## Chapter 162: Burning Boats and Breaking Cauldrons (Part 2)
In the year 1190 of the common calendar, April.
The mountains stretch endlessly across the southwestern land, sketching out steep and violent undulations.
Under the surging leaden clouds, ashes rain down like snowflakes, gracefully floating to the dry, withered ground, where the grass is barren and the great trees are withered. Occasionally, a half-dead bird plummets from the sky, landing in a dilapidated barn of an abandoned village, shaking its wings, only to slide off the roof and land on the rotting corpse of a yellow cow, stirring a frenzy of flies.
From the border of Silgaya and Ethanbel, to the distant capital of Nalanda, the land stretches out for miles, some parts chaotic, others silent as the grave, with everywhere buried in flying ash, the stench of decay wafting from the corpses of both humans and animals.
In less than two months, this land, once the bountiful granary of the Western Continent, has been reduced to ashes at an unimaginable speed.
When the black smoke arrived, the capital, already plunged into chaos, was turned to charred ruins in the blink of an eye. Amidst the rubble, tattered-clothed people searched for their last sliver of hope. Meanwhile, more refugees amassed outside the few towns still untouched by the black smoke, or fled northward toward safer lands.
Yet, the vast majority of them would likely d*e of starvation on the road, and if not that, they would be caught and devoured by the monstrous entities cloaked in the deadly smoke, meeting a fate of obliteration and extinguished souls.
The savage beasts slaughtered all life as if mowing grass, having grown even stronger and more unstoppable; now, all of Silgaya has become a nest for the Abyss.
In the eastern borders of Ethanbel, atop the walls of a coastal fortress, a church flag flutters in the wind. But within the battlements, not a soul to be found, the gates stand wide open, and the corpses scattered about have long rotted beyond recognition. This is the temporary camp of the Fifth Knights Order, where Margaret and her group, after braving mountains and rivers, arrived to witness this desolation.
“Rebellion…”
The Saint murmurs. They strolled through the bloody, d*ath-filled fortress, only to find it devoid of life. No sign of strong enemies invading; the fallen knights seemed to have exchanged deadly weapons among themselves in a tragic scenario.
As for where the survivors had gone— they did not find the body of the Fifth Knights’ commander, and the command camp was in disarray, suggesting a hasty retreat— but to where, Margaret did not know. Deep down, they all understood it couldn’t possibly be towards the direction of the approaching Abyss.
And this might just be the Holy Church’s final punctuation mark.
But— oh no—
This certainly wouldn’t be humanity’s final period.
Margaret told herself so, holding onto that belief.
In mid-April, she met the silver flash of Carlos Gonzalez.
At the border between the Republic and Ethanbel, at the foot of the Ergual Mountain ridge, refugees trickled in from that direction, creating a sea of heads, dark and oppressive.
They included civilians and soldiers who had successfully escaped the battle in the Southern Valley, where Alectine City was located. Having no city willing to receive them in the North, they wandered from place to place, countless perished from starvation. Then, the monsters from the Abyss caught up to them…
Now, those who had made it here were probably more than seventy percent of the survivors from the entire Southern Realm. Yet, there were barely two thousand of them, so many heads, yet so few.
Barry’s crush, Lilith, was in that crowd.
Having lost her city, her noble status, and eventually even her closest attendant, her appearance was now indistinguishable from the other refugees, donning a dirty old cloak and looking utterly disheveled, her entire being reeking of decay. The charming aura of beauty had long since vanished.
And her mother had perished from starvation during this desperate flight.
Now, it was just Lilith.
Following the other refugees, she sought to escape to Ethanbel, hoping to find a means of survival there. She had previously corresponded with Barry, and that boy had become her only pillar. Lilith pinned her hopes on him, wishing to find refuge with Barry in the Order Royal City.
However, when they reached this point, all of them were barred at the border, the soldiers guarding Ethanbel denying entry to the refugees. Some attempted to push through, others tried to sneak past the barricades under the cover of night— all met with ruthless deaths, heads displayed on wooden poles outside the border as a warning to any who dared to approach.
Lilith, frail and weak, hadn’t eaten anything in three days, and even the wild roots nearby had been devoured. Starved to the point of hallucination, she saw Alectine City’s once-thriving scenery, memories of her father and mother, and the sumptuous food on their dining table.
But when the illusions shattered, she returned to the harsh reality of hunger. Lilith looked at her trembling hands, drawing the short kn*fe meant for self-defense, hesitating and swirling it in the air, her expression shifting from fierce determination to helplessness.
In the end, she couldn’t bring herself to plunge that kn*fe into her flesh. Just as she wavered, someone else had their eyes set on her.
A silent blade struck from behind. Lilith’s instinct made her duck, the cut gliding past her ear and grazing her right shoulder, a sharp pain jolting her, but more than that, it left her with a debilitating weakness. She rolled aside and glanced back to see a gaunt man, dressed like a fellow refugee.
The man wielded a rusty cleaver, and after a failed attack, he lunged at her again, but stumbled and fell after just two steps, dropping the blade with a clatter, too weak from starvation to rise again. Otherwise, that swipe might have been fatal for Lilith.
Ignoring the sting of her shoulder, Lilith gritted her teeth and crawled towards him. Before he could reach for the cleaver again, she plunged her short kn*fe into him, twisting it to shred his throat. bl**d erupted from the man as he gasped, staining Lilith from head to toe.
Wiping bl**d from her face, tears dripped down her cheeks. She wanted to scream, to cry out loud, but not even a whimper escaped her lips. She gave a hurried glance around; it seemed no one else was coming, so she covered her mouth and staggered away. Not far into her escape, her vision blurred, and dizziness struck; she collapsed to the ground, heaving out sour water.
After what felt like ages, she lifted her head again, gazing at the towering checkpoint tower on the mountain path, and the sky in the south, dark and foreboding. The rolling clouds appeared ready to engulf this place as they had Silgaya, and then descend upon Ethanbel, followed by the Valen Empire.
As if no one could escape this fate.
“Hah…”
Lilith sighed heavily. Then she smiled at the heavens, as if giving up on something, her shoulders drooping.
Just then—
She heard the melodic sound of a horn.
Instinctively, Lilith turned her head.
It seemed to come from the far, far distance, beyond the checkpoint, deep within Ethanbel.
Supporting herself against the mountain rock, Lilith got unsteadily to her feet. With the high mountains blocking her view, she couldn’t see what was happening, but she could see many refugees in the distance and up close trying to climb the ridge, peering across the mountain to the other side.
Moments later, she felt the earth tremble beneath her. The overwhelming sound of thundering hooves rushed through the air like a torrent.
