Chapter 284: The Secret Council of the End of All Things

Belltila, the female High Priestess of the End of All Things sect, sat in her seat, her eyes gleaming with amused interest as she surveyed the black-robed figures gathered around her. Her casual, almost flippant demeanor sent subtle ripples through the nerves of every High Priest present—yet no one dared to openly challenge her words or behavior.

Though everyone here held the title of “High Priest” within the church, equal rank did not mean equal standing. Those who had risen to the upper echelons of the End of All Things knew well that this woman named Belltila occupied a unique position—and carried a special significance. No one knew what her identity had been before she became a High Priest, nor her true surname or origins. But all were aware of one fact: Belltila maintained a direct connection to the sect’s supreme leader, the “Grant High Priest.” When the Grant High Priest entered a state of slumber, Belltila alone could communicate with him, awaken him, or convey his will.

That alone granted her certain privileges here.

“Gentlemen—and ladies,” Belltila said slowly, deliberately, casting a pointed glance at the two female High Priests among the black robes. These two were rare female members of the council, marked by distinct elven features. The fallen druidesses nodded slightly in acknowledgment and spoke in unison, “Belltila, does the Grant High Priest have any orders?”

“The Grant High Priest remains asleep. The toll from prematurely synchronizing with the ‘False God’s Vessel’ requires time to heal. So I am here to hear your opinions in his stead,” Belltila leaned back in her chair. The thick tendrils and tentacles that made up her lower body crept forward with a faint, chilling rustle, as if burrowing into the earth to draw nourishment. She narrowed her eyes, a note of pleasure in her voice. “So, who has been monitoring the wasteland activity during this time?”

“I have,” said a gaunt man with a stern, steely expression. “I’ve been in charge of surveillance.”

“High Priest Highton, good—at least someone capable,” Belltila said with a pleased smile. “Did you anticipate those aberrations suddenly bursting out to strike the borders of Typhon?”

“That was unexpected,” Highton replied flatly. “The movements of those low-level aberrations are erratic, and the changes in the Grant Wall are unpredictable. Even the Silver Empire cannot monitor the entire barrier with absolute certainty…”

“Enough, High Priest Highton. You’re not good at making excuses,” Belltila interrupted sharply. “We can’t control the entire Grant Wall, but we can control other things… Those monsters were originally sent to attack the Cecil territory, right?”

After a brief silence and tense standoff, Highton finally said, “Cecil territory is a threat.”

Belltila cut him off without hesitation. “But I reminded you, now is not the time to deal with that resurrected one! We’re drawing too much attention already. The things we’ve exposed to the world are more than enough!”

“So we didn’t intervene directly. Cecil territory faces the Gondor Wasteland head-on—letting it be destroyed by the monsters there won’t raise any suspicions.”

“But those monsters ended up at Typhon’s border, High Priest Highton,” Belltila enunciated each word with deliberate weight. “When you had our allies drive those creatures toward the Dark Mountain Rift, did you consider that those brainless freaks might get lost at the foot of the mountain and half of them wander right under Typhon’s nose? Did you think about how simultaneous monster attacks on Ansu and Typhon would affect the political situation of both nations? Did you think about what fate would befall you after all this, my dear High Priest Highton—”

“I will go to the Flesh Abyss and accept the Grant High Priest’s judgment,” Highton said expressionlessly, meeting Belltila’s gaze. Only after she finished speaking did he add calmly, “This is my fault. But I still stand by my view—Cecil territory is a threat. That resurrected duke is a threat. He’s not simply trying to build a frontier.”

“Of course he’s a threat!” Belltila suddenly raised her voice. “Do you think you’re the only one who sees it?”

Highton’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He stared into Belltila’s eyes and asked slowly, “What do you mean?”

“He’s a threat, but so what? Isn’t the Gondor Wasteland a threat? Aren’t the aberrations a threat? And yet we still use those threats,” Belltila said, her gaze sweeping over everyone present. Clearly, her words were no longer just for Highton—they were meant for all assembled. “A threat doesn’t always have to be eliminated. A threat properly wielded is a sharp sword.”

The two elven High Priestesses opposite Belltila spoke simultaneously: “What is Gawain Cecil’s value?”

“He’s a war machine in the making,” Belltila’s eyes darkened with a chilling intensity. “Though our intelligence is incomplete and his plans remain unclear, one thing is certain—Cecil territory can rapidly grow into a bone-crushing machine that produces countless flesh-and-bone corpses…”

The fallen druids exchanged a knowing glance. None of those present were fools. They had already begun to suspect Belltila’s true intentions—or rather, those of the “Grant High Priest” behind her.

“The situation between Ansu and Typhon was indeed unexpected, but it doesn’t matter. We have many contingency plans,” Belltila smiled. “Though the Grant High Priest sleeps, his wise mind has already mapped out our next moves—war will break out, no matter what.”

She slowly rose, her tendrils retracting with a soft rustle. “Relna, Philna, the Grant High Priest orders you to activate the contingency plan in Typhon.”

The two elven High Priestesses smiled in unison. “We do enjoy contingency plans.”

“High Priest Clement, the Grant High Priest commands you to initiate the arrangements in Ansu. Remember, do not alert the she-wolf of the Wilde family in the north.”

A man cloaked in black stood and bowed slightly. “I will obey the Grant High Priest’s will.”

“As for you, High Priest Highton,” Belltila turned to the seated man beside her, her tone now free of mockery or sarcasm, “though we have contingency plans, your mistake can only be described as foolish. The Grant High Priest is deeply displeased with your reckless actions and blind confidence. You will go to the Flesh Abyss to undergo three days and nights of sacrificial punishment.”

Highton bowed his head slightly—not to Belltila, but to the Grant High Priest’s will. “I have nothing to say.”

Belltila hummed softly, then added, “But before your punishment, there is one more thing.”

Highton glanced at the woman with her inhuman lower body, his voice steady. “What is it?”

“Prepare the ‘Shadow Bridge.’ I want to contact our allies on the other side.”

Highton hesitated noticeably at the request. Belltila frowned. “Is the ‘Shadow Bridge’ unusable?”

“No, it’s usable. But recently, the Silver Empire’s mages have become increasingly vigilant. Their inspections of the channels are more frequent. Adding extra connections might draw more attention.”

“You needn’t worry. I have my ways to lower the elves’ guard,” Belltila said lightly. “According to intelligence, among the aberrations crossing the barrier this time, there are large mutated individuals—something never before reported. The Grant High Priest has ordered me to investigate.”

“I understand. The Shadow Bridge will be ready within a day. Where do you want to establish the connection?”

“…Typhon,” Belltila said after a brief pause. “We and the Sleepless Sect have been too active in the west lately. The local lords and nobles have grown wary.”

…

In the Cecil territory, inside the Rune Research Institute, Kamail stood quietly in his laboratory. Before him was a broad workbench cluttered with magical instruments and alchemical tools. The surface was inscribed with intricate runes he had carved himself. At the center, on a small silver tray, lay a fragment of black-and-red bone, emitting faint wisps of smoke as it neared complete disintegration.

Kamail stared silently at the bone shard, motionless and speechless. Yet the faint magical reactions lingering in the devices on the table, and the arcane sparks flickering across his ancient mage’s form, betrayed the turmoil beneath his calm exterior.

“So that’s how it is… so that’s how it is…” he finally murmured, breaking the silence. “So… all of this was our doing… but who?!”

Suddenly, a furtive presence appeared beside him. The ancient mage had never expected anyone to sneak so close—his senses should not have been so easily fooled, even in his momentary distraction.

Before arcane lightning could flash from Kamail’s side, a figure clumsily materialized from thin air, accompanied by a familiar voice: “Hey, hey, it’s me! It’s me! Why do you just stand there silently and shoot lightning at people…?”

“Miss Amber?” Kamail hastily dispelled the magical energy he had gathered and asked casually, “What does ‘shoot lightning at people’ mean?”

Amber grinned. “No idea. Old Zong taught me that there are two main ways to release magic: one you ‘roll’ out, the other you ‘shoot’ out. What you just did is called ‘shoot’—Rebecca’s way is ‘roll.’”

“You show insufficient respect for the lord… but since you’re the lord’s guard, I can only remind you,” Kamail’s tone grew serious, tinged with a hint of nostalgia. “The lord truly knows many secrets unknown to others…”

“God knows if he’s serious or just messing with me. He’s always teasing me,” Amber waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, old… Gawain wants to discuss some technical issues with you. But what are you doing here? I saw you zoning out at the workbench for a long time.”

“I…” Kamail hesitated, then a tremor of a sigh escaped his invisible arcane form. “Nothing. I just happen to have something to report to the lord. Let’s go.”

(End of chapter)