Chapter 85 The Annihilation of the New York Sanctuary

After everything had calmed down, Lam Ching-ying dismissed the phantom of Lü Dongbin and landed softly on the ground, coming to rest beside his father. “Dad, there’s something you got wrong. It’s not that the network has only now been laid out here—it’s that the magic web here is built directly upon the original Celestial Court network.”

“While we were evacuating the people, I sent an urgent request up the chain and reclaimed all network permissions in this area. With the magic web cut off, these people are just like appliances with no power—completely useless.”

“As long as everything’s resolved, that’s what matters. Honestly, I’m better suited for sipping tea and reading in the library,” his father said, shaking his head with a gentle smile.

Suddenly, with a crackling sound, a portal unfolded right over the seal point, and two figures leapt out.

“Chief!” The subdued mages shouted in unison.

Shi Chengzhong, newly emerged from the portal, paused in surprise at the scene—soldiers, subdued Kamar-Taj mages, and Lam Ching-ying, the Celestial Court’s envoy. Nothing about this looked like a disaster zone.

The messenger behind Shi Chengzhong was equally stunned. He’d felt increased resistance while opening the portal, fearing the place had already been tainted by hellish energy, and had blamed himself for being late. Now, it seemed nothing of the sort had happened.

“Big Brother!” Zeng Yi ran out from the crowd in three quick steps, rushing up to Shi Chengzhong. Instinctively, he used the name he reserved for their private meetings.

But this time, Shi Chengzhong didn’t rebuke him.

He looked at Lam Ching-ying, sighed, and allowed his magical energy to dissipate from his body. Under the watchful gaze of Zheng Xian and the surrounding soldiers, he stepped forward and extended his hand.

“Hello, I’m Shi Chengzhong, Chief Overseer of the Hong Kong Sanctum. On behalf of the entire Hong Kong Sanctum, I want to express our deepest respect to you. Furthermore, we will take full responsibility for all losses and consequences—none will be shirked.” Shi Chengzhong spoke with utmost sincerity.

“There’s no need for such formality. We’re all on the same side—no need to keep score,” Lam Ching-ying replied, breaking into a warm smile as he shook Shi Chengzhong’s hand.

“Mr. Shi Chengzhong, I am Guan Zhen, Captain of the Supernatural Response Unit. It’s us who owe you an apology—we arrived too late.” Guan Zhen hurried over, speaking to Shi Chengzhong.

From Zeng Yi, he’d learned just how much this man had endured. Shi Chengzhong had shouldered immense, unnamed burdens, single-handedly managing countless crises. During his thirty-year tenure, the number of Chinese in Hong Kong’s Sanctum had more than doubled, with critical posts and authority gradually entrusted to their hands. In that process, foreign staff had staged several minor strikes; every time, Shi Chengzhong had worked tirelessly, maintaining the security of the entire area around the clock, only to have to swallow his pride and apologize in the end.

“It’s not too late. Your timing is perfect,” Shi Chengzhong replied.

Looking up, he gazed at the sky over Hong Kong. In his eyes, the magic web above was fading, replaced by another network—more complex, more arcane.

Meanwhile, at the New York Sanctum, panic had set in after the dissolution of the Hong Kong magic web. The Chief Overseer was too shocked for words.

“Charge! There’s only a cat and one person outside. With so many of us, we’re bound to break through! Once we’re out, head for the Himalayas and fetch the Ancient One!” the Chief suddenly shouted, pointing to the door, his feet rooted to the spot as he waited for the others to surge forward.

Charge? Shouldn’t it be ‘Follow me!’?

The Sanctum’s mages exchanged bewildered glances. Did this guy really think everyone but himself was a fool?

“Go on! What are you waiting for?” the Chief snarled, using the last shreds of his prestige to herd the others out.

As portals began to open one by one, the Chief stripped himself of all identifying insignia, then furtively created his own portal and slipped through.

This time, the teleportation went smoothly enough, except the destination was odd—a plaza filled with steel.

The Chief immediately sensed something was wrong. He tried to retreat, but the portal behind him had already closed. Turning around, he saw the other New York Sanctum mages sitting obediently on the ground, gazing at him.

“Ah, don’t be too surprised. I made a slight adjustment to your region’s spatial orientation. No matter where you aimed your portals, you’d all end up here,” came a voice.

The Chief followed the sound to see a short figure with a large head, tinkering with some device. This was Heimerdinger. Anhe and Pyke belonged to Ouroboros, a pan-mystical organization akin to a supernatural United Nations. Assisting with the prelude was fine, but the main act would have to be handled by the Clock Tower’s own.

The Chief glared at Heimerdinger. This was the one who’d blocked his escape. If he could just take care of this little fellow, the path would be clear!

As this thought flashed through his mind, a dagger began to coalesce in his sleeve, and he silently calculated the distance between himself and Heimerdinger.

Now!

When there were about ten meters left, the Chief lunged. But as soon as he took the first step, a cold beam of light grazed his hair and blasted into the ground just before his toes.

He screeched to a halt, the scent of scorched hair in his nose, trembling all over. Glancing back, he saw the muzzle of a floating telekinetic turret behind him, already charging up for another shot.

Heimerdinger gestured, and the dagger in the Chief’s hand floated into his own.

All the mages were stunned. Weapons powered by energy, stable even after leaving their creator’s control—such a thing was, to their knowledge, impossible.

“Hmm, this energy is interesting. Seems to be related to spatial rules. If I can successfully simulate it, I might reduce the energy cost of other teleportation methods. Worth investigating,” Heimerdinger mused aloud, tapping the dagger with a finger. The blade dissolved into motes of light—the smallest unit in which this energy molecule remained stable.

Countless equations flashed through Heimerdinger’s mind before he remembered the prisoners before him.

“Almost forgot about you,” he said, patting his oversized head.

In the next instant, a small iron ring appeared on each mage’s wrist. As the rings snapped shut, every mage’s sense for energy was severed, their bodies growing weak. In terms of hand-to-hand combat, they now weren’t even a match for a healthy, ordinary adult.

With that done, Heimerdinger tossed them all back in front of the Sanctum. He had research to attend to and no time for these people.

“Is anyone hurt? The bramble vine I just crossbred can be used for healing,” Vernon offered, cradling a cluster of restless, thorny vines as he addressed the mages.

Since advancing from druid apprentice to full druid, Vernon had buried himself in new plant research. He’d only come because others knew Heimerdinger would be involved and wanted to avoid the trouble, leaving Vernon, who hadn’t checked his messages, to be conscripted by Heimerdinger in passing.

Looking at the alarming brambles, the mages shook their heads so hard they nearly blurred.

Vernon sighed. Why did no one appreciate his work? He thought the brambles were adorable—just look at those cute little thorns.