Chapter 895: Act 71 – The Millennial Convergence I
The vast starry sky hung obliquely over the highlands, its light reflecting off the gray-brown rocks, the sparse dead grass, and the bare tree branches above the plateau. This scene seemed unchanged since the chaotic era—throughout the years, although ancient constellations faded from the starry sky, brilliant new stars would ignite, a constant cycle of old and new, enduring even as deities distanced themselves from the world. Yet, the stars remained as radiant as ever.
A cold wind roared across the plateau, bending the grass and trees. The sound of hooves approached from a distance, and soon the knights clad in gray battle cloaks on their warhorses came into view, a magical light orb floating not far from their shoulders. These border fortress cavalry were not uncommon in this region; with the large-scale invasion of the Toquinin Lionmen, patrols had intensified, but on the imperial side of the Lokos Highlands—the Broken Sword Mountain fortress cluster—these patrols had become somewhat of a mere formality.
The knights allowed the magical light orb to circle the main road before returning to their side. The swiftly passing light swept across the grassland, revealing nothing unusual, and it was unlikely that there would be anything unusual since this was the Empire, and the Lionmen were still far beyond the Broken Sword Mountains.
“No anomalies.”
“Nothing on my end.”
“Well, to be honest, I still don’t understand the purpose of our work. Those stinking lions are still far from here, why should we brave the cold to look at these rocks? There’s nothing here but damn rocks. Sometimes I even wonder if a single lizard would be willing to stay under these cursed stones.”
“Rock lizards do nest under these stones, brother.”
“So the Empire’s enemy is those rock lizards now?”
The knights erupted in laughter.
“Enough, you fool,” the knight captain scolded with a chuckle. “Don’t ask obvious questions; our main task is to guard against bandits and cultists within the realm. Don’t be ungrateful—those Rogyrians have reportedly been driven out in shame by some yokel from the south.”
The laughter faded gradually into silence.
Yet, beneath the shadows of the rocks, a pair of gleaming eyes revealed themselves—diamond-shaped pupils, glistening like the cat’s eye set in golden-hued amber. Its owner stood motionless by the weathered stone, fixating on the direction the imperial knights vanished, its scaled skin almost blending with the gray-brown soil. It remained still until the imperial knights had walked far away, before slightly moving to reveal a triangular head.
This peculiar creature wore simple leather armor adorned with some metal plates, treated in such a way that it seemed to merge with its skin. It carried a longbow on its back, evidently its main weapon. With a hissing sound, it turned around and walked back behind the rocks, crossing a stretch of grass until it reached a steep cliff. Standing at the edge, it looked down at the perilous path below, where another creature, almost identical to itself, warily watched in this direction.
It immediately raised a hand toward the other, hissing a strange phrase.
The latter turned promptly, relaying the same sound down the cliff. Shortly thereafter, the canyon echoed back three or four similar commands.
Moments later, one, two, three, and four similar creatures emerged from the mist within the canyon, followed by a vast army, almost entirely composed of these lizard-like beings. They were well-trained and moved in silence, immediately pressed against the cliff to begin their ascent; initially scattered, but quickly, countless dark figures blanketed the entire cliff.
Several dark points rapidly ascended from the canyon below, resembling monstrous beings with human faces and bird bodies. They burst through the mist, wings fluttering, flying out from the fog. These bird-women screeched past the lizardfolk standing at the cliff, who turned at the noise. As they glanced back, innumerable bird-women emanated from the fog, each taking to the southern sky, and in an instant, these monsters swathed the night in darkness.
Meanwhile, the lizardfolk began their climb up the cliff, soon joined by more strange creatures behind them.
Cave-dwellers, bull-headed minotaurs, nest lords, scorpion-tailed lions, cave giants, and finally, a figure cloaked in white linen—Medusa, the snake-haired woman.
Medusa approached the lizardfolk and stated a peculiar phrase in a heavy accent.
The lizardfolk turned to glance at her, nodding in return with a phrase in the same tongue.
Only then did Medusa slightly smile and, when she spoke again, it was in perfectly enunciated ancient Toquinin: “Praise the Holy Earth, praise Martha!”
At that very moment, beside these two, an army hidden in darkness and obscured by all history and legend, beyond all predictions, began to ascend the stage of this era.
They had a common name—Jotungrund.
…
The night in the hills was quiet and distant, as the valley surrounded by mountains split the envoy’s camp into two. A larger number of tents and carriages made up the prison camp for the empire’s noble captives. The tents and carriages were not something Brendel needed to worry about, as they were all provided by the nobles themselves. These once haughty nobles, now reduced to hostages, suffered no mistreatment aside from their inability to freely enter and exit the camp. Brendel allowed them to procure all sorts of luxuries—except for women.
On the other side, the envoy’s own camp appeared quite diminutive in comparison. The carriages surrounded barely a few tents, the largest and most luxurious of which belonged to Princess Margadale, followed by Dierphir’s tent, which Brendel had specially prepared for the noble daughter of Yanzhu to accommodate her health, while the tent of Prince Haruz was not particularly conspicuous, even slightly lesser than Afram’s, which conformed to his sister’s consistent teachings.
Yet at this moment, the inside of the prince’s tent was brightly lit with candles, and from time to time loud arguments could be heard.
“Your Highness, Prince,” Baron Ruteni spoke in a low but powerful voice. He was the envoy from the kingdom—the envoy assigned to the envoy team. This sounded strange and illogical, but it also highlighted the party’s helplessness. What Brendel did shocked everyone; Makarolo, Overwell, and the others could not fathom how His Imperial Majesty Cruz would perceive this, but from the worst conceivable angle, the only way to restrain the actions of this count was to send an envoy to mitigate the count’s behavior.
This baron effectively represented Makarolo’s intentions, but he was not a close aide of Makarolo; instead, he was a more fervent member of the royal faction. Before he arrived, he had resolved to convince this unruly count, though he hadn’t forgotten that within the envoy team, there was another noble, and if the prince supported him, the other noble offspring stood with him, Brendel could not proceed solely on his own.
With this calculation in mind, as soon as he arrived at the envoy team, he sought out the prince at night, just at a time when most others were present, and Brendel had left with Nemeses to scout the battlefield. He looked at Haruz and continued, “Are you just going to watch the situation develop this way?”
Haruz looked at him in confusion. “Envoy, I don’t understand what you mean.”
“What I mean is, since the Black Sword Barrier, it seems you’ve never expressed any opinion. Don’t you see what’s happening?”
Haruz lowered his long eyelashes, pondering for a moment. “I think I understand,” he said. “But I believe my teacher hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Baron Ruteni stared dumbfounded at the future noble, seemingly suspecting he had misheard something. For a moment, he almost wanted to reach out and tug on the prince’s face to see if this young prince had been switched out by his mad teacher or if he had been fed some kind of mind-altering potion. “Your Highness…” he could not help but say, feeling dry in his throat, “Do you know how dangerous what he’s trying to do is? He’s gambling with the fate of the kingdom and the lives of thousands!”
“Baron Ruteni,” at that moment, Dierphir finally spoke, though she still looked somewhat sickly, her complexion appearing pale in the candlelight. She frowned weakly and replied, “When you say that, do you really consider what the fate of thousands means to you?”
Baron Ruteni answered without a hint of embarrassment: “All right, I admit that’s just a saying, but you can’t just let him act recklessly.”
“I think the count knows his limits. He’s not that selfish.” Dierphir reflected for a moment before responding.
“You all…”
The baron from Ampere Seale looked at them, feeling somewhat incomprehensible. Were these people really nobles? Where did their loyalties lie? In desperation, he turned to the only outsider present: “Princess Margadale, what do you think?”
“I am not an Erynian and shouldn’t interfere in your affairs, but indeed, the actions at the Black Sword Barrier were impolite on the Empire’s part. When this matter reaches the Temple, I will stand on the side of justice,” the priestess princess smiled gently. “Besides, I owe a favor to the count; out of courtesy and logic, I will help him.”
Baron Ruteni fell momentarily silent. In this case, the only one standing on his side was that fat fellow Afram. Initially, he thought there was also the relatively rational duchess, but Miss Oni bit her lip, looking deeply troubled but remained silent. He couldn’t help but glance at Eynid, who lowered her head, staring at her toes, uttering not a single word in this situation.
As for that fellow from Lantonrand, needless to say, he firmly stood with Brendel. Ever since that man rescued the refugees at the Black Sword Barrier, he and the count had been in the same boat. And the officer from Yanilasu, Ruteni thought a mere lowly officer probably lacked the qualifications to participate in this meeting, so he disregarded him.
However, in this manner, he suddenly realized he seemed unable to convince anyone, which was a significant deviation from his original plan. He stood there for a moment, and it was only after Haruz thoughtfully spoke up: “Envoy, I think I understand your meaning. I will try to persuade my teacher a bit. It’s getting late; you should go rest now.”
Baron Ruteni looked at the young prince with difficulty articulating his thoughts. What he wanted was not just some mild persuasion; that sounded unbelievable. If that madman could heed counsel, he wouldn’t have done something so outrageous. As he stumbled out of the tent, he hadn’t yet figured out where the problem lay, but oddly, he thought that the young prince seemed different from the last time he saw him; he never dared to ‘politely’ ask him to leave before.
Once everyone left one after another, a graceful figure silently slipped into the prince’s tent, clad in white robes, smiling as she sat beside Haruz, looking at the young prince with her diamond-shaped pupils. “They may verbally support your teacher, but their hearts may not think so.”
Haruz answered somewhat awkwardly, “Because everyone doesn’t know what the teacher is thinking. After all, Eryn cannot bear the Empire’s wrath. Sister Laisimeka, what do you think?”
“To be realistic,” Medusa smiled mysteriously, “the reason he chose is naïve. The Empire may uphold dignity, but small nations need not. In the eyes of nobles, the reasons for war should be something more tangible: land, population, power, and money.”
“But from an ideal standpoint, your kingdom indeed needs a banner to gather hearts and faith.”
“However—”
Laisimeka gazed at the young prince with amusement, as if finding it very interesting: “Legitimacy and orthodoxy, these sacred words, what do they mean for a count? Why are those who support you and your sister so frightened and frantic? You and your sister truly are a pair of naïve little darlings, and that count is also foolishly naïve. I’m quite curious how the fate of a kingdom could rest in your hands.”
“Indeed, perhaps this is destiny’s arrangement; it is always so marvelous.”
Haruz gazed blankly at this lady Medusa. “Sister Laisimeka, you know I have never been interested in that. The teacher treats me well; he is an upright man, and I really like him.”
“That is precisely your naïveté, little darling,” Medusa leaned closer to the prince, holding his face in her hands, her breath fragrant against his skin. “What belongs to you will always be yours; that is the meaning of orthodoxy. As long as you are in this world, he can never be the King of Eryn. People will gather around him for justice and leave for injustice, and one day, I truly want to see what choice he will ultimately make.”
“But,” the young prince shook his head seriously, “I think the teacher is not that kind of person.”
She chuckled: “Perhaps, perhaps he will surprise us all.”
Laisimeka released Haruz, smiling as she asked, “You just asked what I think; now, how about you, future King?”
Haruz furrowed his brows slightly.
“I think,” he said, “I believe the teacher makes sense. Ideals do have value for people; but sister, Mr. Makarolo, and Lord Overwell have all taught me the importance of ideals and faith. Yet, when it comes to practical matters, why do people always lean towards actual interests?”
“Ideals can’t be eaten, Prince.”
After saying this, Laisimeka suddenly thought of something. Her gaze flickered, and she lightly patted Haruz’s shoulder: “But perhaps this is just a self-comforting saying of the weak. If you really want to know what your teacher is thinking, why not let me meet him?”
“Sister Laisimeka, you can meet the teacher any time, no one in the camp would stop you,” Haruz replied in confusion.
Laisimeka smiled mysteriously, quietly watching the young prince as if he had said something foolish.
Haruz blinked, seeming to realize something, and finally replied: “I understand; then I’ll leave it to you to meet the teacher, Sister Laisimeka.”
“Little darling,” Laisimeka gently kissed the prince’s forehead: “Let me tell you a secret.”
“What?”
“The magic your teacher has taught you is an ancient magic thought to be long lost. Even I have only seen scant records of it on some remaining tablets, and I still don’t understand the significance of his doing this—”
“I know,” Haruz replied. “The teacher told me he said my talents are more suited to learning this kind of magic.”
Medusa looked at him with her diamond-shaped pupils teasingly: “Then he certainly hasn’t told you another thing.”
Haruz looked at her in confusion.
“Ancient magic, taught through Tumen’s hand, was only passed on to four people. Their names are the Wise of Earth and Tolerance, Erlandta; the Wise of Light and Justice, Fanzan; the Wise of Fire and Courage, King Gilt; and the Wise of Wind and Wisdom, Queen Saint Ausoor. They are the kings of kings, ancient sages, and pioneers of the history of black iron. After them, no one systematically mastered ancient magic.”
The young prince slightly opened his mouth, sitting there in a daze.
…
Brendel and Nemeses stood together on a rolling hill, the starlit night gradually fading, the eastern sky a pale blue, faintly revealing the glow on the horizon of Anlez, where the Evergreen Path lay, the most prosperous area between the Floating Cloud Hills and the Flower Leaf Territory.
“Earl Ji’en chose a good battlefield,” Brendel remarked as he gazed across the undulating hills where a sea of forests connected.
“The players of the Empire once wrote the most heroic stories here, changing a part of history. Today, we aim to achieve the same here; the stories that unfold on this land always echo those of the past,” Brendel mused as the sight of a wave of spears emerged—vassal nobles from Anzeruta entering their prearranged battleground. He took a deep breath, patted his steed, and said to Nemeses beside him, “Let’s head back; we’ve seen enough.”
The lady knight nodded silently.
