The descent into the forbidden veins of the mine was a journey through a dying anatomy. The walls of obsidian were no longer smooth; they were jagged, pulsating with a rhythmic, sickly violet light that matched the "thump-thump" of the distant Star-Core. Fang Yuan walked with predatory grace, his indigo threads weaving a subtle perimeter around the group. Beside him, Eron moved with a surprising, fluid speed for someone so hunched, his silver rags trailing like a ghost's shroud.
"You speak of Rank 3 as if it were a memory, Old Man," Fang Yuan's voice broke the oppressive silence, resonant and cold. "But in the Abyss, memories are just fuel. Who were you before the Demons turned your galaxy into a graveyard? A Weaver does not fall from the throne of an Overlord without leaving a trail of broken stars."
Eron paused, his milky-white eyes reflecting the dim glow of the surrounding crystals. A bitter, crystalline chuckle escaped his throat.
"I was the Arch-Weaver of the Silver Nebula, boy," Eron whispered, his telepathic voice trembling with the weight of eons. "I ruled a sector where the stars were woven into tapestries of pure logic. We didn't fight with swords or fire; we fought by rearranging the mathematical constants of our enemies' reality. But we were arrogant. We thought the 'Absolute Order' of the Galactic Overlord would protect us from the 'Primal Hunger' of the Abyss."
He pointed a withered finger toward the ceiling, where the dark mana of the Spire felt like a crushing ocean.
"The Abyssal Overlord... he didn't just conquer us. He unraveled us. He used a 'Frequency-Virus' to infect our threads, turning our own logic against us. My people... they didn't die. They became the very demons you saw in the plaza—twisted, mindless reflections of their former glory. I survived only because I severed my own connection to the Nebula, falling from Rank 3 to a hollow Rank 2 to hide in the shadows of his mines."
Fang Yuan's indigo eyes narrowed. He wasn't looking for a tragic story; he was looking for a weakness. "So, you are a master of 'Logic-Weaving' who lost his kingdom to a 'Frequency-Virus'. And you expect me to believe you can bridge the gap to Rank 3 while standing in the very heart of the entity that destroyed you?"
"I don't expect you to believe, Pilgrim," Eron hissed, his runes glowing with a desperate, white intensity. "I expect you to be greedy. The Star-Core is the only place where the Overlord's virus cannot reach—it is a point of Null-Logic. If you use your 'Void-Essence' to stabilize the core, and I use my knowledge of the 'Forbidden Sequence', we can craft a Rank 3 soul-shell that is immune to both the Light and the Dark."
Fang Yuan remained silent, his mind a whirlwind of calculations. He saw Eron for what he was: a brilliant, broken tool. But he also noticed something subtle—every time Kaelen or Zane stepped near the old man, the "Void-Essence" leaking from the puppets seemed to lean toward Eron, as if he were a starving man trying to catch the scent of a feast.
"The Silver Nebula fell because it was rigid," Fang Yuan finally said, his voice a chilling rasp. "I am not rigid. I am the Void that eats the virus. Lead on, Arch-Weaver. But remember... a tool that tries to outsmart its master is always the first to be discarded."