The Duke's massive Dark Race hand pressed directly on the charred center of the residual formation, no longer pursuing precise control, but rather in the most brutal manner, flooding his own boundless Magic Power and Spiritual Power into the ritual nodes that were about to collapse like a dam burst.
A strong spatial tug came, the distorted surrounding images, the ear-piercing whispers, the disintegrating spatial cracks... all rapidly receded, blurred, and disappeared like a retreating tide.
In the next instant, the feeling of solid ground came, and the air was filled with a familiar musty and dusty scent.
The Duke opened his eyes. He had returned to the stone chamber in the basement of the Wizard Plane.
Beneath his feet, the residual formation had lost all its luster, becoming an ordinary charred mark with no energy reaction, as if the passage had never existed.
All around was silence.
