Chapter 121: The End of All Things
The moment Gawain sensed the sudden surge of magical energy within the slave’s body, he knew something was terribly wrong. Without hesitation, he charged forward, activating his Knight’s Charge skill as he moved, and shouted urgently to the still-dazed clerk nearby, “Danger! Get down!”
The clerk’s reaction was half a beat too slow. By then, the slave’s entire body had begun to swell violently, an ominous red glow seeping from his bloated, torn flesh. Countless chaotic, venomous runes rapidly spread across his skin. The poor man, long since lost to consciousness, finally let out a pained scream. But before he could fully detonate like a living bomb, Gawain arrived just in time.
With a swing of his gauntlet wrapped in white light, he struck the slave from the side, pushing him away from the crowd. At the same moment, a shadow flickered past Gawain’s side—Amber appeared from the darkness and roughly knocked the stunned clerk to the ground.
The explosion followed instantly. The slave burst like an overinflated balloon, his flesh and bones turning into deadly shrapnel that scattered in all directions. Even though they were already at a distance, some of the hard bone fragments still cracked loudly against the wooden registration table, leaving dents of varying depths. If Amber hadn’t pushed the clerk down just in time, that poor soul would have been either killed or horribly disfigured.
Only then did everyone else react. Soldiers stationed nearby rushed over, Hetty immediately raised a magical barrier, and activated a “Distortion Detection” spell to check for any lingering threats. The clerk who had narrowly escaped scrambled out from under the table, his face marked with a clear shoe print.
“Seal off the area! No unauthorized personnel allowed!” Gawain ordered sharply, glancing at the scorched crater left on the dock. “Dock guards, stop those ships! Detain the slave traders—and bring back all the slaves who were registered earlier! Move, now!”
Under his clear and decisive command, everyone sprang into action. Hetty hurried to Gawain’s side, anxiously scanning him from head to toe. “Ancestor, are you alright?!”
“I’m fine. This kind of explosion can’t hurt me,” Gawain waved her off. “Any residual magical traces here?”
Hetty shook her head. Just as she was about to say more, another voice called out nearby. “What’s going on here? Are you guys still testing art over here or what?!”
Gawain turned to see Pittman running toward them. The druid was responsible for inspecting the health of slaves arriving in the territory. He and his new apprentices in alchemy had been waiting on the other side of the dock and had come running when they heard the commotion.
Amber, still shaken, blurted out, “I don’t know what happened! Someone just suddenly exploded right here! Nearly scared me to death!”
“A poor slave, apparently turned into a living bomb through dark magic,” Hetty explained grimly, giving a rough account of what had happened. “It looks like a corpse explosion, but the man was alive and even moving before the blast.”
Pittman’s face darkened instantly at Hetty’s words, his eyes clouded with a complex, deep unease. Without saying more, he strode toward the center of the blast.
Though a living person had exploded here, there was surprisingly little blood and gore splattered around. The dark magic seemed to have generated intense heat from the inside out, carbonizing all the shattered remains. Around the crater were only large amounts of blackened, hardened fragments.
Pittman crouched near the charred debris, his wrinkles tightening more than ever, his expression grim and terrifying. The usually easygoing druid had never looked like this before. Even Amber was startled by his demeanor. But her attention quickly shifted to the unrecognizable remains.
She turned away, muttering, “This is… utterly insane.”
“Seems like you know something,” Gawain said, approaching Pittman and crouching beside him. “Have you seen this kind of dark magic before?”
Pittman picked up a piece of the blackened bone, twisted and deformed. He scraped off the carbonized surface and muttered a few brief incantations. A faint green glow flickered inside the bone, but it quickly faded.
Gawain’s eyes widened. “Druidic magic?”
Pittman nodded slightly. “The End of All Things. Also called the Doomsday Cult. Have you heard of them?”
Gawain frowned, vaguely recalling the name but struggling to place it. After a moment’s thought, he said, “The fallen druid faction? The one that used to be the ‘Holy Spirit Sect’?”
“You know them, then,” Pittman said, tossing the bone fragment aside. “This is their signature.”
Amber looked between Gawain and Pittman, puzzled. “The End of All Things? What do they do? Are they a cult?”
“They are indeed a cult,” Hetty joined in, having overheard the conversation. “They were originally a druidic sect called the Holy Spirit Sect. They believed that the natural spirits still watched over the world, and that by honoring the sacred covenant, harmony with nature could be restored. They were the most orthodox of all druidic sects, preserving the ancient druidic knowledge more completely than any other. But seven hundred years ago, they suddenly broke with the mainstream faiths. Nearly half their members went mad and marched into the ruins of Gondor to self-destruct. The rest renamed themselves the End of All Things Cult, fell into darkness, and were publicly expelled from the druidic community by all other sects…”
Gawain knew this history even better than Hetty. “Strictly speaking, they became a dark cult after the Sacred Covenant was established. Back then, many faiths were hostile to each other, but the covenant forced all to renounce hatred and swear never to be enemies again. Some sects couldn’t accept this and became the so-called dark cults. The End of All Things is unique because it was originally a druidic sect. No one expected a druidic order—once a religious authority, now more of a mundane supernatural group—to spawn a dark cult. It shocked many at the time.”
“The Holy Spirit Sect was the closest to the original faith among all druidic sects. Even after the Fall of the White Star, they maintained the church structure and codes from three thousand years ago. So even without divine magic, they were a fully orthodox religion. Their leader was present when the heads of all sects communed with the spirits atop the Ancestor’s Peak before the Sacred Covenant,” Pittman added. “So it’s not entirely surprising they fell into darkness like the other dark cults.”
“When I died last time, the End of All Things was still a small group,” Gawain said, frowning. “I thought they would have been wiped out after seven centuries of suppression…”
“On the contrary, they survived and became one of the most powerful dark cults,” Hetty said, her voice low and serious. “Druids are naturally adept at surviving harsh environments, and the End of All Things is extremely secretive. Their traditions are obscure and tightly guarded. They rarely expose themselves, but whenever they act, it’s with terrifying ruthlessness…”
Gawain’s eyes flickered. “Like sending a living bomb to the newly established New Cecil territory?”
He glanced at the blackened fragments scattered on the ground, anger and sorrow rising in his chest.
It was utterly inhumane.
Pittman stood and surveyed the soldiers on high alert around them, shaking his head slightly. “No, if this really is the End of All Things, it wouldn’t be such a small, aimless attack. Their operations are always purposeful and tightly coordinated.”
Amber tugged at her hair in frustration. “Why do you all seem to know so much about this cult? Am I the only one clueless here?”
Pittman shot her a sharp look. “Because every time you fell asleep during history lessons as a kid!”
“That’s nonsense! I could listen even when I was asleep. You and my dad just never told me this stuff!”
Gawain gently pushed Amber back down, then turned to Pittman with a serious expression. “You can identify the magical signature of the End of All Things, right?”
“Strictly speaking, I can detect traces of druidic magic,” Pittman nodded. “Are you worried there might be more living bombs hidden among the newly arrived slaves?”
Gawain nodded slightly. “I can’t not be.”
“That kind of caution is justified.”
Soon, the slaves who had already passed physical exams and registration were brought back for Pittman’s magical screening. The riverboats that had finished unloading and were preparing to depart were stopped, and the slave traders aboard were detained for questioning. They quickly identified the original owner of the living bomb.
Gawain handled the matter in a wooden shed beside the dock. He first obtained the documents from Hetty detailing the origins of the newly arrived serfs and laborers.
The exploded slave was a mine laborer from Tansan Town named Sam.
“This batch of slaves was purchased from various places, including the Viscount Leslie’s territory, and further north in the Viscount Kant and Viscount Carol’s lands. They were gathered at Tansan Town, where Knight Byron organized a distribution point. Once enough slaves were collected for a few ships, their respective slave traders would escort them aboard and send them here,” Hetty explained. “The deceased was a local laborer from Tansan Town. His original owner was a slave trader nicknamed ‘Golden Eyelid Gale,’ who has already been detained.”
At that moment, Pittman entered the shed. “Everyone else has been checked. No signs of dark magic. They’re safe.”
“Everyone?” Gawain asked, still uneasy.
“Safe,” Pittman replied confidently. “I’m quite confident in my magical detection.”
Gawain rubbed his temples. “The End of All Things is not the kind of group to act lightly… So why send a living bomb to my territory? What kind of twisted logic is that?”
He looked up. “Bring ‘Golden Eyelid’ here. Also, find out if the dead laborer had any relatives or acquaintances. I want to understand the situation better.”
(End of chapter)