Chapter 1271: The Veil of Truth

Since the onset of winter, Aldern had endured two sharp temperature drops in quick succession. The relentless chill had stripped the city of its autumn hues, leaving streets and alleys cloaked in a dull wash of yellowed leaves and gray shadows. As in years past, a thick fog rolled in on schedule, blanketing the plain city in a familiar haze. From the towering heights of the Obsidian Palace, the tightly packed rooftops and the varying spires of distant towers emerged as faint silhouettes and isolated islands within the mist, lending the city an unreal, dreamlike quality.

Rosetta Augustus stood silently by the study’s floor-to-ceiling window, his gaze fixed long and steady toward the cathedral district. The iron-gray spire of the great church met his quiet contemplation with equal stillness.

Where once the war god’s banner had flown above the cathedral, now the flag of the Typhon Empire fluttered in its place. The church’s stone reliefs, once imbued with sacred mystery and reverence, remained embedded in the outer walls—but to the ordinary eye, their divine aura had faded. In a subtle, almost imperceptible way, the extraordinary sanctity that once filled the grand edifice had dissipated. What remained was a place offering simple spiritual comfort and architectural beauty, nothing more.

In the square before the cathedral, small groups of citizens wove through the fog, ascending the long steps to visit. Royal guards stood silently on either side of the entrance, watching the square’s activity with steady eyes. New “church guides” greeted the arriving visitors at the main doors—smiling faces adorned with relics of the old war god’s church, badges reading “Tour Guide,” and waving bright red or yellow flags. Each time a new group arrived, they would begin explaining the murals and reliefs on the walls, describing the candelabras and sculptures scattered throughout the prayer hall.

They recounted the religious legends behind these artifacts, their symbolic meanings in church rituals, the history of the war god’s cult, and the secret stories woven among them.

Those who had once dared to resist this “heresy” were long dead. Ordinary believers lacked the will or awareness to oppose the cultural shift. Those who could not accept the changes mostly lamented the past in their homes, cursed the “fallen age” in taverns, or wept bitterly in the city’s detention cells.

Such minor troubles no longer warranted the empire’s direct attention. They were but fragments left behind by the march of time, destined to fade away.

Rosetta withdrew his gaze and returned to his desk. Princess Mathilda, dressed in a black gown with delicate golden chains woven through her hair, stood nearby. Seeing her father regain focus, the heir resumed her report from where she had paused moments before.

“…The remaining war god church factions across the country have been fully dismantled and cleared. Their churches, lands, and guild properties have been nationalized. More than half of the churches have been closed or repurposed, but per your orders, some with historical significance or local influence have been renovated and reopened as cultural centers for the community.

“A series of newly compiled materials—covering the history and folklore of the war god’s cult—have been distributed nationwide. These will work alongside the reopened churches to educate the public. Pilot programs in Orlandell and Tarenkins have shown promising results, but in Duvois and Enchihawk counties, we’ve encountered significant resistance. The local faith remains strong, so the new policies will require more time to take effect…”

“Typhon’s people have revered the war god for centuries,” Rosetta said calmly. “It has become part of their daily lives. But the most intense phase of opposition is over. We must not treat the populace as enemies—gentle guidance requires patience. Don’t worry, Mathilda. The comprehensive influence has begun. The old generation will age and pass, and their children will inevitably grow up in a world reshaped by these cultural shifts. To the new generation, the ‘war god’s church’ will be a historical fact, nothing more.”

He lifted his eyes, looking once again through the broad crystal window at the cathedral’s spire. “Once people get used to half-price admission and paying for photos in front of the shrines, none of this will be a problem.”

“Is this what Emperor Gawain Cecil called ‘de-sanctification’?” Mathilda’s face showed thoughtful curiosity, a hint of admiration shining in her eyes. “Ticketed entry, souvenir photos with the icons, snack and craft stalls in the gathering square… When we talked about erasing the war god’s influence, Hadrian and I only thought of tearing down churches and disbanding priests. We never imagined it could be done this way.”

“In a sense, Gawain Cecil was our teacher,” Rosetta said quietly. “He personally demonstrated how to secularize something sacred, making it easier for most ordinary people to accept change. Not everyone is a zealot who knows scripture by heart and clings to dogma. The vast majority can’t discern the deeper ‘meaning’ behind these shifts—and these ordinary people are the true drivers of cultural currents.”

“The ordinary people are the main force behind ideological change…” Mathilda murmured thoughtfully. Rosetta fell silent for a moment, then suddenly spoke again.

“There’s been a new development with the ‘Gate’ project.”

“A new development?” Mathilda looked up, curious why her father would bring this up now.

Rosetta met her gaze steadily, his voice low. “They’ve seen the soul of Malm Dunit.”

Mathilda’s eyes widened in shock, her surprise momentarily breaking the calm she usually maintained. But she quickly masked her expression, burying the astonishment deep beneath her composed exterior.

Seeing his daughter’s reaction, Rosetta gave a barely perceptible nod before continuing. “He has awakened, but now seems to be part of the war god’s divine realm. Whatever happened, he will not return to this world.”

Mathilda nodded thoughtfully, then asked with curiosity, “What are Windsor and Master Daniel working on now?”

“They’re continuing to delve into the secrets of our world.”

…

Uncovering the secrets of this world—that was the shared dream of every scholar pushing the boundaries of knowledge. Yet to unearth the “truth” hidden beneath layers of phenomena, theories, and conjectures often required more than just hard work. Sometimes, luck and opportunity shaped the turning points of history even more profoundly.

Kamiel floated at the center of an immense arena, watching technicians busily assemble and calibrate the equipment needed for the experiment. A flood of emotions welled up inside him.

He had waited many years for this moment. Counting the pioneers of magical research from the Silver Empire, mortals had been waiting for half a century. Yet no one had expected it to happen here.

To probe one of the most fundamental mysteries of the world, at the forefront of magical research, the perfect testing ground was none other than the war god’s divine realm. In the capital’s current parlance, this was a setup “even Mr. Philm wouldn’t dare use.”

Windsor Mapel stood beside Kamiel, her eyes fixed intently on the specialized equipment transported from the Cecil research camp. She knew the Cecilians had a project exploring the essence of magic, and through recent technical exchanges, she had learned the details. But witnessing it firsthand was an entirely different experience.

She watched as the Cecilians, clad in white short robes, carefully placed a precisely cut rectangular box on a sturdy lab bench. At the front of the box, they mounted a silver-white alloy plate. A powerful arcane energy source was installed at the rear, surrounded by complex stabilizing and shielding components. The design was unlike anything she usually worked with, yet she sensed the familiar rigor and solemnity behind it.

Even without knowing the experiment’s outcome, she respected the minds behind its design and execution.

“This is the purest arcane energy source we can currently produce,” Kamiel said, raising a hand to indicate the cylindrical device at the box’s rear. Runes on its surface gradually brightened from dim to radiant. A chain of runes extended from its tail, resting on the bench, unconnected for now. “Stable magical energy is fed in from the tail end. Inside, the source filters and integrates it. Thirty-six layers of ruby lattices ensure that the arcane beam focused on the crystal pillar is free from interference—its purity surpasses that of the three energy towers around Covenant Fortress, and its output power approaches the limit the polarized ferrite crystal pillar can withstand.

“The arcane beam enters the box, where a barrier plate made of anti-magic material blocks it. The plate has precisely cut slits and two layers of polarized sapphire lenses. This ensures only directionally filtered arcane rays exit the front of the box. After this treatment, the beam barely interacts with any air particles, becoming invisible and undisturbed—until it strikes the ‘screen plate.’

“That silver-white plate contains mythril, making it highly sensitive to magical ‘impacts.’ Theoretically, if magic were a kind of particle rather than a wave, the beam would leave two clear marks on the plate. But if magic is a wave…”

Before Kamiel could finish, Windsor spoke up. “Like two ripples spreading across a pond. The two beams passing through the slits will interfere during transmission, producing interference patterns on the plate.”

“Exactly,” Kamiel nodded gently. “To date, we have abundant indirect evidence and theoretical support for this hypothesis. But researchers need more than conjecture—we need irrefutable proof. Environmental constraints have stalled us at this final ‘verification’ stage for years, until today…”

He lifted his head, his eyes glowing with arcane light as they swept across the vast space. The ancient, majestic circular arena rose around him, tier upon tier of empty stands stretching upward. At the far end stood a massive throne, upon which sat the phantom of a giant clad in iron-gray armor. Its hollow helmet bowed slightly, as if an illusory gaze watched the arena’s center—watching this small group of mortals daring to seek the truth.

Kamiel felt as if countless eyes were upon him, but the illusion only brought a faint smile to his lips.

He turned his gaze toward the test platform. Nearby, a magic network terminal hummed quietly, projecting a hologram from afar. Within the shimmering image stood a tall, mature, and beautiful silver elf, her eyes fixed intently on the scene unfolding in the testing grounds.

“I really wish I could be there in person,” the Grant Archmage Verania said with a hint of regret. “But alas, I’m all the way at the southernmost edge of the continent.”

“Thanks to modern technology, you can still witness everything, Lady Verania,” Kamail replied with a smile. “And the God of War’s divine realm is right here—it’s not going anywhere for at least the next few decades. Besides, we have plenty more hypotheses to test within this unique experimental space. The only thing you’re missing is the ‘opening act.’”

“…I’m starting to feel even more regretful,” Verania sighed from the hologram. “Master Kamail, let’s begin.”

Kamail nodded and turned to his assistant. “Activate the shield.”

An assistant stepped forward and engaged the shielding device surrounding the platform. Runes etched along the platform’s edge glowed softly, their embedded crystals emitting a steady light. This shield wasn’t meant to block ambient magical interference—such interference was currently beyond the reach of any technology, and besides, the God of War’s realm had none to speak of. Its true purpose was to prevent the magic emitted by communication devices and recording equipment from skewing the accuracy of the observations.

With the shield activated, it was time to power up the energy source.

Kamail’s eyes shifted to the platform, focusing on the rune-laden power conduit extending from the arcane energy source.

Originally, his plan had called for a high-capacity mana storage device to fuel the experiment—like the “Mana Charger” he was currently hauling behind him.

But now, they had a better option… a more powerful and reliable source of magic.

A hand reached out and grasped the rune conduit, fingers curiously fiddling with the metal hinge at its end.

Standing three meters tall, Myrmina bent slightly, studying the experimental apparatus with a smile. Though she was the goddess of arcane secrets in mortal legend, at this moment she was just like everyone else present—filled with a thirst for discovery and knowledge.

“All I need to do is channel magic into this, right?” she asked, looking up at Kamail with a grin.

“That’s right,” Kamail nodded. “But be careful not to overload the device—it can’t handle your full power.”

“No worries,” Myrmina said, holding the rune conduit in one hand and giving a thumbs-up with the other. In this moment, she felt less like a deity and more like someone truly attuned to the mysteries of magic than ever before. “No one understands how to control the flow of magic better than I do.”

As she spoke, the silver-white runes along the conduit began to glow with a soft blue light.

The device came to life.

A low hum rose from the arcane energy source as the raw magic poured in, rapidly converting into pure experimental energy. Everyone held their breath, eyes fixed on the alloy plate at the far end of the apparatus.

There was no earth-shattering explosion, no dazzling display of light, no sudden twists or thrilling surprises.

Truth quietly and silently unveiled its veil.

Interference fringes—bands of light and dark—appeared before them all.

(The End of This Chapter)