Chapter 146: Still Alive

Noticing Gawain’s gaze, Hetty looked over with curiosity and then strained to make out the ancient characters inscribed on the wall. Before she could finish deciphering them, Gawain took the initiative to explain the meaning of the phrase.

Everyone present was stunned.

“What does this sentence mean?” Amber stared blankly at the line of words that seemed more like a declaration, disbelief evident in her voice. “Normally, no one would say something like this… and it’s written in a place like this!”

Hetty’s mind raced with associations. “To defy the gods is the only way for humanity to endure… Could it mean the gods want humans to perish?”

“Anything involving gods is often full of symbolism and metaphor,” Gawain said absentmindedly. But in his mind, the chilling truths he’d heard earlier when connecting with the Eternal Stone fragments resurfaced.

He then turned to Byron. “You mentioned finding some surviving manuscripts here?”

Byron nodded. “Yes, over here. But they’re extremely fragile. After we found them, no one dared to touch them.”

The remaining manuscripts weren’t sealed away but scattered messily on a nearby table. For some reason, whoever evacuated this place hadn’t taken these documents with them. The manuscripts were written on enchanted parchment commonly used by mages during the era of the Gondor Empire. It was precisely this special material that had preserved them through a thousand years of exposure to air.

Though the parchments themselves hadn’t rotted, much of the text had faded and weathered to the point of near illegibility. Gawain glanced over them and estimated that at least half were unreadable.

Fortunately, half remained intact.

Hetty was well prepared. She had brought newly enchanted scrolls and a ceremonial quill. Upon seeing the precious ancient manuscripts, she immediately unfurled the scrolls, letting them float beside her in midair. Holding the quill in one hand and hovering the other over the fragile parchments, she began chanting an arcane incantation. Magical energy surged around her, and suddenly the quill slipped from her fingers, flying on its own to the scroll and rapidly transcribing the text.

The characters on the parchment were faithfully reproduced and imprinted by magic—both the clear and the damaged parts. After “scanning” each page, Hetty would catch her breath, carefully lift the original fragile manuscript, and place it into a prepared small box.

Though the content was preserved digitally, the original artifacts remained valuable, so safeguarding them was important.

Gawain stood beside Hetty, marveling quietly at the convenience of magic while focusing intently on the scroll’s unfolding text.

Extracting coherent information from the jumble of damaged, distorted characters was slow work. Yet even so, unsettling phrases gradually took shape. This didn’t seem like research notes or even a diary. As Gawain pieced the words into sentences, it felt like the ramblings of a madman, filled with terrifying delusions and cryptic metaphors:

“…It watches me, watching from that rotting flesh… It is inside me, and I must enter it…

“No one survives; the end is near… Desecration will not prolong our miserable existence…

“…Feasting, feasting—I have consumed the blood and flesh of the gods again, living through another century here. They haven’t come. They still haven’t come. But I no longer need them. The outside world has already collapsed, has already collapsed…”

What followed was a long stretch of chaotic scribbles—lines and symbols no longer resembling letters. It wasn’t that the original handwriting had blurred or twisted; the writer seemed to have lost their mind entirely. But after several pages of this madness, the scribbles gave way to readable text once more:

“He sleeps deep beneath the earth, deep beneath the sea, deep beneath the sky. He calls my name, that whispering voice…

“I have seen Him—the face of the god. He smiled at me in the light… I will take my steps toward His realm. Ah, that is the greatest blessing. The gods gave us their flesh to feast upon, all for this day…”

After that, more sprawling, frenzied lines appeared. Occasionally, a word would leap out from the chaos, but they made no sense—no logic or grammar. It was less writing and more the disjointed mutterings of a fractured mind. The manuscripts became unreadable beyond this point.

Hetty noticed this too. She continued imprinting several pages of the “gibberish” before finally stopping. Using a telekinetic hand, she flipped through the manuscripts to confirm there was nothing of value left, then ended her spell.

“What is all this about?” Amber leaned in, eyeing the floating scroll with curiosity. “Looks like chicken scratch…”

“A madman’s ramblings,” Gawain frowned. The words on the scroll filled him with deep unease, but he gave a rough explanation. “It sounds like someone abandoned here, slowly losing their sanity and leaving behind these notes.”

Hearing the meaning behind the words, everyone felt a strange chill creep over them. Though mere madness, the words seemed to carry a sinister power, radiating a fearful aura.

“I… I’m starting to dislike this place,” Amber shivered, retreating behind Gawain. “It gives me a really, really bad feeling…”

Gawain was about to voice a similar sentiment when a faint gurgling noise suddenly came from behind.

Then another series of bubbling sounds.

Everyone immediately drew their weapons and turned toward the source of the noise. In full view of all, one of the cylindrical containers in the center of the hall suddenly changed!

The once-empty transparent tube filled with liquid out of nowhere. Bubbles rapidly rose within the churning fluid, and a twisted, grotesque shadow emerged from the froth. One moment it was a vague silhouette; the next, it solidified into a monstrous form—

Blood-red in color, giant in size, like a grotesquely muscular aberration. Yet it bore a face resembling a human’s, eyes tightly shut, etched with pain and madness.

This hybrid creature of aberration and human flesh had materialized from thin air. It struggled violently, trying to break free from the sealed transparent container. Then, an unbelievable sight: the supposedly airtight vessel became translucent, the monster’s body turned insubstantial, and the two rapidly merged and permeated each other. The creature forced itself out of the container as if squeezing through a barrier.

Gawain drew his longsword. “Take it down!”

The monster regained full solidity and, freed from its prison, immediately lunged at the nearest soldier, emitting a guttural, chaotic roar: “Hungry… hungry!!”

Swords flashed from all directions, cutting off its escape. Blazing blades, poisoned daggers, and a volley of arcane missiles rained down on the creature—though the missiles mostly struck the ground, every other attack landed solidly on the twisted beast.

Yet its vitality was terrifying. Even as limbs were hacked, tendons severed, bones broken, and Gawain’s sword struck the vulnerable spot on its back, the creature refused to die. It struggled to rise and charged toward Amber, who was in its line of sight.

Amber had stabbed once and immediately stepped aside, planning to stay out of the fight. She never expected to become the monster’s target. Startled, she screamed and instantly shrank into the shadows, vanishing from sight.

The monster lunged at empty air, unsteady on its feet. Seizing the moment, Knight Byron stepped forward and drove his sword through the creature.

The hybrid collapsed heavily but, unlike normal aberrations, it didn’t begin to dissipate. Instead, it writhed and slowly recovered, showing signs of rising again.

“Still not dead?!” Gawain was shocked by this abnormality. Sword in hand, he prepared to finish it off. But before he could act, Amber suddenly leapt out of the Shadow Realm, panic etched on her face as she grabbed his arm.

“Gawain! There’s something in the Shadow Realm!”

Gawain had never seen this fearless half-elf so genuinely terrified—this wasn’t her usual exaggerated startle act. Amber looked truly scared, and if the place were any darker, he thought she might break down in tears.

Glancing back at the monster, now locked in a stalemate with Byron and the others, Gawain judged it wasn’t an immediate threat to them despite its resilience. He gripped Amber’s arm firmly.

“Take me in. Let’s see what’s there.”

Amber hesitated for once. “But in the Shadow Realm…”

“I’m here.”

Amber bit her lip and tugged hard on Gawain’s arm. “Alright.”

That strange sensation of imbalance returned. The sounds and perceptions of the real world faded rapidly. Gawain’s vision blurred, and in an instant, Amber pulled him into the Shadow Realm.

This parallel world, existing alongside reality, always maintained the same dim light—neither dark nor bright. Whether on the surface or deep in caves, it held a perpetual twilight that didn’t hinder vision.

Gawain’s first glance around confirmed the familiar nature of the Shadow Realm’s warped reflection of reality. The circular hall appeared pale and ghostly. Around the edges swirled smoky black masses—where magical devices were stored in the real world. At the center, the “thing” Amber had mentioned awaited.

The metal base and transparent container were gone, replaced by a pool of churning black mist. From the mist oozed a blood-red sludge, spreading steadily.

Along with the sludge came a flood of chaotic whispers invading Gawain’s mind.

(End of chapter)