Chapter 238: The Last Survivors

As more and more clues came to light, the secrets hidden within this ancient facility began to unravel. For the well-traveled and knowledgeable Gawain, piecing together the truth of what had transpired here was no great challenge.

It was clear now that this ancient ruin, built near the end of the Spark Era, was far more complex than he had initially thought. This was no mere frontier outpost, nor simply a forbidden research station delving into the mysteries of the gods. This hidden facility, tucked away in some kind of alternate dimension, revealed its true purpose: it was a fortress, constructed to withstand catastrophe and preserve human civilization.

Whether it was the “divine aberration research” conducted in the mountain ruins, the sealed godly flesh, or the withered corpses before him—and even the last communication from within the empire’s borders—all were evidence of a desperate struggle against disaster.

That disaster was almost certainly the “Magic Tide” that had destroyed the Gondor Empire seven centuries ago.

His earlier suspicions were confirmed: as early as the Spark Era, the mages of Gondor had foreseen the Magic Tide and had begun preparations three hundred years in advance. Judging by the scale of this facility, the entire project must have had the backing of the Gondorian royal family. Yet many questions remained.

If humanity had known about the Magic Tide so long ago, why had this knowledge failed to survive? Why was the empire caught completely off guard when the catastrophe finally struck seven hundred years ago, collapsing almost without resistance?

If the data stored in the communication device was sent after the Magic Tide erupted, then the imperial court must have known about this remote fortress. They should have been aware the disaster was coming—so why did they never act?

Or perhaps… the Gondorian royal family did take action, but no evidence or news ever escaped the devastation?

That was plausible. After all, the Magic Tide had erupted centered on the imperial capital, instantly destroying the kingdom’s entire communications network. No one from the empire’s heartland survived. Even if the Gondorian emperor had done something, no one would have known.

Still, it was baffling. A disaster predicted a thousand years ago, a secret preservation project carried out in the shadows by the empire’s rulers, yet no information survived. When the Magic Tide finally struck, the empire was plunged into chaos and confusion. Even considering the possibility that information was suppressed to avoid panic, Gawain found it hard to believe.

Beyond that, he was curious about the “survivors” within this facility. The mountain ruins had been sealed a thousand years ago, but the Magic Tide erupted three centuries later. That meant the survivors inside had lived for three hundred years?

That defied human lifespans. Even powerful supernatural practitioners could only extend their lives by a few centuries at most. Yet the communications suggested these people not only survived those three hundred years but continued on afterward.

Though, in truth, they were all dead now.

Gawain’s gaze swept the hall, searching for more clues. Suddenly, Hetty, who was illuminating the ancient mages’ corpses with a glowing orb atop her staff, called out excitedly: “Ancestor! Come look at this!”

Gawain approached her. She was pointing at the backrest of one of the chairs behind a corpse. “There’s writing here!”

Frowning, Gawain read aloud: “Benjamin Houston, Gondor 1760.”

The soldiers nearby shifted their attention to the seats, and soon everyone noticed the inscriptions they had previously overlooked. “Here too!” “And here!” “Every chair back has them!”

A realization struck Gawain. He scanned the names and dates quickly: “Claude Pirin, Gondor 1790… Raufili Pardini, Gondor 1782… Merlia Houston, Gondor 1809… Pal Berlindi, Gondor 1920…”

“What are these…” Hetty gasped, eyes wide. “These people’s…”

“Their names and years of death,” Gawain said gravely. “These people didn’t all die here at once. They were moved here after death, and whoever moved them inscribed their names and death years on the chair backs. If I’m right, the last person to die did this, or it was passed down by the living.”

He looked up, surveying the semicircular hall with nearly a thousand seats, imagining the mindset of those survivors enduring such a long, lonely wait. “These seats… are their graves.”

“Gondor 1760… Gondor 1790…” Hetty’s eyes widened as she suddenly recalled, “The Gondorian calendar ended in 1740! That was when the Magic Tide broke out. After that…”

“Yes,” Gawain nodded heavily. “The earliest dates we see are after 1740. These people began dying only after the Magic Tide struck seven centuries ago. The latest date I’ve found is Gondor 2130—three hundred years ago.”

Hetty’s expression darkened. “So some of them lived that long… By then, Ansu had been established for four hundred years… But they had no idea what was happening outside. Sealed away here, they must have thought the world was gone.”

Gawain shared her sorrow. But then he noticed something odd about Tyr nearby. The sea witch had coiled her tail like a spring, propping herself half in the air, scanning the surroundings with a mix of curiosity and caution.

Curious, he asked, “Tyr, what is it? Did you sense something?”

“Shh!” The sea witch dropped low, quickly slinking beside Gawain. “Not sure if it’s my imagination, but I just felt a flicker of magical energy nearby.”

“Magical energy?” Hetty frowned. “I didn’t sense anything.”

“Even your skills can’t match an elemental’s sensitivity to magic,” Tyr scoffed at Hetty. “Besides, there are many kinds of magical energies humans can’t detect at all.”

Gawain took Tyr’s words seriously. He immediately activated his own magic sensing ability and ordered the soldiers to stay alert. But through his magical vision, all he saw was a hazy mist—no unusual magical signatures.

Just as he was about to ask Tyr for more details, a sudden surge of alertness made him dodge sharply, raising his Pathfinder longsword defensively. Almost simultaneously, two blinding arcs of lightning crackled into existence—one striking the spot where he had just stood, the other slamming into his sword’s blade.

Crackling sounds echoed as the lightning vanished, and the previously hidden magical energy flared openly. Hetty saw a radiant silhouette materialize above the open space at the front of the semicircular hall. It was a vaguely humanoid figure, wreathed in brilliant thunder and lightning. A wild, violent energy formed its body and core, while plates of arcane-inscribed armor floated around its surface like magical shackles, holding this “arcane construct” together in an impossible way.

The creature hovered there, radiating such intense power that the air around it shimmered with heat distortion. It was clearly furious and hostile—the two lightning strikes had been its doing. Immediately after taking form, it began gathering new attacks: two bright spheres of lightning rapidly condensed at its sides.

“Ancestor, watch out!” Hetty instantly cast the strongest magical shield she could muster around Gawain, then began chanting spells to bolster his resistance. The terrifying magic emanating from the creature left her uncertain how effective her spells would be.

Behind Gawain, the soldiers recovered from their shock and instinctively raised their weapons. In the next moment, a dozen scorching rays blasted the lightning-wreathed creature.

The creature seemed unprepared for such a swift counterattack. Bombarded by a continuous barrage of magic, the lightning spheres dissipated with sharp pops. But the level-two scorching rays were no match for this ancient, powerful arcane being. Ripples spread across its arcane body as it absorbed the attacks, then new lightning spheres began to form again.

Meanwhile, Gawain had shaken off the paralysis caused by the lightning strike on his sword. Before the new attack could land, he raised his longsword and charged, his body blurring into multiple afterimages that converged on the creature. The Pathfinder’s blade shimmered with magical light as he struck the largest silver armor plate on the creature’s body.

At the last moment, the creature summoned an exceptionally strong shield. Gawain’s strike shattered the shield but failed to cleave through the armor plate. Instead, the blow sent the creature flying, leaving a scorched trail of electricity on the ground. Before it could recover, Gawain surged forward again.

The creature, battered and desperate, formed a cross of icy pillars to block Gawain’s sword. Then, a voice filled with disbelief escaped it: “You… you’re real?!”

(End of chapter)