Chapter 211: The Undercurrent of Heresy

The soldiers had sealed off all the main roads and surrounded the Gray Elf trading post so tightly that not a soul could get in or out. Yet, this couldn’t stop the rumors—and the tiny kernel of truth within them—from spreading like wildfire among the townsfolk. Soon, whispers of darkness, bloodshed, sacrificial rites, and heretical cults filled the streets. And when night fell, the sight of skeletal remains being hauled out from the trading post seemed to confirm their worst fears.

Duke Bald Franklin of the Western Marches arrived quietly, escorted by soldiers. He frowned as he surveyed the trading post, still faintly redolent of blood, and the ignorant peasants peering anxiously from a distance. His mood was grim.

A duke had no real need to personally oversee affairs in a small town. But at the time of the incident, Bald had been nearby, winter hunting in the forests around Goldenwood.

Lately, cultist activity had been stirring unrest across the kingdom. The king himself had recently sent a warning to be wary of cultist uprisings. The Western Marches had already seen several disturbing incidents. Bald had come here to relax, hoping the quiet woods would ease his worries. Instead, the cult’s dark shadow seemed to have deliberately sprung up right under his nose at the worst possible moment.

“My lord,” a trusted aide leaned in, lowering his voice, “shall we disperse those rabble?”

“They’re just ignorant,” Bald replied sourly. “They don’t understand what true terror is. I had the roads blocked to protect their foolish lives. If they’re too stupid to grasp that, let them gather a street away. Just don’t let them interfere here.”

“Yes, my lord. Your mercy is inspiring,” the aide bowed. “Will you enter yourself… to see?”

“That’s why I came.”

Bald pushed open the trading post’s door. A thick wave of blood stench hit him instantly.

Inside, dried dark red blood stained every surface—floor, walls, ceiling, even every table, chair, and windowsill. It was as if a madman had dipped his hands in blood and meticulously smeared it everywhere, sending chills down the spine.

Amid the coagulated stains were deeper, more sinister humanoid imprints—unnervingly strange.

“What are these marks?” Bald asked, sensing faint magical ripples from them.

“They’re corrosion marks, my lord,” a man dressed as a cleric stepped forward from the cleanup crew. He performed the ritual greeting of the Church of the Holy Light before answering respectfully. “Judging by the scene, those affected by dark magic or involved in the cult’s rites first engaged in frenzied self-mutilation here in the hall, smearing their own blood across every corner. Then they gathered at these spots, where the residual blood inside their bodies began to boil and rot under the influence of evil magic. The dripping flesh and blood formed these corrosive marks. By the time we arrived, only bones remained.”

Anger flashed across the duke’s face. “I don’t want details. I want to know who did this.”

“This is a classic ritual site of the Cult of the End of All Things,” the cleric said. “They worship the destruction of living flesh and embrace death. From what I gather, the cultists who performed this evil rite perished alongside their sacrifices. Such mass blood offerings are meant to maximize their dark purpose.”

Bald fixed the cleric with a steely gaze. “Their purpose? What purpose?”

“They intended to unleash a plague, spreading it simultaneously through the Western Marches and the Timberwood Forest,” the cleric said, pointing to the nearby walls. Amid the bloodstains, faint golden runes of the Holy Light shimmered softly, while wisps of black smoke quickly dissipated under their glow. “When I arrived, the building was already thick with the plague’s aura. Thankfully, the Lord guided me to uncover the cult’s plot early, allowing me to dispel the forming dark magic and set up a purification barrier. My lord, the plague is no longer a threat.”

“Those twisted abominations! Their souls belong to the devils—may they never escape hell!” Bald’s rare fury showed, though he kept his composure and nodded to the cleric. “Father, you have saved this town and all its people. You have my deepest thanks and reward.”

“Purifying evil is the path the Lord has set for us,” the cleric said with solemn compassion. “More than personal gain, I fear those deranged cultists will strike where the Lord’s protection does not reach.”

“The Church of the Blood God is right nearby, yet their priests knew nothing of this evil happening under their noses,” Bald shook his head. “The first to arrive were your Holy Light priests…”

“It’s not their fault,” the cleric quickly interjected. “Their divine magic simply wasn’t suited for this moment. The power of the Holy Light specializes in combating evil—we just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

The duke’s expression grew thoughtful. “Combating evil… The cultists grow bolder across the kingdom. What we need now is the power to fight back…”

“The servants of the Holy Light will answer that call without hesitation,” the cleric bowed deeply.

…

While cultists plagued nobles across Ansu, the southern borderlands—where the trouble first began—were gradually stabilizing.

It seemed that after the setbacks suffered by the Cult of the End of All Things and the Sleepless, the dark sects found this desolate, backward region bordering the ruins of Gondor too troublesome. With plenty of other targets within the kingdom, they temporarily abandoned stirring trouble here.

Gawain couldn’t guess the cultists’ motives, but he welcomed the rare peace and planned to use the opportunity to advance his territory’s technology.

The basic rune arrays Jenny and Rebecca had deciphered were starting to prove useful.

On the desk before him lay a disassembled universal arm harness—the current “Model I Incineration Ray Gun” issued to his soldiers. Compared to the crude prototype, the mass-produced harness was more structurally sound, with standardized, easily replaceable parts. Opening the outer shell and protective casing revealed modular rune triggers, mana capacitors, magic conduits, and the incineration ray emitter at the front. Notably, two empty slots remained in the conduit bay—designed per Gawain’s instructions to allow future upgrades and modifications.

Jenny and Rebecca stood nearby. Rebecca handed him a rune plate. “Here you go.”

Gawain took the hexagonal metal plate, noting the neat stamped inscription along its edge: Universal Model I — Force Field Shield Module.

He released the locking clip on the harness’s conduit slot and installed the new module. With a soft click, several runes on the shield module glowed faintly—the mana capacitor’s energy had successfully activated the component.

Jenny explained, “Activating the force field shield cuts the incineration ray’s firing rate in half, but the shield doesn’t need to be on all the time. We can add a new rune trigger to toggle it on and off. It’s a limited-area defensive energy shield, so soldiers only turn it on during close combat.”

Rebecca added, “We originally planned a level-three eggshell shield, but it drained too much power—the harness couldn’t sustain it for more than a few minutes. So we settled for a level-two magical force field instead.”

Gawain raised an eyebrow at the iron-headed girl. “Eggshell shield? That’s a mage’s shield! Don’t just make up names because it sounds cute.”

Rebecca scratched her head. “Hehe, well, as long as you know what I mean…”

Gawain sighed. “How’s the next-gen armor coming along?”

“Oh! We’ve successfully integrated the combat backpack with the armor, and it’s detachable. That way, the armor’s runes can draw power directly from the backpack, but soldiers can ditch or swap the pack to lighten their load when needed. The breastplate has its own mana capacitor, so it can keep fighting for a while without the backpack,” Rebecca said excitedly, pulling out sketches she’d drawn overnight. “See, we first integrated a level-one Breeze Shield into the breastplate. It uses minimal energy and doesn’t provide much physical protection, but it filters out toxic gases and plague spells, keeping soldiers safer in harsh environments. Then, following your advice, we added heat resistance and weight reduction runes inside the armor. These are all cantrips or level-one spells, so with the backpack’s power, they can run continuously…”

Rebecca’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Gawain nodded approvingly. Though these were basic functions, the approach of using new rune arrays to approximate enchanted armor was clearly on the right track. But then Rebecca’s expression dimmed. “But about that jetpack you mentioned—where soldiers shout ‘Shaya!’ and charge forward breathing fire—I just can’t figure it out. I tried adding a fireball rune on the back, but it ended up blowing everyone around us over.”

Gawain nearly choked on his spit. “Pfft—didn’t I tell you that was a joke!?”

“But it sounds so cool!” Rebecca’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him. “And what about adding glowing ribbons on the back that shoot arcane missiles in all directions when you jump three meters high…”

“Forget all of that! Just forget it!!”

(End of chapter)