616. Chapter 616: Act 359 – Requiem IX
The hills north of Ampere Seale connect to a relatively flat area around the bay, where rolling slopes are covered with vast pine forests and dense underbrush. The boundary of the woodland slopes downward, offering an expansive view, yet today, looking towards the direction of the enormous gray port nearby, the land appears charred as if it had been burned. Three giant teleportation gates stand on the scorched earth, resembling three massive golden fire rings.
Peering into the teleportation gates reveals a world flowing with lava. This is the River of Sulfur beneath Jotungrund, rumored to be connected to the infernal plane of fire elements.
Countless demons crowd around the gates, with the most numerous being the crimson-skinned lesser demons and the more fearsome horned demons. These low-ranking demons, with limited intelligence and status, fight among themselves by tearing apart the remnants of humans, creating a scene that is repulsive.
Among them, Brendel also sees hundreds of hellhounds resting along one side of the hillside, led by several three-headed hellhound leaders. Additionally, near the gates stand a few demon sorcerers whose skin is a deep crimson and purple, resembling humans save for their long horns atop their heads. These cunning high-ranking demons watch the low-ranking demons fight with great interest.
Such conflicts often devolve into bloody battles, with one side cruelly slaughtering the other, but this is not surprising among demons; rather, it is a common spectacle.
They are, after all, a chaotic and twisted breed of monsters.
Brendel, draped in the cloak given by the princess, hides calmly in the underbrush, observing all of this. Only he can see everything so clearly without a bronze telescope—Ampere Seale has become a hell.
He sighs softly, not overly concerned about praying for the souls lost. Although those who died at the hands of demons had family, friends, and lovers, the truth is that unless one experiences suffering personally, one tends to feel detached from the disasters of others. This is not humanity but a biological instinct to protect oneself. Truthfully, Brendel himself is not overflowing with sympathy; he is here to salvage what matters to him as much as possible.
He has long told himself that history has led him back to this place, and his goal is to save this ancient kingdom to prevent that tragedy from repeating. If he were to abandon this goal, Brendel fears he would be completely consumed by this vast world.
All his confidence comes from the half-elf princess watching the harbor with her silver eyes tinged with sadness. “What exactly did we do wrong?” Grifian mutters, unable to contain herself.
Brendel cannot understand her confusion since this kingdom holds no historical significance for him, only future implications. Just as the princess might sacrifice herself to protect the Great Temple of Andefuller, he might dismantle the entire temple merely to ensure her safety.
But can he fully comprehend? For him, the choice between himself and the princess holds no right or wrong, only different perspectives on acceptance.
“The Erluin people have committed no wrong; it is the Crusian who has erred. Little princess, the justice represented by Lady Martha is merely your unilateral desire,” Babasha scoffs, “The supreme being of all things will not impose penalties because someone does evil, but will furnish results based on causes; this is justice.”
For anyone living under the rule of the Temple of Fire, this is sheer heresy.
Yet, the princess slightly hesitates without retorting, her heart as soft as water yet hard as iron. Her hatred for the Crusian has led her to doubt the doctrines of the Temple of Fire. But she knows she cannot be biased.
Brendel actually agrees with Babasha’s statement. Martha represents absolute order, which the Temple of Fire interprets as a narrow sense of fairness. The Light Temple understands it as solemn self-discipline. The wind elves believe it should be unwavering, with reverence for the laws, while the Erlandta believe that following nature is the way of all things.
Nevertheless, Martha is inherently connected to everyone yet detached; the witches understand this best. They do not worship Martha as a true deity but hold her in respect.
However, the way Babasha takes this opportunity to undermine the princess’s confidence displeases him. Witches are burdened too; who in this world can truly escape their fate? Babasha is merely pretending to be wise and seasoned. “Babasha, line up the crystal ball,” he reminds her lightly, “If you have something to say, feel free to wait until after we live through this.”
The old witch chuckles awkwardly, clearly aware that her thoughts have been seen through by the Lord of the Dark Dragon. Yet this does not surprise her; she takes out a crystal ball from beneath her robe—though this action makes Brendel seriously doubt where she had hidden it. She then places the crystal ball on the ground.
The crystal ball quickly lights up.
Wood’s unpleasant old face appears inside. Brendel feels no fondness for this high priest who has tricked him before.
“Mr. Brendel, Princess, how far have you progressed?” The high priest of the Temple of Fire seems to forgo a greeting and gets straight to the point.
This question leaves Brendel feeling rather ambiguous, particularly since this old fellow asks in front of him and the princess.
But the exploding flashes from the crystal periodically illuminate Wood’s wrinkled face; particularly, his wrinkles seem to deepen. Despite the spell shielding the outside noise, Brendel can easily imagine that the battles over there are fierce, raising his concern for Freya, Kargris, and the others. The thought of Freya leads him to worry about the Merchant Miss, who he has yet to hear from, and his earlier jest fades.
“We’re almost there.” Brendel replies succinctly, “From our position, we’re less than two kilometers from the teleportation gates. But there are many demons over there; I will drop an anchor; you must try to teleport the people I need over.”
At this point, he suddenly remembers to ask, “I might need a few Knights of the Temple; what is the situation over there? Can you deploy personnel?”
“Not too bad, as long as you’re not trying to teleport the entire First Fleet over,” Wood responds with a wry smile. “They should hold up for a little longer.”
With this, Brendel understands the battle over there must be extremely grueling. With the pride of the Crusian, they would never say something so dependent on the Erluin’s fleet, clearly indicating that the situation on the other side has reached a desperate point.
Brendel knows that Wood does not want to impose more pressure on him, yet he still feels a heavy sense of urgency—it is a race against time.
“Then, what do you need, Mr. Brendel?” Wood becomes serious and asks.
“I need those who fear neither death nor life, High Priest—”
…
Mage Gherlok stands on the deck of the Victory, watching the chaotic ground battle in silence. In the slanting rain, dragon knights, Crusian pegasus knights, and harpies are entangled in fierce combat, with explosive flames illuminating half the sky. The old wizard stands right in the center of the battlefield, with every flash of his spells creating invisible ripples across much of the battlefield, annihilating countless harpies.
But soon, someone behind him calls out, “Are you Mage Gherlok?”
Gherlok turns around warily. As the chief wizard beside Duke Toniger, the duke’s disappearance has made him smell danger; he had asked to participate in the battle to avoid being caught in the huge whirlpool.
“That’s right.” He nods.
“Can you come with me?” The questioner is a beautiful female officer; Gherlok’s memory serves him well, for he recalls having seen her once beside Earl Yanilasu. Now, shouldn’t the fleet commander be with the Crusian? What do they want him for?
After a brief hesitation, he nods in agreement.
On different battleships, the same scene repeats itself. Armored knights appear beside the fiery swordsman Nicolas, respectfully asking, “Are you Master Nicolas?”
“Is it Lord Earl from Yan Fortress? Please follow me.”
“Miss Antinna, your lord requires you to come.”
Soon, the seven selected individuals are gathered in the command room of the flagship, the Victory. Besides Antinna, Charles, and Dierphir, the other four are powerful individuals who have undergone element awakening. Among them, the fiery Nicolas and the curious Mage Gherlok are true experts on the side of truth.
Brendel chooses Erluin people as much as possible because, besides clear-headed clergymen like Wood, the Crusian find it hard to truly empathize with the kingdom’s plight. In comparison, although Nicolas and Gherlok were adversaries not long ago, they are perceived as more reliable.
Moreover, Brendel knows they are not members of Everything Returns Society; even out of a desire to clear their names, they will give their all. Of course, he cannot entirely avoid darker motives, as if he fails, the northern nobility will at least lose two real experts. That might leave Freya and the remaining southern forces under Duke Toniger slightly better off.
Yet, that is merely a small consolation.
“Brendel, you want me?” Antinna maintains her composure upon hearing Brendel’s request. She had long known he might rely on her knowledge of alchemy and magic, but the Earl’s daughter cannot help but freeze for a moment.
What do you mean by ‘want’? Brendel sweats at the thought but doesn’t expect the Earl’s daughter to appear quite pleased: “No, no, I’m not trying to refuse—but… but I want to ask, can I really help with this?”
“Of course, teleportation requires magical energy; do you think this is a time to waste it freely?” Brendel responds somewhat incredulously, “I chose you because you are better than the others and can perform roles that others cannot during such times.”
Brendel does not express that everyone understands the dangers of this mission, and those accompanying him might very well have a one-in-ten chance of survival or even face total annihilation. He does not skimp on praise for those who can confront life and death.
In fact, any flattery will pale in comparison to their actions.
“So, do you agree?”
“Yes, I am very willing. High Priest, Mr. Brendel, thank you so much for choosing me!” Dierphir’s expression shows no hint of pretense, and in truth, Brendel knows this young lady is too naive to fake it.
But is it really that worth celebrating? Brendel feels a bit puzzled, wondering if this lady, like Aike, is brainwashed by the knightly spirit.
Yet, upon seeing the blush on the Earl’s daughter’s face, he feels reluctant to continue undermining her confidence. He turns his gaze to see Mage Gherlok conversing with Charles:
“You are that Charles from the Palosh family?” Gherlok appears unperturbed by what might happen next and asks casually.
“That’s correct.” Charles responds politely yet firmly.
“A genius of the Highland people, I have heard of you. Too bad you are a Highland wizard. Otherwise, I would have made you my apprentice. Unfortunately, Erluin people cannot choose their fate,” Gherlok says softly.
“Everything has passed; I am no longer that Charles. I have died but have been reborn,” replies Charles, smiling slightly. “Moreover, Erluin people may not be unable to choose their own fate.”
“Is that so? I heard you indeed returned to the mountains of Alkarsh in the end; what did you see there? What did the Marshal see in the end?”
Charles smiles but does not answer, “That is not important, is it?”
“Indeed.” Mage Gherlok seems to think of something, pausing for a moment before slowly nodding his head. Hearing their conversation, Wood furrows his brows and turns back to Brendel.
“Brendel, I have gathered the people you wanted, except for Mr. Nigel; unfortunately, he has fallen in battle,” Wood reports.
Is that so? Brendel is taken aback; he did not expect that the historically unshakable Sword of Unmovable would die here, as historically, it would be during the Second Black Rose War that the old general would fall.
In that moment, he deeply feels the changes in history. He looks at the remaining two Knights of the Temple, preparing to nod, but at that moment, a voice comes from the crystal.
“Since the Sword of Unmovable has fallen, as a soldier of the same era, I will take over his mission.”
This is a loud, aged voice, followed by a tall figure pushing the door in: “High Priest, what do you think?”
Wood looks up, surprised to see the former commander of the White Lion army—but the elder has removed the White Lion’s armor, now dressed in just the plainest military uniform.
“Commander Reld?”
“I have said, I am no longer the commander, High Priest.”
…(To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please come to Qidian (qidian.com) to vote for recommendations and monthly tickets; your support is my greatest motivation.)
