Celenova had never dared to underestimate any member of the Genius Society, especially The Herta, the widely renowned Erudition Emanator.
Those people are beings who traverse the cosmos on the strength of wisdom and creativity that defy common sense.
Phantylia is also adept at intrigue and mental manipulation, but she relies more on her race's innate talents and formidable power.
If it came down to pure contests of intellect and strategic layout… she might not even be able to securely defeat the Xianzhou Alliance's famed strategist, the Divine Foresight General, Jing Yuan.
Still, letting Phantylia go probe a bit wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
It was a chance to peek at The Herta's hole cards and true intentions, so she could adjust her subsequent plan of action.
Celenova let out a faint hum—almost inaudible, yet carrying an edge of icy chill.
Treating the ominous avatar of Destruction—the Lord Ravager—as a mere chess piece to be moved at will?
Even one as cool-headed as she was found herself angry at this moment.
Phantylia's figure dissipated from Celenova's pocket space, and in the next instant she penetrated layer upon layer of reality's barriers. Following the guidance from the Golden Tree's source, she precisely descended upon the most mysterious, most core domain of Douluo Star—the Inner Sea of Stars.
This was not an ocean in the ordinary sense, but the confluence of Douluo's life and rule-origin—the cradle where the will of the plane slumbered.
Around her was not seawater, but boundless, flowing streams of radiant light, woven from the purest life energy and the world's primal forces, forming a vast, multicolored ocean of energy.
Within the lightflow, countless silver runes that represented rules and order flickered in and out like breathing.
In the distance, the phantom of a colossal tree—beyond words to describe and composed entirely of pure light—stood quietly rooted at the sea's center. It was the manifestation of Douluo's life core, of the same source as the Golden Tree in the outer world, yet different in aspect.
One could say this was the Golden Tree's true body and root; the Golden Tree outside was merely a projection—an embodiment of its power seeping into the dimension of reality.
Precisely by virtue of this profound unity of origin, Phantylia could trace the subtle resonance across dimensions to find this planetary core—an Inner Sea of Stars that even ordinary gods could hardly detect, reachable only to God-King–class beings.
Phantylia felt the affinity around her overflowing; this body forged from the Golden Tree's core was like a fish in water here, every cell rejoicing as it drank in the boundless life energy around.
She breathed in this pure origin's aura greedily, eyes blazing as they locked onto the deepest part of the sea of light—there, where a halo shone brightest and most intricate, like billions of thoughts intertwined, shifting form without cease.
That was the naive, newborn plane-will of Douluo's world.
"What an intoxicating cradle, nurturing the most beautiful fruit…"
A bewitching smile of absolute certainty curled Phantylia's lips. Her round fan swayed lightly, and the dusky aura of Destruction around her began to mingle and corrode this sanctuary of life's energy in a strange harmony—faintly tending toward usurping it, staining and converting it into a cradle of Destruction.
"Soon, all of this will belong to—"
"—belong to your destruction, is that it?"
A voice, calm and cool, even tinged with the lazy irritability of someone whose nap had been disturbed, cut in abruptly upon this sea of silence where only energy should be flowing, severing Phantylia's ritualistic declaration.
Phantylia froze; even the harmonizing aura around her hiccuped to a halt.
She snapped around, Destruction gathered yet held at her fingertips.
Not far away, the streaming light seemed to possess its own will. It parted to either side and rose, quickly condensing into a magnificent throne of sleek lines and purple-black metallic sheen, brimming with futuristic tech.
Upon the throne sat a tall, elegant woman at her ease.
She wore a strikingly designed dress that fully showcased a witch's enigmatic style. Beneath the brim of a pointed witch's hat fell a few strands of brown hair, framing a delicate face etched with boredom and vexation.
One long leg, wrapped in fine black stockings, crossed elegantly over the other. Slender fingers tapped the armrest idly.
Her purple eyes, placid to the point of indifference, regarded the intruding Phantylia the way one might examine an uninteresting experimental sample.
"The Herta…"
Phantylia's eyes narrowed. The habitual seductive smile she used to mask her emotions vanished completely, replaced by icy vigilance and a trace of affronted anger.
She could clearly feel the difference of the being before her—unlike her own prior projection, unlike Celenova's current state. This was an undeniable, reality-rooted presence.
"Who else would it be?"
The Herta curled her lip, her tone full of unvarnished disdain—how could you ask such a stupid question?
"Did you think I keep a stand-in stationed here every day to cover my shifts?"
"So you were indeed waiting here."
Phantylia pressed down her inner tremor; her voice turned cold.
"What's this, you finally deign to show up—planning to stop me yourself?"
As she spoke, she probed The Herta's state more carefully, seeking any trace of a flaw or weakness.
"Enough. Don't put on that 'I'm going to destroy the world' stock villain face. I'm tired of it."
The Herta waved a hand as if shooing a buzzing mosquito, her impatience nearly overflowing.
"This isn't a zone you should be in. Leave—before I change my mind and decide it'd be more fun to strap you to a lab bench."
She paused, her lazy gaze drifting past the poised Phantylia to the trembling halo of the plane-will behind, and added, uninterested:
"As for that, forget it. It's primitive, a bit dumb—like blank hardware with no OS installed."
"But by a stroke of luck, it has a decent backer. Touch it, and the price is more than you can afford."
She chose a metaphor Phantylia would understand.
The Herta's offhand tone treated the matter like a trifle, taking no account of Phantylia's threat.
On hearing this, Phantylia's suppressed Destruction aura erupted like a volcano lit ablaze.
Emerald light of life intertwined with the abyssal black of Destruction, turning into a raging shockwave that clawed at the pure lightflow all around, determined to rend this suffocating arrogance—and this space—apart.
"Are you underestimating a Lord Ravager?!"
Phantylia's voice turned sharp and menacing.
"You think a few words can handle me, make me retreat without a fight?!"
Sensing Phantylia's seemingly unbridled fury, The Herta on the throne couldn't help rolling her eyes.
"Tch. Give it a rest. Drop the act."
Her voice didn't ripple in the least.
"I don't recall a mind-gaming, spirit-twisting type like you being the sort to get riled by a couple of sentences. Although you do tend to puff up when you get a new toy—yeah, I've logged that data."
The raging aura—enough to put a first-rank deity on full alert—suddenly hitched, then rapidly drew in and subsided as if it had never been.
The dramatic, theatrically angry mask on Phantylia's face melted away in an instant, reverting to that deep, faintly seductive calm—a hint of eerie charm—like the outburst had been a clumsy performance.
The Herta was dead right: seven-tenths of that near–sea-rending fury had indeed been an act.
She was no brawny fool. As an Lord Ravager adept at manipulating minds and spirits, cunning and caution were long ingrained as instinct.
The Herta's composed, even bored waiting here made it clear she'd already set the board and held the winning hand.
Before she fully felt out the other party's hole cards and the truth of this place, Phantylia would never throw herself into unknown peril.
If she slipped and fell into the gutter, that cold, taciturn colleague who treated everything as a tool—Celenova—would probably mock her.
Phantylia's ebbing-and-surging aura of Destruction settled into a dangerous equilibrium. In her strange eyes flickered a deeper, more perilous light than before.
She didn't grow angry at being called out; instead she chuckled behind her hand. The odd round fan in her hand swayed again, stirring wisps of energy full of the semblance of life and the substance of destruction.
"Hehehe… As expected of a Genius Society member famed across the cosmos. That insight truly lives up to your reputation."
Her voice returned to its characteristic lazy cadence, threaded with subtle psychic allure.
"So then, The Herta, could you indulge a lady's paltry curiosity? You waited here with such care—was it merely to deliver a verbal warning and persuade me to withdraw, or…"
Her voice lengthened deliberately, her gaze flowing over the boundless sea of light.
"…has this resplendent Inner Sea of Stars already, without my noticing, become the prison you so thoughtfully prepared for an uninvited guest like me?"
Her words were sweet poison. As she spoke, an exquisitely faint, nearly invisible psychic ripple—bearing both probing and corroding intent—crept outward toward The Herta on her techno-throne, seeking to slip past all defenses and perceive the most authentic situation.
Yet that mental filament, imbued with the Lord Ravager's will, vanished entirely three feet from The Herta—as if it had struck an invisible wall. It wasn't blocked or bounced back. It was erased.
Along with the wisp of Phantylia's will attached to it—wiped out in an instant, without even a ripple to mark its passing.