Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users - Chapter 182

Chapter 182: The Mysterious Staff
Meanwhile a bit away from the altar, there was a tent was small. Made of thick black cloth, staked deep into the ground. It didn’t flap or shift with the wind. Nothing here did.

Inside, the air was cooler, but not fresh.

Lanterns hung from the corners, casting a low yellow light over the old wooden table in the center.

The table was scarred, burned in places, the surface showed faded ink, spilled powder, and strange, dried symbols.

Two men stood inside.

One near the entrance, arms crossed, silent.

The other, closer to the table, crouched slightly, squinting at something inside a bowl.

The one near the entrance looked calm, focused. Broad shoulders, short black hair, cloak still dusted from his walk through the forest—a soldier’s frame, careful posture, and no wasted motion.

He glanced toward the flap and frowned.

“This is reckless,” he said. His voice was steady, but sharp. “We’ve barely anchored the zone.

No guards beyond the third perimeter. And they’re rushing the chant like they know what they’re doing.”

The man by the bowl didn’t look up.

He was thinner, sharper, his face drawn like he hadn’t slept in days. His cloak was cleaner, but his boots were stained with blood that didn’t look fresh.

He stirred the contents of the bowl with a thin bone rod.

“They believe they’re doing it right,” he said. “That’s what matters for now.”

The first man stepped forward.

“That’s not the plan. We were told to wait. To verify before contact.”

The man with the rod finally looked up.

His eyes were a little too wide. Not insane, but close. His lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile, more like the start of one that never finished.

“The Deacon changed the plan,” he said. “After the staff pulsed again.”

The first man’s eyes narrowed.

“That was just a twitch. Could’ve been leftover energy from the last ritual.”

“No,” the thinner one said. “Not a twitch. A pull.”

He set the bowl down slowly. The liquid inside didn’t ripple.

“I asked one of the attendants. The staff didn’t just react—they tried to point. It turned slightly. On its own.”

The man near the flap folded his arms.

“And you think that’s enough to risk a god’s attention?”

“No,” said the other. “But the Deacon does.”

He stepped away from the table and moved toward a small trunk near the corner. Opened it.

Inside were rows of crystal tubes, each filled with soft red mist. He picked one up and held it to the lantern light.

“You’ve read the reports,” he said. “Back when the god last stirred, the air across an entire region went dry.

Lakes vanished, flesh warped, all because someone used a name they shouldn’t have.”

The other man didn’t reply.

“And that wasn’t even a real summoning. Just a mistake. This—” He turned to face him fully.

“—This might be the first time ever to even see a god which we have worshiped all our lives, but have never received any blessing other than the deacon.

And whatever the deacon is trying to find is real, and it’s near, then this is our one shot.”

The man at the entrance took a slow breath.

“They said that once before. A few decades ago. Half a unit died, but in the end it was a dead end.”

The thin man lowered the tube.

“That’s why this time is different.”

He tapped the side of his head.

“This is because this time it seemed that the staff that the deacon had seemed to practically force itself so that it could go somewhere which it never did before.”

He walked back to the table, placed the tube down, and looked out through the open flap of the tent.

Outside, the flames from the torches twisted harder now. The roots around the altar had stretched even farther.

One of them wrapped around a broken pod frame left near the clearing’s edge.

The thin man pointed.

“You see that?”

The other man followed his gaze.

“That pod came from today’s drop.”

“No,” the thin man shook his head. “It is something that landed here last year, but it’s being here means that this place is not really as secluded as we had hoped.”

He turned his head slightly.

“But do you think there will be a pod coming here?”

The first man frowned.

“Maybe,” the other replied. “But only if the person is super unlucky, as we have too many people and we are hidden enough, so I don’t think it will be possible.”

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing.

“Either way, we need to be on high alert as we cannot take any risks.”

He gestured around them.

“The offering started early, so we have not gotten a good sense of our surroundings, so keep an eye out and make sure nothing goes wrong.”

The other man stayed quiet.

The calm one finally spoke.

“So you think that target is here?”

“I don’t know, but it seems that the deacon thinks so,” said the other, “Which is why we are here.”

He walked back to the trunk, opened the second layer, and pulled out a small, flat disc. It pulsed gently with blue light.

“The Deacon said to activate the marker if anyone comes close by to see if they are the target.”

He held it up.

“I think it won’t work like last time, but not like the deacon will listen to us, low-level workers.”

The other man stared at the disc.

Then, at the forest beyond the flap.

The chanting outside rose again—louder, more frenzied. Something in it sounded broken, like the voice of a dying animal trying to sing.

“The zone’s not locked yet,” the calm one said.

“I know.”

“So if we are wrong—”

“We won’t be,” the thin man cut in. “As we’re not the only ones watching.”

He placed the disc into a slot on the wall panel.

It clicked.

A low vibration passed under their boots.

In the distance, the roots around the altar flinched.

Like they’d felt something.

Outside the tent, the guards turned their heads for the first time.

The flames leaned back toward the altar.

The sky above dimmed slightly, like a shadow had moved between the clouds.

The thin man’s eyes sharpened.

“We’re in it now.”

He walked outside.

The calm man followed, hand near his sidearm.

Neither spoke again.