Mystic Calling：Stone of Glory-Chapter 204: An egg

"Are you sure we can actually take them down with just this many troops—and that Fortress on top of it?" Ethan frowned, clearly unconvinced.

And this wasn’t even about personal feelings anymore.

That Fortress was a serious problem. Whether it was there or not made all the difference in the world.

No exaggeration—if that Fortress wasn’t in play, the enemy forces from the Otherworld wouldn’t even be a real threat. But now that it was there? His chances of winning had just plummeted.

Hell, it felt like he didn’t even have a chance anymore.

"A full-on assault won’t work," Darek said calmly, his eyes glinting with thought. "But we can go around it."

He paused, then added, "The Otherworld’s resources are extremely limited. That means their ability to resurrect fallen units is weak. All we have to do is block the chokepoints and wear them down using Legendary Units, flying troops, and long-range attacks..."

"If we drag this out long enough, once their treasury runs dry—no gold, no resources—they won’t be able to bring back their fallen units or their hero-class troops. At that point, the balance tips in our favor."

Ethan blinked, then the full picture of Darek’s plan clicked into place.

Basically, it was the classic slow-boil strategy—cook the frog without it realizing.

The Otherworld and that Fortress might be tough to crack, but they had nowhere to run.

So all they had to do was stay patient, keep chipping away at their forces. Eventually, the Stellamaris Kingdom would burn through all its gold and core resources. And once they couldn’t afford to resurrect their troops or heroes anymore?

That Fortress would be nothing but a hollow shell. No troops, no heroes—just a big, empty target waiting to fall. novelbuddy.cσ๓

It was, honestly, the safest and most reliable approach. Minimal risk, minimal losses.

But the trade-off? Time. And for Ethan, time was the one thing he didn’t have.

"...Alright. Let’s go with that for now."

He didn’t argue with Darek’s plan. Not because he was sold on it, but because he needed to see things for himself. Once he was on the ground, he’d reassess and decide how to move forward.

"Then let’s head out now."

"Move out! Let’s go!"

...

Meanwhile, deep within a hidden pocket of the Arcane Mistsea, inside one of the Otherworld’s strongholds—

A majestic palace shimmered in hues of deep ocean blue, nestled atop the sea itself. Ethereal mists swirled around it like a dream, while vibrant, blooming marine flora wrapped the structure in a living embrace. The air pulsed with magical energy, thick with the shimmer of arcane particles.

Towering walls and columns surrounded the palace, each etched with lifelike murals of the sacred Kirin—mythical beasts so vividly rendered they looked ready to burst from the stone at any moment. The entire place radiated a divine, almost overwhelming presence.

At the heart of the palace, a Tideborn Spirit hero knelt in solemn silence. Her body was formed entirely of flowing seawater, her posture humble and unmoving, as if locked in deep prayer before the altar that stood before her.

Hummm...

The altar began to glow softly. At its center rested a single egg—massive, radiant, and exuding a holy, awe-inspiring aura.

But beneath that divine surface... the truth was grim.

The egg pulsed faintly, its energy weak and fading. Though it still clung to a thread of life, it was clear—whatever was inside was on the brink of death.

"Your Majesty!"

A Tideborn Spirit warrior strode into the chamber, his expression grim. He bowed slightly before addressing the kneeling hero, who was none other than the Queen of the Tideborn Spirits.

"Darek has returned, Your Majesty. The traitor’s back—and he’s brought an army. They’re attacking Coral Fortress. And... among them are those damned Inferno Devils."

"What did you say? Inferno Devils?!" The queen’s expression shifted instantly. She rose to her feet, her voice sharp with alarm. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"I’m certain," the warrior replied without hesitation. "And that’s not all. They’re not going for a full-on assault. It looks like they’re trying to wear us down—bleeding us dry, bit by bit. If this keeps up, we won’t have enough gold or resources left to resurrect our warriors..."

The queen’s face darkened, her expression clouded with frustration and helplessness.

Gold.

Resources.

That was the heart of their crisis.

It was the one thing holding their entire kingdom back—crippling their ability to grow, to fight, to survive.

Without gold or resources, they couldn’t recruit new troops. Hell, they couldn’t even bring back the ones they’d already lost.

And resurrection wasn’t free. Whether it was a hero or a regular soldier, bringing them back from death cost money—resources they simply didn’t have.

All the enemy had to do was kill their troops a few times. Or worse, just keep grinding them down slowly. No need for a direct assault. Eventually, the Stellamaris Kingdom would collapse under the weight of its own exhaustion.

And there was no real way out of it.

Because the enemy wasn’t stupid—they weren’t going to throw themselves against the Coral Fortress in a head-on attack. That would be suicide. The fortress’s defenses were too strong.

So they’d chosen the smarter path: slow, methodical attrition.

"Is this really how it ends for the Stellamaris Kingdom?" the queen whispered, despair flickering in her eyes.

Then, without warning, she dropped to her knees before the altar, facing the egg at its center.

"Oh Great Sacred Beast," she cried out, her voice trembling with desperation, "please hear the plea of your faithful servant! Stellamaris cannot fall—not like this, not at the hands of that traitor Darek..."

"I offer my life, my soul, my eternity in servitude to you. Please... I beg you... show us a miracle. Save us. Save our people!"

Her voice echoed through the chamber, a raw, desperate prayer cast into the silence.

The Tideborn Spirit Queen had nothing left but hope—and an egg.

...

The Kirin—sacred beasts of legend, revered as divine protectors of the Stellamaris Kingdom.

For generations, they had been worshipped by the entire realm, from the lowliest peasant to the royal bloodline itself. It was said the Kirin watched over the people, safeguarded the kingdom’s fate, and held the very threads of their destiny in their celestial grasp.

Even when Stellamaris crumbled nearly ten thousand years ago—its cities reduced to ruins, its people scattered, its glory all but erased from history—the faith endured.

The kingdom may have fallen, but the worship of the Kirin never did.

The offerings continued. The prayers never stopped. The belief was passed down, whispered from parent to child, like a fragile flame kept alive in the dark.

But belief... was still just belief.

And miracles?

Miracles never came. Not once.

...