercomputer arrays for updates on Sector K-14. My iterative cycle of stretching my soul gate with evolved [Voidflame] and immediately denying the damage with [Syntropy] was yielding incredible results.

My inner world's basalt continent expanded daily, its lead-alloy pillars solidifying into an immovable, nuclear-dense bedrock that could withstand astronomical domain pressure. The capacity of my conduits grew smoother, allowing me to handle immense streams of raw energy without a single trace of mana-drag. The galactic news remained quiet on the surface. No public declarations of war were broadcast across the sector channels.

"The silence is expected, Master Eren," Kasian informed me on the fourteenth evening as we stood in the Chronicle hall.

"High-tier factions do not announce their movements on available channels. But our scrying relays on the sector borders have flagged massive fleet movements leaving the Necromancers' deep-void strongholds, heading directly toward their known forward garrisons." A quiet, satisfied smile touched my lips. The trap had been sprung. The Necromancers were quietly mobilizing their legions to avenge the destruction of their Looms and the delaying of their Prophet's vessel.

Later that night, I sat alone on the high balcony of the Sanctum, watching the peaceful, glowing lights of Bastion under the starry sky. Below, the city was alive with quiet energy — the distant hum of Leoric's planetary shields mingling with the soft laughter of citizens in the central plazas. My star-cores spun in a hyper-evolved, golden-veined rotation, my soul gate expanding slightly with every cycle of my cultivation.

Suddenly, without any warning, a sharp, cold chime resonated directly inside my optical nerves. I blinked, my star-cores stalling in surprise as the cool night wind swept over the balcony. Floating in my peripheral vision, the jagged purple crystal shards of my Void System suddenly wreathed themselves in a blinding, uncompiled light. The runes shifted, aligning into a series of jagged, telepathic characters that carried an ancient, suffocating weight. The Void System itself was sending me a direct, ominous message.

[You dance upon a blade forged before the Stars were named.] [Be mindful of the sparks. For even the void remembers what the fire consumes.] [Be careful. For even the Flameborn can burn.] The purple shards flickered and dissolved, returning to their quiet, clinical stasis, leaving me sitting alone on the balcony in complete, dead silence. I looked out at the distant stars, the banners around our hall snapping in the cool wind, my eyes burning with a starless black and arterial crimson fire.

The cosmic stage was getting broader, the hidden players were watching from the dark, and the true war was finally drawing near.