Chapter 608: Humility
The thick fog was slowly dissipating, yet it still blanketed the entire eastern plain.
The blazing sun’s light grew pale and dim through the mist. One town after another lost all contact, swallowed by the fog and strange whispering voices. On city streets and in rural fields alike, twisted, malformed humanoid figures staggered through the haze, as if a nightmare had descended upon the mortal world, spreading relentlessly across the tainted land.
At last, Soringburg too was engulfed in this boundless fog.
Irregular winds swept wildly over the city, whipping all the banners into a fierce flutter. More and more grim news arrived from all directions—not just this city, but across the vast lands beyond, all order was rapidly collapsing.
Inside the castle’s great hall, a high-ranking knight clad in dark steel armor reported the latest situation: “…We have lost all contact with the Sost region. The roads are blocked by the fog, and no messengers have returned after entering it. The fortresses in the Slantwood Valley and the Yartel Mountains briefly lit signal fires this morning, but they quickly went out. Communication spells have been cut off, and the knights sent to investigate have yet to return. Their fate is uncertain, but likely grim…”
Another knight stood up immediately. “The situation inside the city is also abnormal. Soldiers in the outer districts have found wandering civilians who appear to have lost their minds. There have even been sightings of unusually tall black-robed giants moving within the fog…”
As he spoke, the knight seemed slightly uncomfortable, shifting his shoulders and arms.
At the head of the long table, Edmond’s face was as somber as still water. “How many troops can we still contact and mobilize?”
An awkward silence fell over the assembled knights and noble lords. After exchanging uneasy glances, someone finally stood to answer: “Only the two thousand guards stationed in the castle district and another two thousand soldiers in the two nearby barracks are confirmed to be operational.”
“So, because of this strange fog, out of the tens of thousands in the Eastern Legion, only four thousand remain usable?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“This is no ordinary fog,” Duke Selas Loren spoke up. “It bears the marks of magical manipulation. It’s very likely the result of a large-scale forbidden spell, perhaps even a divine summoning ritual.”
Edmond frowned and turned to a noble lord. “Any intelligence from the kingdom’s army?”
The lord rose immediately. “All communication in that direction has been cut off, Your Highness. But according to the last message, the kingdom-controlled plains are also shrouded in thick fog.”
After a brief silence, Edmond slowly stood, placing both hands firmly on the table, his gaze grave. “It’s clear we are under attack. The enemy wields power on a celestial scale. Our mage corps is preparing large-scale dispelling and purification rituals. Until they complete their work, everyone must ensure the safety of all mage towers within the inner city. Duke Loren, the castle district’s defense is yours. Also, send word immediately for Belk to return to the castle.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Those given orders quickly left the hall. Soon, only Edmond Morn and a handful of guards remained in the vast chamber.
In the sudden silence, the atmosphere grew heavier, more oppressive. Wisps of fog seeped through the window cracks, as if carrying with them a twisted, maddening malice lurking throughout the city. Amid this unbearable stillness, the fireplace on one side of the hall suddenly crackled to life.
Edmond’s head snapped up, eyes fixed on the suddenly bright flames…
…
Outside, in the city’s outer districts, the situation was deteriorating faster than expected.
The thinning fog was briefly shattered by the sharp clang of metal. Flashes of light and muffled, hoarse groans followed as several towering humanoid monsters—formed from flesh and crystal—collapsed heavily to the ground.
Belk Loren shook his numb arms, flicking dirt and blood from his longsword. His brow furrowed as he stared at the fallen “creatures.”
They were grotesque and terrifying, twisted and mutated, their bodies covered in crystalline growths. Dangerous arcane energy crackled between the clusters even after their deaths, emitting sharp popping sounds. Among the mutated, swollen forms, fragments of armor and clothing fused with flesh and crystal remained visible.
Only minutes ago, these “monsters” had been knights and attendants accompanying Belk to inspect the outer city. But when a tall black-robed figure emerged from the fog, those knights and soldiers locked eyes with it—and instantly transformed into these abominations, turning violently against their own commander.
What had happened?
Belk cautiously scanned his surroundings as he moved toward the nearest barracks, a storm of questions raging in his mind.
He had also met the gaze of that black-robed figure, yet somehow, unlike his men, he had not mutated.
Had his subordinates been cursed without realizing it? Was eye contact with that figure the trigger? Why was he unaffected?
The young marquis quietly cast a series of protective blessings and invisible armor upon himself, his sharp eyes sweeping every fog-shrouded street and alley.
The black-robed figure had fled quickly after “triggering” the horrific mutations, likely lurking somewhere nearby in the shadows. Though Belk was a powerful transcendent knight, facing this utterly unknown and bizarre enemy demanded his utmost vigilance.
Suddenly, chaotic footsteps echoed nearby, accompanied by multiple magical fluctuations within his sensing range.
Belk spun around, his longsword igniting with an ethereal, scorching flame. A group of towering, crystal-covered mutants stepped out of the fog, closing in on him—these were not the black-robed giants, but slightly shorter, still over two meters tall, radiating visible arcane energy.
They matched the features of his mutated men—another wave of victims “triggered” into transformation.
The thought flashed through Belk’s mind just as the monsters launched their attack.
One “crystal giant” charged at him with astonishing speed. Others either rushed forward or raised their hands to unleash powerful arcs of arcane lightning. Belk twisted his body, narrowly dodging a claw aimed at his neck. His longsword slashed diagonally, the phantom flames shattering the incoming lightning. With a metallic clang, he severed the arm of a second crystal giant.
After parrying the assault, Belk leapt backward, switching his sword to his left hand. His right hand swung down fiercely through the air, summoning a translucent energy blade that descended from above, pinning the first crystal giant to the ground. A chilling gust of wind swept past his neck simultaneously—he lunged forward, spun around, narrowly evading a deadly sneak attack, strands of his hair scattering in the air.
The attackers struck again. Belk steadied himself and raised his sword to meet them.
They crossed paths in a blur, less than a fraction of a second. In that instant, a pair of eyes—partially crystallized and surrounded by tiny clusters—flashed before Belk’s vision.
He was stunned. Those eyes seemed strangely familiar…
…
From the flames, a woman emerged, clad in a green priestess’s robe. Her upper body was beautiful and dignified, but below the waist, twisted plant roots writhed grotesquely.
Edmond Morn, dressed in black armor with a wolfskin cloak, stood behind the table, staring fixedly at the woman who had stepped out of the fire—the High Priestess of the Cult of the End of All Things.
“This was all your conspiracy?” he said in a low voice. Before he finished, a black longsword appeared in his hand.
At the same time, he noticed the attendants and guards nearby showed no reaction, as if hypnotized, completely unaware of the intruder.
Beltera approached the table calmly, facing Prince Ansu with a faint smile. “To others, this is a conspiracy. To you, it’s an open plan, isn’t it? Our ‘ally,’ Your Highness…”
Edmond knew this strange woman was extremely dangerous and powerful. Silently, he cast the Knight’s Domain blessing on himself, suppressing his anger. “You are untrustworthy, as expected.”
“Wasn’t that clear from the start, confident prince? You simply habitually underestimate others and overestimate yourself.”
Beltera spoke leisurely as she pulled over a chair and sat down before Edmond. Her legs, formed of vines and roots, spread and intertwined with the chair and floor with a rustling sound.
“What exactly do you want? What are you trying to do?”
“We?” Beltera laughed, a rare, genuine smile—the first in seven centuries. “We want to find a way for humanity to survive—a path to endure on the gods’ banquet table, amid the world’s malice.
“And I… I have come to greet you. To greet the new you.”
“Madwoman.” Edmond felt utterly unable to comprehend this cultist’s logic. He had gathered his strength and wanted no more surprises. Raising his sword, countless tiny black cracks spread from its tip like a web, sealing off the entire space.
The long table crumbled to dust, chairs shattered one by one. But before the deadly black cracks could reach Beltera, a wave of agonizing whispers and maddening murmurs flooded Edmond’s mind. Suddenly, he lost control of his sword and staggered, barely able to stand.
Beltera quietly watched Edmond lean on his sword, slowly breaking down. She said softly, “Have you been feeling thirsty lately?”
“Water…” Edmond’s cheeks began to sprout translucent crystals. A sudden realization flashed in his eyes. “You poisoned me?”
“Not poison. A blessing—a gift from the ‘gods’ themselves.”
“You… will destroy… Ansu…”
“It was you who destroyed it—or rather, you all,” Beltira said, her gaze almost pitying as she looked at the prince before her. “Remember? It was you who unleashed this vortex.”
Edmund felt his sanity slipping away rapidly. The whispering voices clawed at his mind, stripping away his ability to think. Struggling to speak, almost instinctively, he said, “I just… wanted to bring it back… prosperity…”
Beltira rose from her chair, her eyes fixed quietly on the Ansu prince, who was on the verge of losing his will entirely. Her gaze was deep, her voice low and steady. “Do you truly understand what real prosperity means?”
A hazy veil clouded Edmund’s vision. His eyes were quickly being reshaped by crystalline formations. Through this alien distortion, the only thing he could clearly see was Beltira’s eyes—profound and resolute, carrying a terrifying kind of obsession, yet also an unbelievable purity and clarity.
He couldn’t comprehend why a mad cultist would suddenly reveal such a look.
That gaze reminded him of someone—a person who had returned from the grave.
Before losing himself completely, he heard her final words:
“You’ve never truly looked down, never once glanced at those humble souls.”
…
All the crystalline attackers had fallen, including the one with those eerily familiar eyes.
She had transformed into a two-meter-tall monster, her swollen, twisted flesh interlaced with charged crystals. Yet Belk recognized her.
She lay curled up on the mist-shrouded street, trembling slightly. It reminded Belk of the last time he saw her—in a narrow alley—also curled up on the ground, soaked in mud.
Belk approached slowly, sharp stings from minor wounds flaring with each step. Leaning on his longsword for support, he crouched down to meet the “Washerwoman” at eye level.
“Who did this to you? Was it those black-robed fiends again?”
The crystalline woman rasped out a hoarse reply amid labored breaths—words Belk could barely understand: “We… volunteered, my lord.”
The young marquis gasped, “Why?!”
The creature, now barely human in form, lifted her head and whispered softly:
“To become like this… we can live by eating stone, my lord…”
(End of chapter)