Chapter 325: The Lair of the End of All Things
Deep beneath the surface, in the underground palace, a path led down to the very depths.
Endless stairs seemed to descend into an abyssal hell. The ancient, somber black stone walls appeared to seal away the world’s original malice. Rows upon rows of magical crystal lamps were embedded along the sloping stairway, yet their bright light barely held back the darkness that clung to the passage. The glow from the crystals illuminated only small patches of the walls and steps; beyond their reach lay an ever-looming, terrifying blackness.
The faint sound of vines and roots scraping against stone echoed between stair and corridor. Beltira walked steadily down this path toward the Abyss of Flesh, the faint whispers of madness echoing in her mind. Her figure moved forward in the feeble light of the magic crystals, while the darkness behind her closed in relentlessly.
The stairs leading to the palace’s deepest chamber were divided into several levels. After each long, steep incline came a relatively flat corridor—these served as brief buffers, allowing travelers a moment’s rest to ease the maddening psychological pressure. But Beltira knew well: the safest way to pass was not to stop anywhere at all.
Each flat corridor was guarded by two stone doors. Passing through each pair deepened the influence on the traveler—the maddening whispers grew louder, and the fear of being swallowed by darkness intensified. Every minute spent lingering here brought one closer to madness and death.
Before Beltira stood an especially heavy, ancient stone door. Its surface was carved with twisted flesh and plants, and a mysterious starry sky that did not belong to this age. This was the final barrier to the “Secret Chamber.”
Two tall figures bowed slightly before her at the door, silently paying their respects.
They were terrifying creatures—though traces of humanity remained, they could no longer be called human. Their heads were swollen and deformed, covered with parasitic growths; their eyes and ears had regressed into writhing tendrils. Their limbs were thicker than a human’s and wrapped tightly in bandages to prevent the uncontrolled flesh from falling apart. These were the palace’s “Guardians.”
The Guardians could neither speak, see, nor hear. Their minds and senses had mutated into something inhuman.
Before becoming Guardians, they had been the most fanatical and loyal members of the End of All Things cult. They had paid unimaginable prices, mutating into these horrifying forms to stand watch over the deepest secrets of the underground palace—because ordinary human guards could not endure long in this passage.
Thinking of the High Priest who had remained in the Secret Chamber for seven centuries, even Beltira shivered slightly. She nodded to the Guardians and then solemnly stepped forward.
The heavy, ancient door—its builder long forgotten—opened automatically before her. Inside was a small hall with three branching paths.
The middle path led to the true Abyss of Flesh; the left to the Sacrificial Grounds; the right to the Secret Chamber where the High Priest resided.
Beltira advanced. The moment she crossed the threshold, the maddening whispers surged violently, as if trying to devour her mind. The female High Priest frowned but pressed onward through the cacophony toward the Secret Chamber.
The Guardian standing before the chamber silently bowed again and opened the door for her.
The instant she stepped inside, the maddening whispers vanished, and the oppressive mental pressure lifted. Beltira exhaled in relief—this was the power of the High Priest.
The chamber was small and sparsely furnished with stone tables and chairs. The awe-inspiring High Priest sat at the center behind a stone desk, leafing through a thick, ancient tome.
Beltira glanced at the book and felt a powerful psychic pull gripping her, but before the “Ultimate Book” could fully ensnare her, she forced her gaze away and bowed respectfully to the robed, indistinct figure behind the desk.
“High Priest.”
A hoarse voice came from beneath the hood. “I heard your mission was compromised, and you were injured?”
“Yes,” Beltira admitted after a brief hesitation. “I was careless.”
“No matter. It’s a minor setback,” the High Priest said indifferently, as if unconcerned by the failure. “Soon we won’t need to hide. The elves won’t cause much trouble. More importantly, how is the investigation I assigned you progressing?”
“The Sleeper refers to Gawain as the ‘Outsider from Beyond.’ They seem to have obtained some intelligence and believe Gawain Cecil’s resurrection is a ruse. They think some foreign ‘evil spirit’ or ‘nameless entity’ has taken over that body.”
“Outsider from Beyond…” the High Priest murmured, casually brushing a hand over the Ultimate Book. It hummed, its pages flipping rapidly before stopping on a certain page.
He glanced at it and shook his head. “There is no information on the Outsider from Beyond in the Ultimate Book.”
Beltira spoke cautiously, “Then… is this intelligence false?”
“Or perhaps it transcends mortal understanding, involving divine secrets,” the High Priest closed the book, his tone detached. “Gawain Cecil cannot truly be resurrected. You know this.”
“Yes,” Beltira bowed her head slightly. “What course of action should we take regarding Gawain Cecil?”
The High Priest reopened the book, sweeping his hand over the pages again. This time, the pages flipped even more wildly before settling on another page.
“The Ultimate Book’s answer remains unchanged,” he said calmly. “No contact. No interference. Keep your distance.”
“Understood.”
The High Priest nodded slightly. His deep voice came from beneath the hood: “Have our arrangements in Ansu and Typhon been set in motion?”
“By your command. War will come under a false peace.”
The High Priest was silent for a long moment, then sighed softly. “This is the price mortals must pay to break free from fate.”
“There is one troubling matter, High Priest,” Beltira suddenly said. “The Holy Light Church’s recent actions have grown increasingly extreme. Under the guise of combating heresy, they’ve begun suppressing other sects and rapidly absorbing shallow and new believers. Their numbers have doubled in a short time…”
“Shallow believers… hoping to rely on numbers…” the High Priest muttered, then shook his head. “They are courting death. If they continue, they will be consumed by the very Holy Light they worship. All their efforts now are weaving their own noose.”
“But if they succeed, the God of the Holy Light may become an unstoppable force…”
“Other sects will not stand idly by. The stronger the Holy Light grows, the fiercer the resistance it will face,” the High Priest said with a slight shake of his head. “In any case, it is not yet time for us to intervene.”
“Understood.”
Minutes later, Beltira emerged from the palace’s depths, leaving behind the maddening whispers and terrifying darkness. She exhaled softly.
Looking at the brightly lit corridor ahead, she murmured to herself, “The ‘Outsider from Beyond’ even the Ultimate Book cannot explain…”
In Saint Suniel City, visitors came and went in a steady stream before the Cecil family mansion at No. 4 Crown Street.
Since the Cecil family’s sudden fall from grace, this was only the second time in a century the mansion had been so lively.
The last time was when Duke Gawain Cecil returned to the capital.
The recruitment notices sent out by Santis had indeed made an impact. Though doubts about the Dark Mountains remained, many came with cautious curiosity. Most who responded registered with the Craftsmen’s or Scholars’ Guilds and met Santis’s contacts there. Only those with official mage association status or letters of recommendation from influential figures were allowed into the Crown Street mansion.
Even with this “filter,” dozens of visitors came during the day.
The large response was understandable. Half a year ago, when Gawain first issued the recruitment call, the southern frontier was just a plan on paper—no guarantees, no prospects—so few responded. But now, the southern expedition had firmly established itself, dispelling much of the Dark Mountains’ bad reputation. Santis, a mage association member, carried the duke’s orders and led a polished team in an official public recruitment. Naturally, the atmosphere was different.
At least now, scholars, mages, and craftsmen in the capital could see some real backing.
Those already successful and secure might not waver, but among the struggling masses, some were bound to be tempted.
Among all applicants, rune craftsmen and engineers from the Craftsmen’s Guild were the most numerous, followed by down-and-out scholars and clerks from the Scholars’ Guild. Mages were the fewest, many merely watching from the sidelines.
“Witch” Jipri stood in the mansion’s first-floor parlor, smiling as she greeted visitors clad in mage robes, quietly observing the subtle shifts in their expressions.
(End of chapter)