Shadows are things of the Ether Layer, so Healing affects them even more strongly than it does a physical body.
Richard reached the exhalation phase of his Quadruple Breathing’s third cycle, pushing the Ether from his Throne of the Sun down toward his feet.
The shadow strangling his neck was steadily pushed back by the warm current of Healing, forcing it flat against the ground again.
His windpipe was free, and air flooded back into his lungs.
Richard gasped for breath, steadying himself by holding onto the edge of the Light Lock.
The Answering Head was still walking step by step toward the center of the pit core.
Worse, that call of "To answer, or not to answer," had caused things that had been "named" to begin appearing throughout the core layer.
These things crawled out from the shadows beneath the Star Sea, from the crevices between the stone slabs, from every unseen corner.
Some were birds with snapped necks, some were faceless children, and others were just writhing black shadows.
They ranged from the lowest to Lower-rank Evil Beings, none of which were particularly strong on their own.
But their numbers were staggering.
In the span of just a few breaths, the entire core area had become a scene of chaotic pandemonium.
None of these things summoned by the call had a physical form.
The Hunters’ Silver-Lead Bullets, Enchanted Axes, and Enchanted Blades only managed to disperse small parts of them upon impact, and they would reform in the blink of an eye.
"They’re not solid!" the female team leader from team one, the one with the scar on her brow, yelled after firing a shot.
The faceless child she shot dispersed, only to immediately reform. "You need to infuse your attacks with extra Ether to break them apart!"
"We don’t have enough Ether!" someone shouted in despair.
Richard stood in the innermost circle, watching the chaos unfold.
’The call to answer is the bait, to lure the Hunters into attacking.’
’The Flip is the distraction, to briefly trap everyone in their own personal battlefield.’
’The pandemonium is attrition, forcing the Hunters to burn through their precious Ether bit by bit.’
’And the Answering Head himself will walk to the center of the pit core while everyone is preoccupied and give the final "I answer."’
As a Spirit Medium, Mrs. MacNeil was the first to break free from the Flip.
She opened her leather suitcase, and seven Spirits lined up before her.
The Flip had thrown everyone under the Curtain, but it had also strengthened the powers of the Mysterious Side.
She raised her hand, and the seven Spirits shot out in seven different directions.
The Wolf Spirit housed in the fang pendant was the first to charge.
It opened its mouth and spat out threads of gold, blocking the phantoms that were closing in on the innermost circle.
The Weaving Woman, housed in the wooden comb, sat with countless invisible threads in her hands.
The threads wrapped around the Answering Head’s ankles, wrists, and neck, binding his movements inch by inch.
With every step the Answering Head took toward the pit core, the threads pulled tighter.
The old woman housed in the Bone Bracelet remained motionless, silent, her eyes closed.
She was the Anchor for the entire area, keeping the flipped core zone firmly tethered to the Material Realm.
As long as she was there, the others would not be completely lost.
Mrs. MacNeil herself held the Moonstone Pendant before her and walked toward the Answering Head, who was entangled by the Weaving Woman’s threads.
"Can we talk?" the Spirit Medium asked.
She wanted to use the Moonstone to negotiate, to stall for time.
Even just half a minute would be enough to give the Hunters a chance to catch their breath.
The Answering Head stopped walking.
"We can," he said.
The Spirit Medium’s heart stirred.
"What do you want? What did that thing at the bottom of the pit promise you? Perhaps we can make a deal."
"We can," the Answering Head replied.
"Stop," Mrs. MacNeil said, staring at him. "We’ll get you out of here, let you go back to your old life."
"Okay," the Answering Head answered.
"Stop what you’re doing right now."
"Okay."
"Tell me who sent you."
"Okay."
The color drained from Mrs. MacNeil’s face.
The Answering Head had agreed to her every request, every single one.
But the chanting of the true name in his mouth never broke.
He was agreeing to everything while doing the exact opposite.
His agreeableness was horrifying.
"It’s useless." The Spirit Medium put away her Moonstone Pendant. "He’s beyond reason."
"He only agrees. He’ll agree to anything you ask."
The negotiation had failed.
Just then, Mr. Hutton also broke free from the Inscription that had been passing Judgement on him.
The old gentleman steadied himself against the Inscription Platform and suppressed the now-living Inscription with a general Judgment.
Then he looked up, his gaze fixed on the true name being channeled from the Answering Head’s mouth.
"I’ll dismantle his Curse Spell," Mr. Hutton said. His voice was still weak, but he stood up straight.
The fundamental skills of the Scholar path came into play at this moment.
Mr. Hutton began to analyze the Answering Technique the Answering Head was chanting.
He didn’t touch the true name itself; instead, he worked to dismantle the operational structure surrounding it.
The old gentleman recited the Judgments one by one.
With each recitation, the rhythm of the Answering Head’s chant would stutter for a beat.
And for each phantom summoned by the call, when its corresponding Judgment was recited, that phantom was banished back to where it came from.
"...In the name by which you should not have been called, return to the place where you should rest."
As Mr. Hutton finished the sentence, a faceless child in the deepening gloom silently dispersed, not reforming again.
"It’s working!" the leader of team one shouted.
But Mr. Hutton’s face was growing paler and paler.
The Answering Head had summoned too many phantoms.
The old gentleman couldn’t recite the Judgments fast enough to keep up with the rate at which the phantoms were being summoned.
Moreover, reciting each Judgment was overdrawing his already limited reserves of Ether.
On the outer perimeter, Lady Mod and Mr. Spence had also sprung into action.
When the Answering Head initiated the Flip, all five of the already-activated rings within the Nine-Layered Stone Ring were affected.
The ring of light on the Fifth Ring had flickered when he first appeared.
Mod was mending that flicker.
The Fifth Ring’s light stabilized again.
As for Mr. Spence, his method was different from Mod’s.
He was carving a new auxiliary channel on the outside of the Sixth Ring’s groove.
"I can’t patch it in time."
"The moment it gets in, it’ll throw the rings into chaos. I have to add another channel to divert the flow."
"Can you do it in time?" Mod asked.
Spence’s reply was curt. "You watch the Fifth Ring. Leave the rest to me."
Mod grunted in acknowledgment and returned to the side of the Fifth Ring.
"Inspector."
Mr. Hutton shouted in a gap between reciting Judgments, "Can you charge in and interrupt his chanting head-on?"
Winterworth had already broken free from the illusion of "Old Kai."
The Inspector tightened his grip on his Enchanted Dual Blades, his Quadruple Breathing shifting to the explosive rhythm of the Path of Burning Blood.
Winterworth didn’t say a word, his entire body lunging toward the Answering Head.
But in the instant just before he reached the Answering Head—
The Answering Head raised a hand.
He didn’t look at Winterworth; he didn’t even turn his head.
That hand simply pressed down gently in Winterworth’s direction.
A dead silence fell.
Within that extremely small area, all Techniques and Breathing Technique rhythms were thrown into disarray.
Winterworth’s burst of Ether was forcefully cut off.
Once a circuit is interrupted mid-burst, it backfires, turning to devour the user.
Winterworth froze three steps from the Answering Head, his face flushing crimson.
Standing in the innermost circle, Richard saw everything.
On the other side, Major Aud was merely using Gale to make precise, targeted kills, picking off the phantoms approaching the innermost circle one by one.
He seemed to be waiting for something, gathering his strength for a more critical moment.
But Winterworth was clearly about to suffer a grievous blow from that single gesture.

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