Chapter 960: Act 132 – Rain Falling in the Cage
Two people stood in the corridor, silent for a long time.
Brendel suddenly spoke, “Lady Wind, I have one last question.”
“It’s about the secret of the final battlefield, isn’t it?” Lady Wind seemed to anticipate this question.
“Yes, I want to know what the Silver Empress saw in that temple, and why there was a Somir Crystal there. According to you, since Odin wanted you to keep it a secret, why would he leave even a single word of information there? I believe there must be a reasonable answer behind all of this.”
Lady Wind fell silent for a moment.
“I think this may be an accident, but maybe not. That human girl may have seen that node there and, through that node, something beyond our world.”
“Node?”
“This is precisely the greatest secret hidden on the final battlefield. The reason the battlefield of the last war fluctuates throughout the entire Alkas region is that we had a hand in it. Because of Odin’s seal on the entire world, the sealing node happens to be located at the very center of the final battlefield, which is in that temple… I suspect that someone deliberately let that human girl see what was behind that seal. This person might be the Duskgazer Dragon, or perhaps not.”
“If it’s not the Duskgazer Dragon…” Brendel’s voice dimmed.
Neither of them continued to speak on this issue, as there was only one other force besides the Duskgazer Dragon that would have the motive to do so—the Dawn Dragon. The implication of this information was too terrifying, causing Brendel to feel a chill run down his spine.
“The Bud people might have guessed this as well,” Lady Wind paused before answering, “They may have originally hoped that the Temple of Fire could stand by their side, but Varla’s performance undoubtedly disappointed them, which is why they came to you. This is also your reason to stop Her Majesty the Empress.”
“I understand—” Brendel nodded. Even if it weren’t for this reason, he would already be compelled to stand against Her Majesty the Empress just for Xi.
Another long silence ensued. It seemed that before understanding the truth of everything, the past of the War of the Saints was always shrouded in mist, appearing enigmatic. But when all the truth was laid bare, it rendered them speechless, as if both understood that further discussing this issue was unnecessary.
After a long while, Saint Ausoor finally spoke softly, “Brendel, I’m actually here to say goodbye.”
Upon hearing this unexpected statement, Brendel was not astonished. He merely took a deep breath and asked, “You’re going back to Saint Ausoor, Lady Wind?”
Lady Wind nodded, “The time has come. We have guarded Odin’s secret for a thousand years, and the seal left by him and Chunximan has weakened increasingly. Now the magical tide is approaching, the connection between the Sea of Chaos and Vaunte has reached its closest point in a millennium. The power of dusk is awakening, and the demons stirring confirm this on the sidelines, so I must return to Saint Ausoor. I’ve guessed the reason the Bud people came to you; I also don’t agree with that human empress’s choice. Her choice is merely repeating the old path already walked by the Duskgazer Dragon, which cannot succeed. You go ahead, Brendel; the wind elves will support you.”
Brendel remained silent. He knew the temperament of this elven elder sister; it would be futile to plead for her to stay.
“Are you ready, Lady Wind? Saint Ausoor is no longer what it used to be.”
“I naturally know that, but some things I must do, young one, because there is only one Saint Ausoor in this world.”
Indeed, there is only one Saint Ausoor in this world. The mist elves may no longer exist, but the emblem of the elven empire remains the Wind Saint pattern. This embodies the meaning of homeland, and moreover, it was the nation she single-handedly founded. No matter how she spoke, Brendel understood that this Sage Lord could never truly let go of her people; a thousand years have passed, and that feeling has only deepened.
“I’m not unprepared either; including that pair of hunter siblings, most of the knights who once accompanied me have gathered. I also know the whereabouts of others. The twenty-four rings symbolize the emblem of Saint Ausoor and soon someone will understand that this is not merely a matter of symbolic significance.”
Brendel then recalled that pair of hunter siblings he had saved in the Dead Frost Forest. The agile girl, reminiscent of a cheetah, left a profound impression on him. They had remained in Valhalla after that event.
He fell into a long silence, his heart heavy. Ever since he first met this elven elder sister, who resided in the ring beneath the Schafflund Silver Mine, it seemed an unexpectedly long time had passed. He had gradually grown accustomed to having such a teacher and friend by his side, a neighborly elder sister figure. She was once a Sage, but also his mentor. Although he had already been honed into a true man, a feeling of melancholy still arose within him.
Lady Wind looked at him, and a series of words flowed from her lips like the song of a nightingale: “Thas Vin Mias dur—”
This was an elven proverb, meaning that eventually, the young beast must leave the nest. Brendel understood her meaning. He was about to say something when Lady Wind continued, “Brendel, do you remember what it was like when we first met?”
Brendel was slightly taken aback; of course, he remembered. It was in the depths of the Schafflund Silver Mine, and everything that happened back then remained vivid in his mind. He was much more impulsive then than he was now, having caused a heap of trouble in the Cold Fir Territory, but it led him to meet many people: Juliette, Crenshia, Vurn, the three captains who were now his capable aides. Kuran, although now retired in Mintai, served as a bridge between him and the old nobility. There was also Odum, the old dwarf with a short temper, who now bore the responsibility of constructing the Valhalla Fortress under his command, and those young people under Charles: Relen, Modanken, many of whom had now shed their apprentice statuses and become true wizards, while others had joined his fleet, becoming young captains.
Now that he thought back, that was the beginning of his career, the start of him becoming the Lord of Erluin. After that, he went through many events, and under the guidance of this Sage Lord, he had grown much steadier and learned more secrets about this world. He was no longer that reckless boy but a true lord.
The past experiences and troubles had now turned into heavy memories.
In his mind, only one image remained: a mountain field under the pines, the stars low in the sky, the mountains silent, hills rising and falling, and among the waves of pines stood a solitary building. In the dark night as deep as ink, the cool moonlight flowed like water into the corridor: it was a parody of an oil painting, a glinting cavalry sword, a young man soaked in blood, and a shining ring.
That was the beginning of it all.
…
Inside and outside the Lion Saint Palace, a heavy rain dominated the night in the heart of the empire.
Beneath the deep dome, Varla, clad in a red sacred robe and holding the golden staff of the golden sacred flame, looked more gaunt today, stooping as he set his murky gaze upon the woman before him—the Silver Empress, dressed in a long black skirt, with a beautiful white rose pinned to her chest, resembling a funeral garment. She surveyed the temple with a cold smile, her expression reflecting a hint of condescension, as if the undeniable authority and sanctity of the temple were nothing but dust in her eyes.
A flash of lightning split the sky, weaving through the wooden lattice of the archway sloping toward the ground, like a print depicting disaster and doom, illuminating the faces of everyone in the grand hall to a ghostly pale. The candlelight dimmed to but a flickering glow on that white, rainy night, only to be restored by warmth once the lightning slinked away, yet Varla’s heart remained cold.
Shadows were gathering outside the archway, silent as ghosts, their red glimmers twinkling in the darkness, closing in like a tide. Varla trembled and raised his head to see this all: wild beasts covered in fur, with bared fangs and claws, leaping across rooftops near and far, howling in distant yet resounding echoes. Although the night was pouring rain, it seemed the dogs of the entire city had gone mad, barking in unison.
Everything resembled the scenes before the arrival of doom.
Varla’s heart felt icy: those were the sinners, the werewolves of the Sainya, the last people flowing with Minren blood. And today, they had returned.
Figures overlapped before him, those once tall and radiant holy images, his revered sages, after the horrific cataclysm, the divine light that enveloped them gradually faded. One by one, the bright lights extinguished, and the path ahead collapsed into a dark fog. This was the sight he had witnessed over the past several decades, watching as the once vibrant temple approached its twilight, the steadfast faith of the people gradually wavering, sinking into a Self-Doubt crisis, the road to the future already obliterated; it was all over.
He suddenly remembered the moment he took the holy crown and scepter.
At that time, golden sunlight enveloped the entire Lion Saint Palace, the spires shone brightest, yet it was merely the splendor before the sunset.
…
Bolton the Sainya woke from a nightmare, purple lightning arcing across the sky, outside the window torrential rain pouring down. He lay on a flimsy wooden bed, his face illuminated ghostly white by the lightning. “Funiya?” he instinctively called out, yet received no response. He paused for a moment before recalling that his daughter had moved to Valhalla to stay, where she was learning the powers of the Forest Goddess from the elder Druids.
The only sound left in the darkness was the pattering of rain, occasionally bright flashes of white lightning. Bolton felt a vague unease in his heart; the rainy night had no moon, but he could still hear a strong calling within, that primal instinct from the blood of the Sainya which usually only ignited under the glow of the magic moon. Today felt different.
He slowly sat up on the bed, straining to listen to the sounds outside—after Grudin’s death, the entire Viridien Village had relocated here under the arrangements of the young lord. Nestled among mountains and forests, he would usually hear the sound of rustling foliage at night, but in this rain-filled night, only the occasional howls pierced through the rain curtain. He couldn’t tell whether they were wolves from the forest or some other beasts.
Utterly silent and immersed in unease, Bolton suddenly recalled the strange dream he had before. It was said that when someone wakes from a dream, their memories of it are particularly vivid. For him, that was precisely the case now, as the most horrifying scenes from the dream replayed in his mind. The dreamscape was bizarre and absurd, yet he sensed a sliver of reality there.
He saw fiery seas descend, the earth shatter, stars piercing through clouds cascading from the sky, mountains shifting and seas boiling, the entire world fracturing into ashes. A fearsome dragon loomed in the starlit sky, watching impassively as Vaunte met its ruin, and amid the hellish scene, he seemed to hear countless wails—his kin, his daughter, all perishing in fire, until every shifting image collapsed, and he recalled a towering shadow standing before him, asserting unquestionable commands to pledge allegiance.
Countless voices became a thundering roar in his mind.
“The Duskgazer Dragon has been resurrected—”
“The times have changed.”
“Follow her commands.”
“Follow her commands.”
Bang! Bolton’s eyes reddening, he suddenly slammed his fist into the floor, letting out a muffled roar before suppressing the urge to transform into a wolf. The next moment, he awoke, soaked in cold sweat. A deep fear welled up in his heart; this primal, deadly impulse was the greatest vulnerability of the Sainya. Yet, typically, he would only feel this wild power stirring in his blood during the most potent days of the magic moon—what was happening?
He took a few breaths, barely managing to calm his rising anxiety when suddenly, there was a loud bang and the door of his room was pushed open.
The drenched young man stood outside, looking frantic and flustered. He opened his mouth, “Uncle Bolton, it’s bad! Something terrible has happened.” The young man’s face was pale, appearing disoriented. “A… a Minren has come to the village. She says her name is… Su… Sophia. She’s… a witch.”
…
A bright bolt of lightning pierced through the window, deeply penetrating the orange-red depths of Xi’s pupils. She looked up, surprised by the sudden appearance of a woman before her—the Lion Palace Saint, drenched in blood, standing on the balcony just outside the castle’s third floor. At that moment, Sidney Metfarica bore deep, visible wounds on her face, blood long dried, the open wounds washed pale by the rain. One of her eyes was squinted shut due to severe injury, yet this did little to change the lady’s cold, nearly impassive expression. The remaining eye still burned fiercely with the flame ring of the angel Euphemia, coldly gazing at Xi.
Although she was injured and stained with blood, Xi felt an odd sense that the blood on this lady belonged far more to her enemies than to herself.
Yet at this moment in the imperial capital, how could such a battle have unfolded? She had heard of this woman’s reputation, knowing that an enemy who could inflict such injuries would not be simple. If such foes emerged in the central regions controlled by the Crusian, then this empire could hardly have much time left. It could only be that internal conflicts existed in the empire. Within a moment, Xi sensed something and, having been tempered during these days, she had begun to develop political insight, no longer the confused girl she once was.
Moreover, in recent days, the Silver Empress had strictly limited the number of outings for her and her maidservants, a move that hinted at a signal.
The situation within the empire had been tightening day by day.
The queen has acted, it seems the target is the temple. Yet Xi still didn’t quite understand why the image of the Lion Palace Saint appeared here, before her.
In her confusion, Sidney was also pondering. This was not the first time she had seen this charming mountain girl—recently, she had been granted the title of Countess and had also taken on a title of mountain princess. Yet Sidney understood this was not the true intent of that obstinate queen; marrying the mountain people to a genuine imperial princess would bind them to the queen’s war chariot, but regrettably, this young girl seemed oblivious to that.
“…” Xi slightly parted her lips as if to ask something, but ultimately did not voice it.
“I’m here to find you,” Sidney interjected in a somewhat cold voice, “Her Majesty the Empress intends to marry you to Prince Hamuel to solidify the relationship with the mountain people while ensuring you remain in the empire.”
Xi first froze slightly, then quickly grasped her fists tightly. The mountain girl bit her lower lip; although she said nothing, this expression was enough to convey her thoughts.
“It seems you disagree. Do you want me to help you?”
“Can… can you… take me away?”
“No, I can barely protect myself. However, I need to meet your lord once. I need you to introduce me; I can carry a message for you.”
Xi stared intently at her.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, with only the torrential rain and the sound of water washing against the stone walls breaking the silence.
After a long time, the mountain girl finally muttered something, only for an instant, yet Sidney had already read her lips, which formed six words:
“Save me, Lord.”
…
(Why do some classmates say I update monthly? From now on, it will be continuous updates. Please continue to recommend He Shisan’s new work, “Ling Tian Zhi,” and if you can help recommend and collect, please do so at your convenience.)
