Chapter 606: The Month of Revival

Winter had come to an end.

Deep within the Pinnacle Base, in a room sealed tight against the outside world, a magical network terminal hummed quietly.

The room was empty. Thick curtains blocked out what little daylight there was, casting the space into a dim, shadowy gloom. The terminal’s white noise projection flickered faintly, like a weak lamp struggling to illuminate the scattered furniture and objects.

On the lone wooden table sat a printing machine connected to the terminal, emitting a steady creak and whir as sheets of blank paper fed into it. Messages from afar were printed line by line, stacking into a neat pile at the output tray.

Suddenly, the printed documents lifted from the table as if held by invisible hands, pages flipping rapidly in a rustling cascade.

Moments later, the papers settled back down, and the terminal’s hum gradually faded. A faint breeze stirred the curtains nearby, letting in a little more light before silence reclaimed the room.

At the heart of the base, Gawain was poring over technical reports sent by Banner, the elven mage. Due to a shortened construction schedule, the sub-tower and related facilities overseen by the Duchy of Cecil were nearing early completion. The sub-tower was now in the final stages of magical device installation and calibration, with several purification nodes mostly finished. Knowing how critical this phase was, Gawain dared not relax for a moment.

A sudden gust of wind slipped through the window. Gawain sensed a familiar presence and casually balled up a scrap of paper, tossing it toward the window. With a startled “Ah!” he watched Amber materialize from thin air, tumbling awkwardly off the narrow windowsill.

—The Pinnacle Base’s windows were specially designed, with narrow ledges and tight seals that made setting traps impossible. This was a constant source of frustration for Gawain.

“What’s going on?” Gawain lifted his eyelids to glance at the half-elf as she dusted herself off and swaggered over like nothing had happened. “You don’t usually show up at this hour.”

Amber shrugged off the dust and plopped down at Gawain’s desk. “Just got a batch of intelligence from the North. Something’s off.”

“From the North…” Gawain set aside the documents. “Tell me.”

“Since late Mistmoon, there’s been a massive purge of cultists in the Eastern Territories. At first, we thought it might be Prince Edmond’s ‘acting’—a cover to mislead people. But the latest reports say hundreds of End of All Things cultists have been captured, dozens of secret altars where dark rituals were held destroyed. Our agents believe the evidence is genuine.”

“…Looks like Edmond’s ties with the cult aren’t as close as we feared,” Gawain frowned. “But isn’t the Eastern response a bit extreme for just one warning letter from me? Considering Edmond had some cooperation with the cult before, it’s suspicious that he’d act so decisively right after my message…”

“Wait, it gets weirder,” Amber’s expression twisted oddly. “You won’t believe this—since last month, in the royal-controlled zones of the Holy Spirit Plains, the number of cultists caught and secret altars destroyed by noble forces is even higher than in the East!”

Gawain blinked, stunned. That couldn’t be right—

The old northern nobility suddenly got their act together? Is there anything more suspicious than that?!

Did my warning letter really have that much impact? Did the Ansu nobles suddenly realize the cult’s danger and unite to root them out? Did Victoria Wilde instantly reprogram the old nobility’s minds?

He’d sooner believe those cultists turned themselves in!

“What’s the real story?” Gawain looked Amber in the eye. “I don’t buy that the old nobles suddenly became efficient.”

Amber nodded, as if expecting the question. “The reason both the East and the royal nobles are so effective is because of informants.”

“Informants?” Gawain frowned. “Not agents from your intelligence bureau?”

“Only the first few times. But after Frostmoon ended, the number of tips exploded. Almost daily, leads on cultists were delivered to local lords. It took our agents a long time to identify the informants—guess who they are?”

Gawain’s mind flashed with a strange thought: “…Could it be the cult itself?”

“Exactly. It’s them. And it’s bizarre beyond belief! The tips always point to sites where dark rituals have already been performed. All cultists involved have committed suicide during the ceremonies. So technically, both the royal and Eastern forces are only ‘catching’ the dead bodies after the fact…”

Before Amber finished, Gawain’s brow twitched.

So they really are killing themselves…

Then he realized the disturbing implication behind this absurd situation—

It looked like some secret, ongoing, large-scale sacrificial ritual! The cultists were systematically sacrificing themselves!

No surprise that Amber, who dealt with intelligence daily, had reached the same conclusion. Her face grew serious. “It’s like mass sacrifice, right? Over the past two months, cultists in the Holy Spirit Plains have held hundreds of dark rituals requiring participants to die by their own hand. Possibly over a thousand End of All Things followers have been sacrificed!”

“Exactly. Sacrifice. No doubt about it,” Gawain’s frown deepened. He pressed his hand against the table, voice low and grave. “But why report themselves afterward? Why expose the altars and bases they worked so hard to keep secret… unless it’s part of the ritual… Wait, maybe not the ritual itself!”

A sudden flash of insight struck him. He looked up sharply, locking eyes with Amber. “Were the bodies burned?”

“Only some. The Eastern forces burned about two-thirds, but the royal nobles probably less than a third. The rest were dumped in mass graves or left out in the wild. Even though their lords ordered all bodies to be burned and altars purified with holy water, you know how poorly lower-ranking knights and nobles follow orders,” Amber said, already guessing Gawain’s next thought. “You think the cultists are using the sacrificial remains as a source of contamination?”

“Dark druids are skilled at spreading plagues through flesh and blood…” Gawain spoke rapidly. “But no, there’s still a problem… it doesn’t explain why they’d want to ‘inform’ after the sacrifice… that just leads to some of the bodies being burned and purified!”

Gawain stood, pacing slowly behind the desk, brow furrowed as he mulled over the cult’s motive for exposing their sacrificial remains, altars, and bases. Then a thought struck him: Victoria Wilde and Edmond Morn were both wise traditional nobles. What orders might they have given after receiving this intelligence?

“After discovering cult activity, do local lords and their knights have to inspect the sites personally?”

“Yes. That’s Duke Victoria’s order, and Edmond Morn has a similar one. It’s to prevent lower nobles and knights from slacking off—to ensure they at least visit the scene…” Amber’s voice slowed, ending with a stunned, “Oh my…”

Gawain took a deep breath. “Something big is coming—if the cult is willingly exposing their long-hidden altars and bases, it means their ritual is at its final stage.”

He cursed silently: Damn it, everyone’s walking right into the trap!

Who would have guessed that the final step of those lunatics chanting about the End of All Things would be to turn themselves in?!

“It’s probably too late to warn the Duchess and the Prince now. At least half the noble lords and knights in the eastern conflict zone of the Holy Spirit Plains may already be infected by something,” Amber’s tone grew urgent. “But do you think Victoria and Edmond realize something’s wrong? They’re not stupid…”

“They’re not. But if the cult operates mainly in villages and small towns, avoiding major cities and royal or secondary fiefs, then in just a month and a half to two months, the information won’t reach Victoria or Edmond.”

Amber’s eyes widened. “Why?”

Gawain looked at her, enunciating each word: “Because ‘my vassal’s vassal is not my vassal.’”

He returned to his desk and quickly pulled out a letter. “Whether it’s too late or not, we have to warn the North. You deliver this directly to Rockhold Fortress. Have them send it by griffon messenger—the fastest possible—to the Kingdom’s army and the Eastern Legion. Also, recall all intelligence agents operating in the conflict zone. Pull them back to Rockhold for quarantine and thorough checks for divine magic, curses, and plagues before re-entering the city. The same goes for the merchant guild personnel. Starting today, Rockhold Fortress and the Grant Pass are to be sealed off, and all magical detection towers along the border set to maximum sensitivity.”

As he spoke, he rapidly penned the urgent letter, sealing it with his mark. “I have to return to Cecil City—you’re coming with me.”

Amber blinked. “What about the construction work here?”

“It’s nearly finished. Bruce Rock and Mage Banner will ensure it wraps up smoothly,” Gawain said. “Right now, the priority is stabilizing the South and figuring out what’s happening in the North. If the South falls apart… there won’t be any construction left.”

After a moment’s thought, he added, “Send Sonia and the messengers to the Western Camp. If the North situation worsens and Duke Bertram Franklin runs into trouble, we’ll take over the Western Camp’s projects.”

He was thinking of the cultists hiding in the wastelands, worried the Northern crisis was just a smokescreen for their real goal: destroying the protective barrier.

…

At the same time, in the royal-controlled zone of the Holy Spirit Plains, a small town in the East.

Winter’s snow was melting away. This year’s Month of Revival felt warmer than usual. Drip by drip, melting snow trickled from rooftops and towers, soaking the streets below.

Residents, who had stayed indoors all winter, now poured out onto the streets. In this month symbolizing hope, they placed stalks of last year’s preserved wheat at their doorways—a folk custom in Ansu symbolizing prayers for a year of plenty.

A pair of elf sisters, their faces nearly identical, strolled leisurely through the small town’s streets.

Their features were exquisite, their dresses elegant—both their striking looks and their elven heritage made them seem utterly out of place in this remote village. Yet they moved as if they were old friends of the townsfolk, casually wandering along the damp, glistening roads.

Passersby either ignored the conspicuous elves or paused to smile and greet them warmly.

“The season of renewal is truly wonderful,” the sisters said in unison as they walked, their voices blending so seamlessly it was hard to tell if they were speaking to each other or simply sharing a private, shared thought. “Once the cold days end, new shoots will soon sprout.”

A man clad in soldier’s armor passed by and, hearing their words, paused briefly. With a gentleman’s bow, he replied, “Yes, the new shoots are about to grow.”

“Your new armor looks splendid,” the sisters laughed, their steps light as they continued down the street.

Along the way, young women tidied sheaves of wheat hung on doorways, men mended farming tools, craftsmen sipped wine and chatted, and apprentices yawned as they stepped out of their homes. Everyone wore peaceful, contented smiles and greeted the passing elf sisters warmly.

“Good morning, Miss Relna.”

“Good morning, Miss Filna.”

“Good morning, Uncle Sam—your beard looks sharp today.”

“Good morning, Aunt Bobby. What a fine day it is.”

The sisters’ smiles shone bright and radiant. The woman they called Aunt Bobby paused her work with the wheat, standing up straight with a hint of puzzlement, but then her face broke into a smile as well. “Yes, it really is a fine day.”

“Seeing the sun on the first day of the month of renewal means we’ll have full bellies all year,” the sisters said, their faces glowing with joy. “Isn’t that right?”

Aunt Bobby’s smile grew even wider. “Yes, full bellies all year…”

And then everyone laughed—men, women, craftsmen, apprentices, soldiers, townsfolk—one after another, their laughter spreading through the street.

Their mouths opened wide, and beneath their lips, perfectly formed crystals gleamed and sparkled.

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(The End of this Chapter)