Chapter 1019: The Winter Hunt of the God of War

One illusion after another was dragged from the air by Rosetta, as if he were tossing kindling into a blazing fire. These phantoms varied—some vacant and dull, others vivid and alive; some silent amid the roaring flames, while others screamed curses in wild frenzy. A few emitted guttural roars filled with a corrupting power beyond human comprehension, sounds that could make even the bravest warriors shudder and drive ordinary people mad. Yet no matter how they raged, all were helplessly cast into the firepit, whose flames gradually took on an iron-gray hue, burning ever fiercer.

At last, even the fire revealed the apparition of Malm Dunit. The image grew more lifelike, shouting loudly:

“Rosetta! I curse you! You traitor who has forsaken the gods! Defying the divine will will bring you nothing but ruin!”

“Stop this madness! It’s all in vain. How could a mortal control the great gods? Your arrogance will doom you to endless torment… Stop! Your blind confidence is baseless…”

“What’s the point of this? You’ve worked so hard to build an empire, only to cast it into the abyss at the worst moment. Look at what you’re doing… you’re betraying so many who once swore loyalty to you…”

The voice in the flames shifted between fury, sorrow, righteous accusation, and desperate pleading. But Rosetta moved with calm, deliberate motions. Only after casting a dozen or so phantoms into the fire did he lift his eyelids and glance at the flames.

“Do you know why I’ve captured so many of your avatars?”

“You…”

“You placed too much faith in your gods. But they’re not as invincible as you imagine. The Augustus family has dealt with ‘the divine’ for two centuries—I can smell the stench of ‘Ascendants’ possessing mortals even with my eyes closed. Once I realized the influence you exerted over Pedinan and extracted the first ‘avatar’ sample from him, all your actions in Typhon were laid bare before me.”

“You…” The phantom of Malm Dunit’s eyes suddenly widened, as if awakening from a nightmare. He cried out in shock, “It’s that curse… the one entwined with the Augustus family… You actually compromised with It?!”

“No,” Rosetta said calmly, watching the flames as he summoned another Malm Dunit avatar from the air and without hesitation cast it into the firepit. “It was merely a transaction.”

“A transaction… a transaction…” The projection of Malm Dunit in the flames lowered his head, muttering. Then the muttering erupted into uncontrollable laughter. “Ha! Ha ha ha! A transaction! Rosetta, you’ve finally taken this path! You think you can gain from bargaining with the gods? There’s nothing more ridiculous! You and your ancestors, one after another, corrupted over two centuries—you’re all equally arrogant and foolish… Rosetta, you’re nothing special after all…”

Rosetta Augustus seemed not to hear the mockery from the flames. He quietly summoned the last Malm Dunit avatar he had captured and calmly cast it into the firepit. Then, expressionless, he walked over to a long table and reached out to pick up an object resting there.

It was the iron scepter that once belonged to Malm Dunit—the symbol of the War God’s High Pontiffs through the ages.

At the sight of the scepter, the Malm Dunit apparition in the flames fell silent. He finally understood Rosetta’s plan, but instead of cursing or mocking, he spoke with sorrow:

“Are you really going to take this step, Rosetta? We were once friends. Even if our paths diverged, we were close. I was the first to understand your ideals. When nobles and religious leaders questioned you, it was the War God’s Church that first stood by your coronation. Even as you weakened the church’s power over the years, I cooperated with you…”

“Yes, Malm Dunit was once my friend,” Rosetta said, gripping the scepter as he returned to the firepit. His gaze fixed on the phantom in the flames, then he raised the scepter slightly. “That’s why you—whatever you are—have no right to keep babbling here under his face!”

Before the words had fully left his mouth, the scepter was bathed in a vast, sacred radiance. The flames in the firepit flared suddenly, the iron-gray hue swirling fiercely. Every word from Malm Dunit’s projection was swallowed whole by the fire born of his own faith. Then, with a heavy thud, Rosetta slammed the scepter down onto the stone floor, the clash echoing like a war hammer striking a shield.

“Boom—”

The entire Winter Fortress seemed to tremble at the sound. Then, ethereal bells and horns suddenly rang out across the sky!

Rosetta Augustus lifted his head. Behind him, the ghostly, hollow “Eye of the Gods” appeared. His gaze pierced through the heavy stone dome, unflinching as he watched the gates slowly open in the sky, banners unfurling, and a forest of spectral spears arrayed. A giant clad in iron armor stepped through the gates, moving with a maddening grace, uttering delirious murmurs. Step by step, it merged with the giant’s shadow that had been wandering the heavens and earth.

“The High Pontiff’s noble sacrifice can serve as the ultimate offering, enabling a ‘Divine Descent’ far beyond the ordinary. If the god wills it, they may even manifest in the mortal realm in their true form…” Rosetta murmured to himself. “Such rigid ‘rules’… As long as the Pontiff sacrifices themselves, the god can come—no need for the god’s consent.”

“These rigid rules form the foundation of divine operation. They grant us power, but also make us prisoners,” the hollow eye behind him trembled, its voice low. “The avatars you’ve captured aren’t all of Malm Dunit’s, but more than half… enough to pull the War God into this world.”

“After the War God falls, will Malm Dunit’s remaining avatars vanish with the smoke?” Rosetta asked without turning.

“Already thinking about your victory? How optimistic…” The hollow eye seemed to sneer but answered directly. “Don’t worry. Your poor old friend now clings to a half-undead, chaotic, fallen state sustained by the War God’s power. Once that power fades, he will disappear completely, no longer a threat to this world—and in a way, be freed. For now… focus on what you must face. The one you’ve chosen to challenge… has already arrived.”

“I will face him,” Rosetta said. “You just do your part.”

“Of course. It’s part of the contract.”

…

The bells and horns that echoed through the heavens and earth gradually sharpened from a chaotic murmur into a deafening roar. The clouds tore apart, the sky itself seemed to split open. Howling winds whipped up snow and rain, and in an instant, a miraculous blizzard took shape—what once required countless high priests’ combined might to summon now rose effortlessly as a ripple accompanying the god’s arrival.

Beyond the blizzard’s edge, prayers continued unabated in the great assembly halls. The priests, long stripped of human reason, swayed around the iron-gray sacrificial fire, chanting hymns to the War God in unison. A low, resonant hum vibrated within their bodies, while strange, mutated organs emitted eerie, indecipherable chants beyond human voice. Around them, at the assembly’s perimeter, the Obsidian Guard clad in black armor drew their longswords, every soldier tense, eyes fixed on their commander’s slightest gesture.

At the seventeenth toll of a distant bell, the commander glanced at his mechanical watch, then out the window. In the blizzard, a massive, hazy giant shadow emerged. His heart clenched fiercely. Then he shouted, “Kill all the priests! Now!”

Blades flashed from their sheaths. Under the iron-gray glow of the flames, swords and daggers danced, piercing the bodies beneath black robes. The corrupted, mutated priests fell one by one, life fading swiftly. The Obsidian Guard executed their grim task silently and coldly. Even in death, the chanting priests offered no resistance—they were utterly lost in the uncontrollable summoning ritual, devoid of human emotion.

Across the Winter Fortress region—plains, hills, and valleys alike—the same scene unfolded simultaneously in every War God assembly hall.

The war drums and horns in the sky suddenly took on a mournful edge, as if a cacophony had crept into the martial music. The wind and snow swept the land, and the giant figure solidifying within the blizzard suddenly staggered. It seemed struck by something, its aura weakened, as if on the verge of banishment to another realm. But the faltering lasted only a moment. The next instant, it advanced with even greater resolve into this world.

At last, even ordinary people could see the enormous shadow within the blizzard. So vast, so terrifying, yet so sacred and solemn, it moved like a mountain amid the storm, drawing all eyes with an irresistible gravity. Around Winter Fortress, atop hills and in camps, countless soldiers and officers instinctively lifted their heads, gazing toward the storm.

Even Count Parin of Winter Fortress’s Mage Tower was no exception.

He had believed his willpower could resist the god’s influence. But as the deity gradually entered the mortal realm, he found himself unable to stop his gaze from drifting toward the blizzard. In the next moment, the giant, majestic figure completely filled his vision—and his very soul. He felt an overwhelming flood of knowledge pouring into his mind. Thoughts not his own sprouted and surged through every nerve. His perception tore apart, touching the maddening secrets and darkness of the world. He was sliding toward an abyss beyond human comprehension.

Then, brilliant starlight pierced his eyes.

Above the Winterburg region, a strange spectacle unfolded—a blizzard raged fiercely at low altitude, with howling winds whipping up snow and rain into an endless, chaotic curtain. Yet higher up, the sky suddenly opened into a vast expanse of stars. What should have been a midday sky was replaced by a nightfall, glittering with brilliant constellations that seemed utterly out of place in this era. Each star shone defiantly, standing as a barrier against the storm’s wild fury. This surreal scene was confined strictly to Winterburg; at its edges, the starry sky and the normal daylight sky met in a sharp, clear dividing line.

Parlin Winterburg, who had been teetering on the brink of madness, snapped back to clarity. He knew—His Majesty, to whom he had sworn loyalty, had made his move.

This winter hunt was only just beginning.

The Count of Winterburg strode swiftly to the communication crystal inside the mage tower. The powerful magic within the crystal amplified his voice, broadcasting it across the entire defensive line:

“All units—commence the prearranged plan!

“Conquer your fear, conquer your weakness, conquer your instincts—attack!”

…

Far across from the Winterburg defenses, in the Cecil-controlled territory, on the highest terrace of Winterwolf Castle, Gawain also gazed upon the massive blizzard—and the strange “phenomenon” above it.

He couldn’t see what was happening inside the storm, but Veronica, who had recently completed a “watch” mission, had already issued a warning: the God of War had descended.

Today was the first day of the Frost Moon, the New Year Festival—Amber’s prediction had been right.

Even from such a great distance, directly witnessing a deity was dangerous. As a result, Cecil’s mental defense units had already activated. Yet Gawain sensed no trace of divine corruption within the blizzard itself. According to Veronica’s observations, it seemed the starry sky above the storm was exerting some kind of suppressive, filtering effect—channeling the divine pollution that should have spread everywhere deep into the starry expanse.

Rosetta Augustus’s hidden cards were being revealed one by one.

Intelligence from the frontline outposts quickly streamed into Winterwolf Castle. A messenger burst onto the terrace:

“Report! Massive concentrations of magical energy detected on the Typhon side. Their battle mage corps have begun mobilizing!”

“Griffon Knight squadrons observed taking flight on the Typhon front!”

“Abnormal magical surges detected at the edge of the standoff zone. Frontline units request orders!”

After swiftly issuing several commands, Gawain made his way to the command hall on the castle’s first floor, where activity buzzed nonstop.

The upheaval in the Typhon-controlled zone had everyone on edge. Though they had anticipated the date and prepared accordingly, the lack of critical intelligence forced commanders to execute contingency plans for the worst-case scenario. Philip was ordering armored units to advance into Typhon territory. Mariland had boarded the armored train “War Citizen” en route to the Winterburg defenses. Further back, several dragonrider squadrons and draconic mercenaries were taking off from the airbase, ready to head to the front.

But for now, these were only assembly orders—whether to open fire, and on whom, still awaited the highest command’s decision.

“Your Majesty,” Philip said quickly upon seeing Gawain, “our forward scouts have visually confirmed a massive ‘entity’ within the blizzard, but our mental pollution defenses registered no reaction.”

Gawain nodded. “It seems the Typhon forces have found another way to redirect the divine corruption. Stay alert. Keep the protective systems active—we don’t know how long their ‘method’ will hold.”

Philip opened his mouth, as if to report more, but at that moment, Amber suddenly leapt out of the air beside them.

She bounced over in a few quick steps and said, “We just caught a Typhon agent outside the castle!”

(End of chapter)