Chapter 807: Act 157 – Resurrection III
Jirobo, Suburbs of the White City—
The Jirobo Church is not the most magnificent church in the entire White City area. Following the completion of the grand cathedrals of Jilowei, Osirian, and Babalis in the years of the Wilds, Verdant Groves, and Frog Songs, it has become increasingly obscure. However, in terms of history, this church, perched on a hill and weather-beaten, is one of the oldest shrines in the entire Ten Cities region. Its priest, Father Saleen, is one of the most cherished disciples of Bishop Luun, yet the sect of the Menshans has not pursued fame or fortune, leading it to be gradually forgotten.
The countryside around the White City is shrouded in stormy darkness. Inside the church, on the pulpit behind the altar, a priest with dark skin, resembling a country farmer, stares blankly at the holy water chalice before him.
The holy water chalice was bestowed by Fanzan, filled with magical holy water in a silver cup. It is said that filthy individuals can see their sins reflected in the water, the greedy can see their vile desires, the devout can see unwavering hope, but only the pure-hearted can witness the divine revelation from the heights of the clouds. Although it is just a legend, the holy water chalice is indeed the most sacred vessel within a shrine, and it is one of the fixed ritual props used in the grandest ceremonies.
Farmers and the poor occasionally come to the church requesting some holy water, claiming it has healing properties. Father Saleen is happy to dispense it, but at this moment, the thunder roars, and the surface of the holy water begins to ripple, as if a layer of black mist is floating above, with golden characters appearing one after another from the mist, only to gradually vanish.
This strange sight has persisted for a full quarter of an hour.
Cold sweat beads at the roots of Saleen’s hair. He incessantly draws sacred symbols on his chest while chanting hymns. Yet outside, the thunderstorm seems to grow more intense, and the shouts of monks and apprentices can be heard intermittently. Before long, a soaking wet ascetic bursts in through the side door, clutching scrolls wrapped in oil-soaked cowhide. “Father, the scriptures have already been hidden in the cellar. This rain is odd, and this magical tide seems much stronger than before.”
He suddenly falls silent, noticing Father Saleen’s pale face as he turns around.
“Father…?”
“Quick, notify Bishop Gonzalez and have him inform the Bud people…”
“Inform the Bud people? What exactly is happening, Father?” The ascetic’s face changes dramatically.
“Tell the Bud people to close the monitoring station in the realm of elements,” Saleen’s hands tremble as if possessed, his voice sounding as if it comes from the depths of hell: “Milos’s constellation has restored; a deity has resurrected in Vaunte…”
A thunderclap strikes.
A buzzing echoes throughout the church.
The ascetic stands dumbfounded in the aisle between three rows of benches, momentarily forgetting what he was supposed to do.
“Go, hurry up.”
“I need to meet with Sage Lord…”
Saleen trembles as he looks out the window.
The wind and rain weave like threads.
…
Shallow Water Town—
After August, the eastern region of Lantonrand finally reveals a hint of light green. The forest is no longer lifeless with withered branches and fallen leaves, and the surface of Lake Cru whispers as the wind brushes over the trees. Two young men are fishing on the lakeside dock. A sand bucket rests at their feet, and one of them is calling out excitedly, seemingly oblivious that he has frightened the ‘prey’ away.
“Hey, Lando, today I’m going to catch a pike! Let’s go tease John and the others.”
“Shut up, you’ve scared all the fish away.”
His companion scolds him irritably.
“Don’t worry, it’s not time for them to bite yet. I’ll be quiet later, but the wind is a bit outrageous today, and reeling in won’t be easy.” The first young man leans comfortably against the wooden post of the dock, hands behind his head, chewing on a blade of grass and mumbling.
“Could you be quiet—”
Before the second young man could finish, the dock suddenly shakes as if in an earthquake, causing him to bite his own tongue and let out a cry of pain. The first young man jumps up, glancing around uneasily. Finally, his gaze lands on the lake, where a noticeable ripple spreads from the shore towards the center of the lake.
That is definitely not a reverse wave.
“Hey! What happened? Did the ground just shake?”
“Damn… ugh, my tongue… it hurts…”
The young man known as Lando bends over on the dock, pain twisting him like a cooked shrimp. Meanwhile, the first young man stands alert, sensing that something is off. He looks up— the forest has fallen silent. Soon, a buzzing sound drifts from the north, resembling the bees raised in the old Yuenong’s home, but he understands that it cannot possibly be bees, for there are far too many.
Instinctively, he looks up and sees dark clouds gathering from the direction of the Dead Frost Forest.
Something big is happening!
In an instant, the young man recalls the noble party that had entered the forest half a month ago.
Without a second thought, he grabs his companion on the dock and runs towards the lakeside. Just then, the second wave of tremors arrives on cue, and from a distance, the ground in the forest seems to ripple, the soil rising in waves as it sweeps across the entire north shore of Lake Cru. The moment the young man pulls his companion to the shore, he cannot help but yell as he leaps off the dock, landing safely on a nearby beach.
Behind him, the shockwave crackles against the dock like a whip, and the dock that has stood beside the lake for fifteen years begins to sway as if stricken by fever. Moments later, it collapses with a loud crash, turning into a pile of floating wreckage on the water’s surface.
The young man stares dumbfounded at this scene, his mind racing with a single thought:
What has happened?
…
The White Gorge has vanished.
Expanses of glacial canyons are melting away, snow avalanching and collapsing, peaks fragmented, mountain ridges sinking into the earth, leaving terrifying cracks. The earth roars, a sacred song echoing amidst the trembling mountains, as the ice layers collapse with the melody. Glaciers the size of half a town roll into fathomless abysses, dismembered in the process, producing resounding thunderous noises.
The young knights of the Broken Sword Order stand in shock at the scene before them; the entire canyon has been leveled, while glaciers on both sides are vanishing like sand in an hourglass. Occasionally, someone slips in the falling snow, and those nearby quickly grab hold of him, pulling him back up.
Arleigh shakes off the snow from her hood, raising her head to gaze at the apocalyptic scene, unable to help but feel a little disoriented: “Martha above, what has happened? Brendel, did you somehow offend the deities, now bringing down divine wrath?”
“Shut your mouth!” Brendel answers gruffly, coughing as he lies on a stretcher.
Lady Nemesis walks at the front of the group, climbing up a cliff, then extending her hand back for Xiao Peiluo to grip and climb up. “Thank you,” the latter shakes off the snow from her bear skin coat, expressing gratitude.
“We cannot go any further.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Look ahead!” Suddenly, someone in the group shouts out.
Xiao Peiluo squints, shading her brow with her hand as she looks ahead. Right in front of her, the White Gorge has completely vanished, replaced by a deep valley. Below in the valley, the mists of ice are gradually dispersing, revealing an expanse of black structures in the distance. Underfoot, it looks like cubic blocks of stacked obsidian, each with edges exceeding several thousand feet, draped in thin fog, reminiscent of the fabled ark of titans.
At this moment, the glaciers are disappearing below, while these black structures rise with a rumbling sound.
“Martha above, what the hell is that…” Arleigh’s eyes widen as she watches the slowly ascending dark ramparts.
Lady Nemesis gazes silently, as unfamiliar yet familiar memories seem to manifest automatically in her mind.
Xiao Peiluo turns her head to look at her: “Lady Nemesis?”
“Retreat.”
“The escape route has long been cut off.” Xiao Peiluo points at the towering black walls, asking loudly: “Lady Nemesis, do you know something?”
Lady Nemesis turns back, her dark eyes fixing on the small Cruzian knight, and remaining silent causes the latter to retreat faintly. Xiao Peiluo recognizes the danger and warning in her gaze and instinctively takes a step back, flushing red at her action. Just as she wants to speak, Lady Nemesis interrupts, “Do you want to know what that is?” Without giving Xiao Peiluo a chance to respond, Lady Nemesis opens her mouth, forming three words with her lips.
“Milos.”
…
All the energy conduits have lit up. The platform slowly rises with a buzzing sound, as darkness peels away like a layer of thin veil, and light pours down from above, gradually outlining the edges of the abyss. On the smooth broken walls are countless lines of energy conduits—some arranged in orderly zigzags, others forming beautiful circles. The entire wall resembles a massive machine, each part operating in a systematic manner.
The platform rises to the center of this space and finally emits a buzz to come to a stop.
Kehua is at the center of the platform, slowly raising her eyelids. At this moment, the black flames on her body have scattered like falling leaves, revealing a platinum body made purely of lightning. She opens her eyes, which are entirely white, with arcs of electricity dancing from her arched face, extending to her long neck. Her hair, composed solely of bundled lightning strands, crackles.
“The feeling of rebirth is wonderful.”
The platform seems to resonate with two voices; one belongs to Kehua, while the other rolls like thunder. The two voices gradually converge into one.
As Kehua speaks, a lightning bolt descends from the sky, piercing through her form and striking the platform below. Countless charged particles explode like splattered molten steel on the obsidian-laid platform, pouring into the deep engravings on the platform, as strands of platinum light extend outward following the ancient patterns, animating the entire platform in an instant.
The glowing energy conduits project beams of holographic images into the air. In these projections, ancient runes flicker: Flame, Eaam, Oss, Aryn. These runes flow down like rain, forming beautiful streams of data and walls of light. Brendel stands shocked by this scene until Kehua’s voice echoes again:
“The disputes of centuries past seem to linger in the hall above the clouds. The pitiful deities must acknowledge their failures; they have planned a future for the world you call Vaunte, an outcome that is nearly destined for destruction, soon returning fate to you, humble beings.”
“Centuries later, you have repelled the twilight, but chaos has rooted in your hearts: greed, sin, slaughter, an unending campaign. You have turned yourselves into the doomsday you once saw in prophecies.”
“The classical order has become a thing of the past; only entropy remains eternal. Today, the deities awaken once more for you. Everything returns to the origin— the world is born from chaos and dies in chaos, reality and prophecy prove one another, ha! Mortals, this is your recompense!”
Then her voice seems to shift to a different emotion:
“You have rechoiced your fate, mortals.”
“We had once handed over the direction of fate back to you, yet today, you have returned to this place, seemingly just to affirm Alphons’s prophecy.”
“You have called us back to awaken; we respect your choice. The deities will return to the land, and we will reconstruct the order of the next era.”
“And your age, ends here—”
Brendel stares fixedly at this scene as if enchanted by a cinematic animation, caught in a daze. After a while, he lifts his head and blurts out: “Are you Kehua or Milos?”
Kehua lowers her head to look at Brendel, her silver eyes flashing with two different emotions; yet she finally settles on one, speaking:
“I am of course Kehua.”
“But also Milos.”
Another timbre booms in response.
She gently raises her arm; before her, the space seems to ripple as if pebbles are thrown into it, sending circles of ripples outward. As the waves unfold, holographic projections appear behind them. Brendel only takes a glance at the images that emerge, recognizing them as projections of cities: Wolers of Cruz, Kolunk on the borders of the four realms, the fortress of Gold-maned Lionmen—Toquinin—he can even see that towering golden spire, the White City, the rebuilt golden dome of the Great Saint Ampere Seale, the citadel reminiscent of Kuur Fortress, the Elven Peak of Saint Ausoor, the grey-white stronghold, and even Bison City, which he had visited only once far beyond the great glacier, appearing among these countless images.
Brendel’s breathing quickens as he stares intently at Kehua, asking, “What do you want to do?”
Kehua looks at him with a triumphant gaze: “What do you think?”
A lightning bolt courses through Brendel’s mind. “You cannot do that!” he grits his teeth and shouts.
“Why can’t I?”
The girl’s voice softly questions.
