The Invincible Full-Moon System

Chapter 1647: History of Vinarkin

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Dominar Calys Shade was born in the Vinarkin Bubble that was then called the Vinarkin Hamlet.

Back then, it was no more than a fragile and small settlement of a few thousand people, a perilous place ruled by cutthroat gangs and a ruthless lord who bled both the land and people dry. Into such a world, he was born, parentless and unwanted.

He was raised by a beggar and abandoned when he was twenty, very young for a spirit.

A young, energetic boy who was roughed up by the world but never seemed to be shaken.

Despite the darkness and violence, his eyes beamed with purpose.

It almost seemed like he could feel what he was fated to do.

For years upon years, he bled into the soil from fighting against usurpers—men or beasts, starved with the people when the crops failed or were taken, endured the harsh winters that drowned the hamlet with snow knee-deep, and even kept helping while the people ignored or ridiculed him.

Anyone would break in his situation.

Many nights were passed in hunger, bruised, or exhausted.

And in those nights, the coldness of death became more tantalizing than the warmth of life.

His efforts were rewarded with nothing, but he never once gave up.

Because the land always had his back.

After every storm, the first light always fell only on him. Every night, the wind sang a melody for him. Even when he was facing the sky while blood oozed from his wound, the land aided him, kept him from dying, and even the spot where he bled became a sacred soil that could grow any crops.

One of those spots grew an emerald iron tree, which became famous and crucial for the hamlet’s growth.

It was soon named the Emerald Fortress.

None of the people knew that it came from him, and Dominar didn’t tell them.

He didn’t care what the people had to say; all he cared about was that the land had his back.

Since then, he grew closer to the land.

People viewed him—as a madman for talking to the ground, for laughing at the night’s hum, for smiling even as his own blood soaked the earth. However, when his first century passed, the last breath of his teenage youth fading, the laughter of the people died instead.

During a conflict between their kingdom and another, the hamlet was attacked again.

All able-bodied people are called to arms and fight against the invading army.

Domniar was one of them, and he fought bravely—pushing back five people at once despite his meager High Spirit power. His connection to the land grew, and now, his body had grown stronger—as the land grows more prosperous.

Others ran for their lives.

But he remained behind, alone, fighting back soldiers from touching the Emerald Fortress.

He watered it every single day, and even purchased magic powder to help it grow.

For most, the tree was a resource point from which the hamlet could benefit.

But for Dominar, it was more than a mere tree—it was his friend.

Surprisingly, the opposing army, he could even go against Immortal Spirits.

Even with that, he was eventually overwhelmed and taken down, pierced by an arrow to his chest.

In his dying breaths—Dominar crawled back to the Emerald Fortress, basking in its shade for one last time before he bid his last goodbye. He lived a fulfilling life, and it would be a painful and very lonely few decades had it not been for the Emerald Fortress.

Once the last drop of his sacred blood had seeped into the soil, a miracle happened.

From the stillness of the hamlet street that was turned into a battlefield, the earth erupted with its wrath.

A thousand emerald thorns erupted from its depths—blades of nature sharper than steel, endless as a storm. In an instant, they tore skyward, a forest of spears birthed in wrath—shredding ranks of men and beasts alike.

Anyone caught too near to the Emerald Fortress was snatched by death before a cry could leave their throats—their bodies skewered and cast aside as though they were nothing more than husks in the wind, puny in the face of nature.

And then, as silence clawed back against the carnage, every gaze was drawn to the towering sentinel.

The Emerald Fortress stirred beneath the shocked eyes of the general of the opposing army.

From within, a radiant light spilled forth, unveiling a relic unlike any other.

Naturally, this gleaming fragment that felt both ancient and domineering seeped into the lifeless shell of Dominar. The ground shuddered as his corpse drank it in, and in that moment, his eyes shot open as he came back to life.

In his mind, a sovereign power embedded itself to his mind.

10 Thrones of Law: the Reap and Sow Echo—the power of ruin and harvest was claimed by him.

He died a man and was reborn higher.

“The boy returned, reborn to bless our land once more—an emperor.” A soldier in full armor uttered like it were the words from God. His eyes locked onto the approaching abominations, but there was no fear, only determination, like the boy had when he defended the Emerald Fortress alone. “Our Emperor, Dominar!”

Clang!

Shields slammed against the earth, spewing vicious life energy like sparks from a fire.

Rows of soldiers created a shield wall as they cheered roughly at the words from their captain, Malius.

A reminder that the haven behind them was not to be touched by the dirty hands of monsters.

“Death before failure,” Malius, at the center of the formation, tensed his body as the first phantom was twenty meters away, about to clash with them. “His determination and strength flowed through us, his children. May the land have mercy on their souls.”

Boom!

Impact.

Like a bull, the first phantom spread its scythe-arms and charged head-first.

A powerful charge—the soldiers were pushed back, but still held on; the shield wall remained intact.

But that was only the beginning.

More phantoms came and did the same thing, but this time, there was no gap for the soldiers to breathe as each one came like a bullet—slamming themselves against the shield wall. Sparks flew everywhere as the soldiers kept their formation.

Malius remained steadfast and glanced to both sides.

His soldiers were fearless and determined, but there was still a limit to their strength.

Under their formation, a protective barrier that was as strong as their collective strength was created.

It made their shield wall united and stronger.

But the phantoms were merciless, hacking the barrier like a rabid dog, slashing two or even three times at each second. In the fifth second since the clash started, the soldiers were already forced to take three steps, slowly failing to hold the line.

Seeing this, Malius looked down at the ground and closed his eyes.

“Mother of the Land…” He whispered silently. “Help us. Lend us your great strength.”

Rumble!

Almost instantly, the ground began to quake lightly, evident enough for the phantoms to look down.

Emerald spikes erupted from the ground—short, no longer than half an arm, but it doesn’t matter, as all of the phantoms faltered, halting their relentless attacks to look down. Despite levitating, not touching the ground at all, the spikes were still able to stab clean through.

Noticing the window to attack, Malius shouted, “Replace me!”

Swoosh!

In an instant, he broke formation and charged forward, aiming to take down some of the phantoms.

Being on the defensive would only make them surrender to a battle of attrition.

And with the dark smoke approaching, a battle of attrition would certainly work against them.

Unlike voidal monsters, they couldn’t mend themselves within the dark smoke; instead, it leeched their strength away. Left unchecked or staying on the defensive, the fight would soon turn into a massacre, but Malius had no intention of letting it descend to absolute defeat.

“Spirit Genesis: Floating Steps!”

His boots glowed and siphoned life energy through his Spiritual Veins.

Almost instantly, as the Spirit Genesis was active, his movements sharpened—he became even faster as well as lighter, like his body weighed only a feather. His blade hacked left and right, attacking all of the phantoms within striking distance that were still having trouble dealing with the emerald spikes, which kept on sinking into the soil before jutting out anew.

None of them was able to defend against Malius, and wounds began to riddle them.

Due to his effort, the pressure on the shield wall was greatly lessened.

Now, his soldiers were faring a lot better against the incoming rush.

Slash!

Making another slash, he severed a phantom’s arm.

It hadn’t dissipated into energy even at that level of wound, a clear sign it did not originate from some nameless monster, but from a being of power. A perfect phantom. Malius’s gaze lifted, and a rare breath of relief escaped him as he caught sight of Rick running to help.

Compared to him, Rick was way stronger.

’But why does he seem so slow/…?’ Malius thought inwardly.

As a Master Immortal Spirit rank, Rick should be a lot faster than his current pace.

Surely, he was wounded, or else he’d not be running this slow.

Just then, as he reveled at Rick’s arrival, a shadow came at him from the side.

BAM!

Before Malius could even brace himself—his eyes flew wide as blood burst from his mouth—the phantom had seized its chance. Striking with unrelenting force, it hurled him spinning through the air before he slammed against the inner wall of the bubble.

For a moment there, Malius was rattled.

His brain bounced against his inner skull walls, causing his world to spin and his head to throb.

Despite that, with his patriotic fervor, Malius shook his head and gritted his teeth.

He vaulted back onto the battlefield, shrugging off the pain, leaping over the shield wall before attacking the phantom left and right again, this time, without restraint. Blood streamed from beneath his helmet, proof of a hidden one, but he pressed on.

Relentlessly attacking as if pain itself had no claim over him.

All for the emperor. All for Dominar.

Nothing would be able to deter him from keeping the peace and safety of the sanctuary behind him.

However, determination alone could not bend the tide forever.

Grit had its limits, and Malius felt them closing in.

As his vision blurred from exertion, he caught sight of a peculiar object—a floating bead of blood that was suspended in the air before him. Small, fragile, yet steeped in voidal energy so dense it seemed to hum vibrantly.

He didn’t understand what it was, only that it radiated from the Black Rift.

Just then, in the blink of an eye, the Faceless Reaper appeared on his side like a shadow.

Its featureless visage loomed close, one scythe-arm drawn back in a killer’s arc.

Malius’s heart lurched; he had only the span of a heartbeat to register its presence and react.

But he was far too low.

Swoosh!

Swiftly, the strike cleaved straight at his torso like the executioner’s axe.

Its tip clipped the hovering blood bead, bursting it into a spray of crimson.

Visibly, the liquid wrapped around the scythe-arm’s sharp part as though alive, sharpening its edge until it gleamed like a death sentence. With a single, effortless sweep, the Faceless Reaper’s weapon carved through him.

Flesh, bone, and mail gave way as though he were nothing more than parchment.

Half of his torso was cleaved, blood exploding outward in a grisly tide.

Agony devoured him, yet Malius refused to fall.

If he were to fall, it would be on his own terms.

Bravely, his hand clenched, and his Soul Artifact flared.

In that instant, the boots he wore—his Soul Artifact shattered into raw essence before it coiled around his palm, swelling into a luminous sphere. A twisted smirk tugged at Malius’s lips despite the ruin of his body.

His eyes flashed with the malice of a man who was determined to do something.

A man who has no fear.

Under the Faceless Reaper’s gaze, he let go of the sphere.

Rapidly, the pure energy collapsed into itself and detonated like a bomb.

Kaboom!

An explosion of pure energy ripped through the battlefield, the shockwave thundering outward as it swallowed the Faceless Reaper whole. Even the soldiers in the shield wall were no exception; all were pushed back hard.

The Faceless Reaper was hurled away smoking, its form bore signs of scorch and wounds.

It was Malius’s last gambit, and as he wanted, he went out of his own term and hurt the monster in the process.