Chapter 171: The Legend of the Everdark Sea

No matter what, the Kant domain had to be visited—and Gawain had to go himself.

The Kingdom of Ansu was loosely governed; the royal family’s protection over its remote regions was as weak as its rule. The southern territories had long enjoyed peace, and even the most formidable military families gradually declined in such an environment. For Gawain, stationed at the far southern border, relying on any third-party support was nearly impossible. (This lax environment was likely one reason why the cultists had been able to infiltrate the region so extensively.) The lack of reinforcements was only one reason Gawain decided to set out personally. The other was something he had seen in a “dream.”

He had mentioned to Hetty and Pittman that the Sleeper cultists had left behind a sinister artifact in Kant Castle, but he hadn’t revealed what it was. In truth, he had already seen it—and recognized it.

The object sat before the grand stone hall in the castle’s underground chamber, placed like a sacred relic on a small altar. It was an exquisite magical lantern. Over seven centuries ago, Gawain Cecil had gifted it to Selina Gelph, the military chaplain who accompanied the original pioneers.

Selina had once been a gentle, serene woman—a dream priestess deeply trusted by the pioneers. In those dark, fearful times, she healed countless warriors’ psychological wounds through dreams. Her devout faith and remarkable contributions had made her the Dream Bishop of the Northern Expeditionary Force before she was thirty. Had fate not played a cruel joke, she might have even been a candidate for the Dream Church’s papacy, becoming a legendary hero like Gawain Cecil himself.

But during a mysterious ritual attempting to commune with the gods, she had accompanied the Dream Church’s pope to the Ancestor’s Peak. No one knew what truly happened during that ceremony or the subsequent meetings. Gawain only knew that after that fateful day, several sects—including the Druids, the Dream Church, and the Storm God’s Church—became enemies of human society.

There was no public schism, no religious council debate. It was as if these sects had simultaneously gone mad, storming out of the Ancestor’s Peak. Their followers scattered across the continent seemed to receive some invisible command, abandoning their churches and meeting places all at once. An unseen, vast psychic web appeared to envelop every member of these dark cults. Within days, these major churches fell into ruin and vanished from the world’s eyes.

Because the entire Ancestor’s Peak had been sealed off by the armed clerics of the Holy Light and War God churches, no one knew the truth of that day. Officially, the spokespeople of the major deities claimed that “a small number of extremist sects refused to accept peaceful coexistence with other faiths and chose to defect.” But both Gawain Cecil and the later Gawain himself harbored deep doubts about this explanation.

As for Selina Gelph, she disappeared after that day. The gentle priestess who once soothed warriors’ pain with dreams and earned the pioneers’ trust was gone. She might have plunged into the ruins of Gondor like some fallen Druids, or transformed into something even more twisted and dark. Gawain did not know what became of his old friend. He only knew that, seven centuries later, one of Selina’s relics had appeared here—placed at the heart of a dark sacrificial ritual in the ancient Kant family castle.

He felt it necessary to retrieve it. Perhaps it would help him uncover what truly happened at Ancestor’s Peak seven centuries ago—or at least understand the changes that befell those first priests as they fell into heresy.

The evil force growing within Kant Castle had not yet reached its peak. Judging by the progress sensed in his dream, Gawain could prepare slowly, arranging a way to enter the castle without arousing the suspicion of Viscount Viktor Kant. He did not intend to storm in fully armed; instead, he wanted to find a chance to stop the event before it erupted.

A duke visiting a viscount was a complicated and conspicuous affair. But a duke in name only—essentially just a pioneering lord—visiting a “neighbor” was less so. Gawain knew that much of the grain and herbs produced in the Kant domain were sent to Tansan Town, then purchased by the Cecil domain. Recently, the Cecil domain had also bought a batch of slaves from Tansan Town (legally, from slave traders). This meant the two domains had considerable trade relations—a perfect excuse for a visit.

He prepared a cover story and instructed Hetty: “Send a messenger over. Tell them I’ll be visiting to discuss next year’s grain and herb procurement. The Cecil domain buys in bulk, and these goods passing through Tansan’s market get marked up and cause delays. We can establish a new trade route directly between Cecil and Kant. Since we’re planning to develop the north bank of the Whitewater River anyway, this is worth discussing.”

Hetty nodded. “Understood.”

After arranging this, Gawain rubbed his temples and turned his attention to another matter.

“Have you two ever heard of the ‘Everdark Sea’?”

Hetty and Pittman exchanged startled glances.

Seeing their expressions, Gawain’s heart sank. It didn’t look promising.

Hetty was a mage educated in noble traditions, well-versed in mysticism and history—an expert in orthodox knowledge. Pittman had a more worldly education, with a knack for trickery and tall tales, making him an expert in folklore and rumors. Together, they were like a fantasy-world version of a knowledge-sharing platform. If even they hadn’t heard of the Everdark Sea, then it was unlikely to be known in normal circles.

“That sounds like a superstition sailors might make up,” Hetty guessed, frowning. “The ocean is constantly shrouded in magical whirlpools and storms. Few ships dare brave the deep sea. Occasionally, bold adventurers set out to find new routes, but few return alive. Over time, sailors spun all kinds of superstitions about the sea, naming strange regions after the mad explorers’ tales… Ancestor, where did you hear this name?”

“Also from the Sleeper cultists’ memories,” Gawain didn’t hide this, then looked at Pittman. “You seem to have something to add?”

At first, the old druid looked puzzled by the term “Everdark Sea,” but as Hetty described the sailors’ superstitions, a thoughtful expression crossed his face. Gawain was curious and asked him.

“Yes, my lord. If you’re interested in some unofficial folklore, I can tell you stories that don’t make it into formal histories,” Pittman nodded. “I have heard of the Everdark Sea, but it’s not a human term. It actually comes from the Silver Elves—it’s a tale passed down among them. That’s why I didn’t connect it immediately.”

“Silver Elves’ folklore?” Gawain was surprised. He hadn’t expected a term mentioned by Sleeper cultists to originate from the Silver Elves. “Those long-lived pointy-eared folk really pass down stories like that?”

“The Silver Elves of the southern continent built the oldest civilization on this land, predating human kingdoms in the central continent by over ten thousand years. Though the original elven empire has been lost to history, the new Silver Empire inherited many ancient texts. But because these records are so old, and because elemental beings and strange beasts from the ancient era easily blend with myths, these texts contain many errors and fabrications. It’s natural that they evolved into folklore—after all, elves are mortal creatures too,” Pittman chuckled. “Among their legends, the Everdark Sea is one of the most bizarre.”

He cleared his throat and continued: “According to the legend, the elves speak of their origins. It is said that originally there were no Silver Elves, no Gray Elves, no Dark Elves—only a single race of powerful, immortal ‘Primordial Elves’ living on a distant continent.

“One ancient day, disaster struck that continent. A group of Primordial Elves escaped on ‘Arks’—vessels that could hover and speed above the sea. Lost in the endless ocean shrouded by mist and magical whirlpools, they wandered for half a month before suddenly entering a sea perpetually cloaked in darkness, forever bathed in starlight. At the center of this sea stood an immense, towering spire—mountainous in scale, its peak piercing the starry sky.

“Moved by the tower and the stars, the lost Primordial Elves prayed devoutly beneath the starlight, hoping to find a new home. Their prayers were carried through the tower to the gods among the stars. The starlight bestowed blessings, and the tower’s gates opened, inviting the elves inside.

“All the Primordial Elves entered the tower, witnessing wondrous things: projections of the cosmos, the evolution of animals, minerals, and plants. They realized the tower held incredible knowledge—and greed took hold. No longer content to shelter in the tower’s outer layers, they sought to penetrate its inner and upper chambers to grasp that knowledge.

“The tower then unleashed punishment. A radiant light filled the entire structure. The Primordial Elves who tried to steal knowledge were bathed in this light and transformed according to how far they had intruded. They became the sun-fearing Dark Elves, the diminutive Gray Elves, the water-bound Sea Elves, and the least altered Silver Elves—who, fearing the tower’s power, had not ventured deeply and thus suffered the mildest punishment.

“Thus, the immortal and mighty Primordial Elves were fractured into flawed subraces. Terrified, these subraces fled the tower, returned to their Arks, and left the mysterious place they called the ‘Everdark Sea’—a realm forever shrouded in night and starlight, dominated by the towering spire. Their drifting to the current continent of Loren happened afterward.”

Pittman took a breath and stroked his beard. “That, my lord, is the legend of the Everdark Sea.”

(End of chapter)