Chapter 133: Windy Tower (Part 2)
After Beiyard was taken away by the Fierce Claw disciples, he found himself locked up in a run-down house in the middle of nowhere, which sounded way more dramatic than it actually was—basically just a lonely spot where they thought it would be symbolic to keep a couple of guards around.
Beiyard sat on the floor, head hung low, not saying a peep for ages. St. George’s earlier attack looked impressive but was basically like a dad giving you a not-so-gentle shove out the door. He was unharmed—at least physically.
Lost in thought, he suddenly had a plate of roasted deer meat presented to him as if he were a dog on a leash.
He glanced at it and snorted, “Are you kidding me? Is this how low you think of me?”
With that, he flipped the plate over, sending the thick slices of meat rolling onto the dirty floor, landing in a lovely mix of moss and who-knows-what.
“What a waste.”
A voice echoed from the shabby house—it was the one who had brought him the food. Beiyard looked up just in time to see the woman bending down to pick up the meat pieces, dusting them off like she was handling rare artifacts, and placing them back on the plate.
“People need to eat before they can deal with problems,” she said, her voice steady and magnetic.
Beiyard shot up. “Lady Holjones!”
Indeed, it was the Meteor Shower herself, Magipani Holjones.
The petite woman in formal attire leaned on her cane, looking at Beiyard’s pitiful state. She assessed him for a moment before giving a huff.
“Looks like the old man is quite determined; his mind isn’t going to change anytime soon.”
“…”
Beiyard pursed his lips, opting for silence.
“Whatever. It doesn’t bother me. At the end of the day, no one can stop me.”
Magipani then turned away, as if talking to herself, and paused to ask, “How’s the progress on the teleportation node?”
“…Seven days.”
Beiyard croaked, “In seven days, we’ll get into the Holy City.”
“Ha.”
The woman laughed derisively.
“That means you’ll probably be stuck in here for ten days at least.”
“…”
Beiyard fell silent once again.
“Think it over.”
Not bothering to say more, Magipani set the plate down and turned to leave. “Remember what we talked about: if you’re determined, I’ll help you deal with that old man of yours. But in return, you need to create an environment for me—a completely undisturbed environment.”
She paused at the door.
“Especially when it comes to those stubborn disciples of mine.”
Beiyard stared at her retreating back until she was out of sight. He suddenly picked up the plate from the ground, grabbed a piece of meat, and devoured it like it was a gourmet meal. Whatever crossed his mind made his gaze grow increasingly sinister.
…………
“Teacher, I don’t understand.”
On the rugged mountain, Tarlasya stood next to Magipani, his face taut. “Kindness is the flower of justice, and a sword is the servant of justice. If one falters, everything crumbles. That’s how you’ve always taught us. So why, when I stick to the rules, do I push you away?”
“Did you choose to come out from the mountains because the Western Continent is in danger, or is it for some other reason?”
“Like—”
“Shut up.”
Tarlasya’s thoughts were cut off as Magipani’s stern voice interrupted.
An uneasy silence followed.
“Ata.”
“I’m here.”
“How many years have you been learning swordsmanship by my side?”
When the teacher asked, Tarlasya was momentarily taken aback before answering, “Thirteen years.”
Magipani nodded slightly. “In these thirteen years, I’ve attempted to teach the Meteor Shower technique to fourteen disciples, including you. All of you have exceptional potential, yet only you managed to learn it. Do you know why?”
“Because…”
Tarlasya took a moment to think, “Because only I, like you, am lucky enough to be favored by both Earth and Fire orders.”
“Wrong.”
Magipani shook her head. “My Meteor Shower technique does indeed rely on the Earth and Fire orders. Using force to drive the earth, invoking sword intent to command the raging fire—one strike can burn the skies. However, if the fallen star were a wild wind or a deluge, the destructive power would be pretty similar; all could raze a city.”
“So…?”
“The reason only you learned it isn’t due to talent or differences in the order power. It’s the sword intent, the desire, the passion for the sword, the love for it, and the belief that you can cleave through anything with your sword. Once you have that sword in hand, nothing can obstruct your path. It’s this pure and intense obsession that makes your sword different from others, and that has turned you into the renowned Sword Master, the Fire Controller.”
Tarlasya fell silent, finally understanding what his teacher meant.
“And if one day, your sword intent, your obsession, is completely blocked by a massive, heavy boulder on your path, when you no longer have the confidence to cleave through it, your journey with the sword will stop there.”
When Magipani said this, her gaze drifted away from the Fire Controller, towards the towering pillar of holy light in the distance and the faint outline of the majestic Holy City hidden within it.
Tarlasya understood that the “boulder” his teacher referred to, the one that had blocked her for over twenty years, was in that city.
The Sword Saint Ryan.
His teacher was here to k*ll him.
Everything else—the Holy Wall, the disasters, the precarious state of the Western Continent, the mad deities—were all just roadblocks she was willing to tear down for this purpose.
“So, teacher,” Tarlasya quivered, “to clear this boulder, will you go against everything you’ve taught us?”
“There’s a distinction in swords, and swordsmanship, too. Maintaining a competitive spirit and standing tall on others’ swords is the pinnacle for sword users. This is the lesson I’ve always wanted you to understand.”
Magipani pulled her gaze back and looked at Tarlasya again, the aura of one of the world’s strongest now unhidden. “Leave this place, Ata, before I change my mind and smudge your sword intent.”
“You’re not qualified to stand in my way just yet. One day, when you can step on my sword, you can come back and challenge my methods.”
…………
In the year 1190, on the second day of February.
In the heart of the Western Continent, the site that had been a pilgrimage destination for centuries had its sky shrouded with the formidable Holy City. It was said that on one night, an astounding meteor shower descended.
At first, no one knew where the news came from, but it spread like wildfire. Within mere days, countless individuals flocked to observe the situation, ultimately returning with a shocking report—one that caught them completely off guard.
The Holy City was turning combative.
This was a vague piece of intelligence, whether it was from the palace or the girl named Peilo through her own channels, and even others they also received the first-in-time direct messages from the Holy City, but all of them were urgent and chaotic—clearly, the messengers had no idea what was going on. Including the Sword Demon Annasiris, the messages coming back were like various people narrating from their own perspectives, leaving everyone more confused than ever. However, some points were universally accepted.
On February 4, 1190, twenty-three people, including St. George, successfully entered the Holy City through a teleportation node in the early hours of the morning.
Then, chaos erupted outside when those left behind suddenly turned against each other. It began with Magipani’s Star Association clashing with the heretics and owls supporting St. George. Before long, some Fierce Claw disciples jumped into the fray, and it morphed into an all-out brawl within the Star Association, where owls started fighting owls, ending up in utter mayhem.
Fifteen minutes later, people from the Temple Church suddenly emerged at the teleportation node, their state rather strange, seemingly marked by Abyssal corruption. The moment they came out, they tried to escape amidst the chaos but were immediately blocked.
Half an hour later, the blaring sounds of combat erupted from the city, shaking the very seals of the Holy City. At that moment, the tumultuous scenes around the battlefield became so chaotic most could not get near it—figures like the Sword Demon and Sharman had already plunged into battle, unable to extricate themselves. In their haste, they scrawled notes and entrusted them to the carrier pigeons, but their muddled reports stopped right there, with no follow-up.
Some intelligence personnel, being further away and arriving in the following days, found that they couldn’t get anywhere near the dangerous battlefield when the commotion occurred. Just the Pope Knights involved in the fight numbered over ten, far beyond what they could handle.
Because of this, they were able to relay the rough outlines of the chaotic skirmish and subsequent information to Queen Elizabeth in the palace.
It was indeed that meteor shower.
According to the pale, dry letters, the fiery rain fell upon the Holy City around midnight like a catastrophic disaster, quickly followed by a hurricane powerful enough to tear everything asunder. From their appearance to their confrontation, roughly half a minute passed before the thick beam of light sealing the Holy City suddenly dimmed, and a massive crack emerged.
Due to the extraordinary destructive power of the fire meteors and the hurricane—the letter-writer likened it to a natural disaster—they had to retreat several kilometers away, only daring to approach again after half an hour when the chaos subsided. By then, they could see from afar that very few were still fighting, and the light sealing the Holy City had become fainter, teetering at the brink of collapse.
As dawn broke, they noticed that the grass and trees beneath them seemed much more wilted than the previous day—they planned to return to check on the situation and then report further. All of them wrote almost identical letters up to this point, deciding to go back—then abruptly stopped.
In the following days, no further intelligence was transmitted.
Meanwhile, the two royal nations sensing an impending crisis accelerated their joint collaborations, starting military procurements, custom designs, and holding joint military training at the borders. On February 10 at noon, Queen Elizabeth and the imperial princess spearheaded negotiations, leading to the formal signing of the five-year “Joint Defense Treaty.”
On February 11, the sky in the south turned gray.
