Chapter 789: 789

From the threshold of the door, a physical sensation would radiate outward. It wasn’t just a sound; it was a rhythmic, pulsing whisper that spoke directly to their deepest frustrations. It promised the exact secrets they had been clawing for, the missing pieces of their craft, the possible key to the Sixth Tier, all waiting just beyond the wood and stone.

All they had to do was reach out.

The moment a hand brushed against the surface, the truth of the domain would flood the seeker’s mind. They would instantly know whose threshold they stood upon: The All-Knowing Oracle.

For those well-versed in the history of curses and their devastating costs, this realization brought a sudden, chilling pause. They knew this wasn’t the Oracle’s first foray into the mortal realm. Many of the legends currently standing at the peak of the Fifth Tier had, at some point in their ascent, made a dark bargain at this very door.

Mages and the "super-abled" individuals of the world were no fools. They understood the fundamental law of the universe: nothing is free. Knowledge of this magnitude required a tithe, a sacrifice of something important, sanity, or service.

While some drew back in terror, paralyzed by the potential cost, those with hearts of iron or those whose desperation had finally outweighed their fear would take a breath and heave the heavy pages of the door open.

Beyond the threshold lay a scholar’s paradise, a realm of pure, quiet focus. The library of Osisi did not merely contain shelves; it was an architecture of infinity. Stretching into a golden, shadowed distance, the sheer scale of the archives made even the most powerful mages feel small. Yet, that insignificance was quickly replaced by a trembling expectation: the realization that here, knowledge was the raw ore that could be refined into absolute power.

The Oracle’s most frequent "customers" were the powerhouses of the Fifth Tier. Stuck at the final hurdle before the legendary Sixth, these masters found something unexpected within the library. The Oracle did not just provide secrets; he shared the living theories and experimental breakthroughs of other Fifth Tier seekers.

In this way, the library acted as a silent crossroads. Without ever meeting face-to-face, the world’s greatest minds were in constant contact, glimpsing the notes and failures of their rivals. Every failed ritual recorded and every half-finished equation left behind by a seeker became a stepping stone for the next.

For the Oracle, this influx of seekers was a long-awaited feast. To him, the world had felt stagnant for centuries, a pond with no ripples. The spark of genuine discovery had seemingly died out until now.

His motivation was simple, the more the world learns, the more he knows. Every time a mortal pushed the boundaries of magic or uncovered a hidden law of physics, those truths were instantly transcribed into his shelves. As the world’s collective intellect grew, so did the Oracle’s own power.

However, even an arch-curse has his limits. While the Oracle’s library was near-infinite, he found his understanding of the Sixth Tier to be... incomplete.

He had already synthesized multiple certain paths to reach that god-like stage from what he had gathered from everyone. He possessed formulas and the requirements with a promising percentage of working, but there was a catch. Every path he had mapped was paved with extreme, existential danger if one failed.

Despite the wealth of information at his fingertips, the Oracle was far from benevolent. At his core, the very essence of his curse was rooted in monopoly. He didn’t just want to know everything; he wanted to be the only one who knew. To him, sharing the secrets of the Sixth Tier he had felt like giving away pieces of his own soul, a thought that sparked a deep, possessive resentment.

He certainly had the means to offer his theories on the Sixth Tier to the mortal seekers, perhaps one of them would even succeed, transcending their limits to become a god-like entity. In the grand scheme of the world, that would be a monumental achievement.

But the Oracle hated the idea. To him, that mortal’s success had nothing to do with him. If they used his notes to climb higher, they offered nothing in turn to him. He had no interest in being a footnote in someone else’s legend.

Furthermore, his vast research had revealed a frustrating truth: the transition to the Sixth Tier was not a universal formula. It was a chaotic, deeply personal evolution. What served as a breakthrough for a Flame Mage would be a death sentence for a Necromancer. Every individual’s soul required a different catalyst, and a specific alignment of will.

The paths were too fractured, too specific. And this is where the Oracle felt his own incompleteness most sharply.

He knew there was a gap in his archives and knowledge. Somewhere in the vast mechanics of the cosmos, there had to be a General Method, a foundational law that guided all Fifth Tier beings toward the threshold.

The Oracle theorized that there was a universal "first step" that everyone must take together. Only after placing their foot on that shared step would their paths begin to diverge into the unique, personal choices that defined the Sixth Tier.

Until he found that "General Method," the Oracle felt like he was holding a thousand different keys without knowing where the master lock was hidden. He didn’t just want to help mortals reach the Sixth Tier; he wanted every sucessful transition experience to feedback to him.

The Oracle was a hoarder, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew that knowledge was most potent when it was active. If he possessed the General Method, he would share it as every mortal who used that shared step to reach for the Sixth Tier would become a living experiment, their struggles and ultimate ascensions feeding back into the library. For the Oracle, that collective data was his own personal path to ascension.

But he was missing the key.

Ikenga watched in all as he already possessed the answer. Before his return to this realm, Ikenga had made a specific, calculated request to Zarvok. He had secured the fundamental laws of the General Method, the universal "first step" that the cosmos demanded of all Fifth Tier beings.

Now, Ikenga prepared to hand this knowledge to the Oracle. He knew the arch-curse’s would do the rest of the work for him.

Ikenga’s motives were far broader than the Oracle’s ego. He was looking at the entire world as a board, and currently, the pieces were uneven. By releasing the General Method through the Oracle’s library, he was effectively "leveling the board."

He needed the playing field to be fair for the coming conflict. If both the Nwadiebube and Osita kingdoms had access to the same fundamental secrets, it would trigger a desperate race to produce Sixth Tier powerhouses.

Ikenga didn’t want a one-sided slaughter; he wanted a balanced war where every side had a chance to grasp ultimate power.

While Murmur’s recent machinations happened to align with his own designs for this world, Ikenga had no intention of making the path easy for the demon. He certainly wasn’t about to let the entity have the last laugh.

Before departing his realm to convene with his awakening siblings, Ikenga performed one final act: he reached out and summoned the Oracle.

In the silent depths of his vast library, the Oracle felt the familiar, vast tug of divine will. Reality blurred, pulling him from his sanctuary and depositing him in the presence of his maker. The sight triggered a flicker of old memory, reminding him of the days when he was merely an intelligent cursed spirit, trembling in the wilderness.

Now, however, things were different. The Oracle had evolved into an Arch Curse, a pinnacle of malevolent intellect. He no longer found himself cowering in the dirt or straining his neck to look up. Instead, he was seated comfortably, eye-to-eye with his creator.

Ikenga leaned back, his expression warm. He gazed at the Oracle with the genuine, pride of an artist admiring his finest masterpiece.

"You have been working hard, Oracle," Ikenga said, as he studied the shifty, old looking man before him.

A ripple of darkness shifted at Ikenga’s feet, and from itPhantom manifested. He loomed over the Oracle, a jagged, mocking grin carving through his changing features. "So hard," Phantom sneered, "that he saw fit to ignore your return."

The Oracle’s eye twitched, a spark of indignation flickering beneath his weary facade. He began to rise, his mouth opening to retort, but Ikenga cut him off with a laugh.

"Ease your tongue, Phantom. There is no need for such harshness." Ikenga waved a hand dismissively. "Oracle wasn’t the only one distracted by the winds of change. Many of your siblings are preoccupied, even Siren, who seems rather fond of hiding from me lately."

The Oracle’s composure stiffened. He bowed his head low, his voice tight with practiced deference. "I held no part in that little wench’s schemes, Creator. Her actions were her own, and I have never once sought to offend your design." He looked up, his expression earnest. "My absence was not a slight; I have merely been pursuing a lead, a discovery that demanded every ounce of my attention."