Magical Girl's Knight Brother

Chapter 570 Meeting of the Two Gods

The Divine Assembly Hall is not constructed of bricks and stones, but rather is a sacred space naturally formed from the core branches and will of the World Tree Trova. It is now vastly different from when Tang Zijun first arrived. As Trova gradually regains her strength, these "structures" surrounding her begin to be influenced by divine power. The dome of the Divine Assembly Hall is composed of interwoven branches flowing with emerald-green life force; the walls are smooth, warm, and densely covered with ancient wood brimming with vitality; and the floor is not solid, but rather paved with a layer of flowing, translucent golden energy veins.

The air was thick with an almost palpable life force, with tiny, elfin-like specks of light floating silently, each breath feeling like a cleansing of the soul. In fact, the moment Tang Zijun and Scáthach stepped into this space supported by the World Tree, Trova's omnipresent will had already sensed them. After all, this space, and even every branch beneath their feet, was an extension of her body, a conduit for the flow of her will. The otherworldly aura they carried, the fluctuations in their energy, even the ripples of their souls, spread clearly in her perception like drops of water falling into a calm lake. However, she did not actively disturb them, choosing instead to observe silently.

Her consciousness was like a deep pool hidden in the core of an ancient tree, profound and still, flowing quietly through every inch of air and every texture of the hall, awaiting the arrival of her guest. Scáthach stepped into the hall the instant.

The edge of the dark cloak brushed against the flowing golden energy ground without creating a ripple.

Her deep purple eyes furrowed slightly the moment she stepped into this realm of pure life, not out of hostility, but as an almost instinctive resonance and confirmation that transcended the barriers of time and space. Scáthach's gaze did not fall upon the seat in the center of the hall, naturally formed by gnarled, dragon-like roots, nor upon the hyacinths on it, but rather pierced directly through the hall's material appearance, through the dense field of life energy, precisely locking onto the omnipresent yet intangible core of will.

She sensed it.

That was not a clone, not a projection, not a collection of faith attached to a statue.

That was an existence of equal rank to her own—an ancient deity who had completely merged its will, its origin, and even the space upon which it depended. Although the one before her was not an old friend from the Asgardian, Olympian, or Camelot systems she knew, the divine power and the weight accumulated over countless ages were undeniable. They were like kings separated by continents, never having met yet renowned, finally meeting at this juncture in time and space in this complex and poignant way. Inside the hall, the flowing emerald light seemed to brighten slightly for a moment, and the dust particles floating in the air seemed to be drawn towards an invisible center. A gentle voice, like the whisper of the earth, yet carrying a vast will, rang directly in Scáthach and Qin Nan's ears, like a gentle breeze rustling through a forest. "King from beyond the shadows, Scáthach, welcome."

Trova's voice carried a hint of barely perceptible joy, hidden beneath a calm exterior.

"You seem to know me quite well?" Scáthach spoke softly, then shook her head slightly as if she had remembered something. "That's right, I almost forgot. Your presence here proves you must have seen my shadow—your shadow? That was indeed an interesting experience, but I didn't have enough power then, so I didn't experience it myself. It was Tang Zijun who stopped your shadow before everything became irreversible." "He didn't get your help?" Scáthach was somewhat surprised now; she found it hard to imagine that a god in the mirror could do that. "That's an existence that combines the power of several death boundaries." "Very amazing, isn't it?" Trova's tone was amused. "At first, I was also a little surprised, after all, our view of people in the mirror has always been like this..." After a pause, Trova changed the subject.

"Tang Zijun, he brought you here. Perhaps this is an unexpected node in the web of fate."

Scáthach's deep purple eyes flickered slightly. She could sense the familiarity Trova showed towards Tang Zijun in her words, but she didn't delve into it, simply saying softly, "The web of fate is already riddled with holes. If fate truly held power, why did we pursue that sliver of hope in the first place...? He is indeed an interesting 'variable,' and you seem to... harbor some kind of 'expectation' for him?"

The flowing golden ground rippled slightly, as if Trova was laughing silently.

"Expectations? Perhaps. I'm no longer some tree god. For me now, any seed that can bring 'possibility' deserves to be watered with the power of life." Scáthach raised her head slightly. "I heard from Tang Zijun that you died once and lost a lot of memories about that battle." "Yes, I lost a lot in that nightmare." Trova's voice came.

"We've all lost a lot," Scáthach sighed.

Inside the hall, the gathered dust of light began to slowly rotate, like a miniature star vortex, silently responding to the exchange between the two ancient wills. After a while, Trova broke the silence. "And you, Queen of the Land of Shadows? You followed this 'seed,' what are you expecting?" "I'm not quite sure," Scáthach gently shook her head.

Yes, what am I expecting?

A century is but a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of her life.

However, this century has been filled with endless reviews and reflections.

During her time in the wasteland, her consciousness sank countless times into the abyss of memory, dissecting, analyzing, and deducing every detail, every command, and every clash of that war that determined the fate of the gods and even billions of living beings.

Rehearsal.

This was the only thing she could do.

In this wasteland abandoned by the gods, she had almost unlimited time to think.

The more she reviewed the events, the more that profound sense of powerlessness clung to her heart, which had long been accustomed to solitude and battle, like cold vines. Odin's Eye of Wisdom had pierced through the mists of the Nine Realms, guiding Asgard's course. The strategies he devised were grand and meticulous, attempting to weave a net of order that enveloped the Sea of ​​Dreams with the power of the gods, trapping and killing those twisted nightmares at their source.

Thor's Ragnaros, having shattered countless stars, is the sharpest spear of the gods. He is entrusted with the greatest hope, leading the most powerful legion of heroic spirits to tear through the nightmare's defenses and strike at its core. Athena's wisdom has averted countless world-ending crises; she is the hope for turning the tide of battle. Her plans are far-reaching, with numerous contingency plans, attempting to find the only logical flaw in the chaotic waves of nightmares. And then there's Shiva's Dance of Destruction, Vishnu's Ring of Protection… each deity has employed their most primal power to formulate what they believe to be the most perfect plan. However…

Scáthach slowly closed her eyes, her brow furrowing almost imperceptibly.

Failed.

All plans, all strategies, all power... before that being that transcends reason, embodied in pure fear and madness, is like an exquisite sandcastle crashing into a world-ending tsunami. It wasn't a crushing defeat on a physical level, but an erosion and contamination on a conceptual level. The order, logic, and divine power of the gods became utterly fragile before the illogical, constantly self-dividing and distorting nature of Dream Tremor. Wisdom was drowned in madness, power was devoured by nothingness, and protection was shattered by fear.

Frustration is like maggots crawling on bones.

Even she, the queen of the Land of Shadows, an ancient being who had witnessed countless deaths and ends, felt a profound, almost helpless, sense of bewilderment at this moment. She had been a mentor on the battlefield, an instructor of finishing techniques, and a controller of the shadow of death.

She is adept at finding her opponent's weaknesses and delivering a fatal blow.

But faced with an enemy that permeated the entire dream dimension—a being without core, without form, only endless chaos and malice—her prized combat skills and her soul-penetrating gaze seemed utterly inadequate. What else could she do?

This question has arisen before, and it has been repeatedly troubling her during this century of solitary reflection.

Looking for new allies?

But in a wasteland abandoned by the gods and ruled by omnics, what kind of beings could possibly stand up against an enemy of that level?

Do you believe Tang Zijun?

The thought surfaced in Scáthach's mind, carrying a sense of incongruity that even she found absurd.

She once taught heroes and guided demigods. Her disciples included many who shook the world. Tang Zijun... He was very strong. It is undeniable that Tang Zijun has proven his strength. He does have the strength to rival the gods. But what is he compared to the gods in the war between the nightmares?

How can a person born in a mirror world become the hope against an unknown entity that distorts all rules?

This expectation is as faint as searching for a specific grain of sand in the endless dust of the universe.

but.

Aside from this faint belief, she seemed to have no other bargaining chips left.