“Not enough, still not enough.”
“It still hasn’t reached the standard for soul sublimation.”
Dago had forgotten how many attempts, how much pain, he had endured.
Even Mist Raven Coco’s nine mist shadow clones had been destroyed, and its main body was heavily injured.
He recalled Coco, who returned to the center of the Gray Sun, tilted its head, and fell into a deep sleep.
The difficulty of breaking through to a Formal Wizard is linked to the Spiritual Space, and the intensity of the pain during soul sublimation is equally so.
Wizards with smaller Spiritual Spaces and ordinary soul aptitudes probably only needed to refine a small amount of silver mist to naturally complete their soul sublimation during this stage.
Dago was different; he could no longer remember how many Wrathful Ghouls he had killed or how much silver mist he had refined.
However, the Gray Sun’s speed in refining silver mist was far slower than its output, making it a losing battle.
Dago looked at his soul body’s hands, which were dry and shriveled, with skin like sun-dried orange peel clinging to the bones.
A tremendous sense of weakness and despair surged over him like a tide.
His vision blurred, and the pupils of his soul body had long become murky.
He seemed to be able to smell the decay of his soul.
His once full and abundant soul body now resembled a faint candle in the wind, flickering and trembling, threatening to extinguish completely at any moment.
“Can I still reach the other shore?”
Dago thought, looking at another wave of Wrathful Ghouls approaching outside the Gray Sun like rain.
Under endless suicidal charges, the size of the Gray Sun had already been eroded by more than half.
“Sink into the Sea of Despair… become a Chosen One…”
It was as if the Sea of Despair itself was breathing and whispering in his ear.
But every word was swollen, with a viscous, trembling aftersound, as if squeezed from a throat filled with pus.
It was like the rustling of rotting seaweed rubbing against rocks in the deep sea, mixed with the buzzing of millions of insects’ wings.
Though it sounded in his ears, it made one feel as if the sound emerged from the depths of his consciousness, as if his soul was being slowly gnawed by something sticky.
Dago couldn’t describe its tone; at times, it was like the bursting of air bubbles in a dying person’s throat, at others, like rusty gears crushing wet internal organs.
Occasionally, a syllable resembling human language would suddenly emerge, calling him to sink into the Sea of Despair, to embrace despair.
The most terrifying thing was the “presence” of the sound; it never urged, nor did it roar.
It was just like a thin film adhering to the edge of his consciousness, slowly permeating.
Dago now stood at the two ends of the scales of fate: one end was to sink into the Sea of Despair and become its Chosen One.
The other end was to use his will to refuse to embrace the Sea of Despair, and then be killed by the endless Wrathful Ghouls.
“Do not go gentle into that good night, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
Dago’s spirit body murmured softly, his voice hoarse and deep.
Selectively ignoring the whispers of the Sea of Despair, his trembling spirit body continued to control the Gray Sun to convert silver mist into mental power and integrate it into himself.
Suddenly, the first star point emerged from the depths of his soul—a light fainter than a firefly.
It hung on the surface of his spirit body’s skin, like an imprint gently dabbed by someone’s fingertip dipped in starlight.
Immediately after, the star points began to spread from his heart as the center.
Some traveled along the spirit body’s meridian pathways, while others scattered like dandelion seeds, transforming into half-open starbursts when they landed on his shoulders, and congealing into shimmering dust of light when they landed on his hair.
Moments later, star points covered every inch of his soul body, sublimating his soul.
“If you do not hope, you will not find what is beyond your hope.”
Dago’s spirit body whispered, his emotions stirred.
As the fifth wave of Wrathful Ghouls descended upon the surface of the Gray Sun, he finally completed his soul sublimation.
At this moment, his soul body’s skin was translucent gray-white, revealing flowing star points beneath, like a galaxy sealed in ice.
His face had also changed; his eyes had no pupils, but were two swirling mist vortices, the left eye silvery-white, the right eye inky black.
They contained endless power and mystery, making people afraid to look directly at them.
His hair transformed into flowing ribbons of light, dancing freely behind his head, like a plasma trail, each swing bringing forth a shower of starbursts.
Silver-gray energy swirled around his body, like a woven “outer garment.”
It vaguely covered his body, adding a touch of mystery and majesty.
His physique was the same size as in reality, yet he exuded an immense sense of oppression.
It was as if he was the center of the Spiritual Space, and everything revolved around him.
His control over the Spiritual Space reached an entirely new level; previously, the spiritual core was like a placenta nourishing the soul, but also a cage limiting him.
Now, he had reached the stage where he could break free from the cage and become a free soul.
Continuing his previous absolute control over the interior of the Gray Sun, this innate ability originating from his soul spread throughout the entire Spiritual Space after his soul sublimation.
Except for the Sea of Despair, which was like an outsider in Dago’s Spiritual Space, occupying a part of it.
When Dago, this “landlord,” rose forcefully, it was only fair that it paid some rent.
Dago flew straight out of the Gray Sun, hovering above it, looking at the Wrathful Ghouls falling from the sky like a downpour.
The inky black mist vortex in his right eye spun wildly, stirring the black clouds below the Gray Sun, causing a dramatic change in the weather.
It was not a natural gathering and dispersing, but a manipulated frenzy.
Closing his eyes, he let out a low chuckle, and the next moment, he unhesitatingly manipulated the “Despair Black Clouds,” deploying them all above the Gray Sun, forming a protective umbrella.
The black clouds hung extremely low, so low that one could see pale arms entangled within the cloud wisps, distorted human faces…
These were the concretized forms of countless despair, each face silently wailing, not tears but viscous despair flowing from their eye sockets.
Dago stood beneath the clouds, and as he lifted his fingertips, those human faces suddenly turned towards the enemy ranks, their hollow eye sockets emitting a bone-chilling cold.
When the Wrathful Ghoul swarm crashed directly into the Despair Black Clouds, their arms already began to tremble, and upon contact with the black clouds, they were firmly grabbed by pale arms reaching out from within the clouds…
The distorted human faces mercilessly gnawed at their flesh; wherever they passed, the skin rapidly lost its color, revealing red sinews.
And the frenzied flames in the Wrathful Ghouls’ pupils reflected their most terrifying images.
Even Wrathful Ghouls have moments of despair.
The desperate wails of countless Wrathful Ghouls were compressed into the black clouds, transforming into nutrients that further nourished the black clouds.
The constantly churning Despair Black Clouds grew increasingly massive and solidified.
When the Wrathful Ghouls were completely cleared, the black clouds suddenly transformed into a black sphere, its surface covered with countless distorted faces.
Dago’s right eye was constantly shedding black tears, and the inky black mist vortex was eroding his will.
He clearly understood that if he were completely consumed by this power, all his emotions would vanish, leaving only an endless sense of despair.
Dago gathered the Despair Black Clouds into a sphere, which rotated around the Gray Sun.
Looking towards the Silver Sea in the sky, at this moment, the dark red veins had been suppressed within the Silver Sea, receding into its depths.
This meant Dago had overcome the crisis and become a Formal Wizard.