Chapter 654: A Crisis Clearly Orchestrated

When Gawain saw the footage transmitted from the Iron Throne—Unit Zero, he couldn’t help but let out a soft breath.

Those lunatics had actually created a counterfeit “Great Stag Amon”…

The fake was clearly out of control. The shattered flesh and grotesque form were undeniable proof. Yet, despite its monstrous appearance, the sacred radiance surrounding it and the antlers, forged like light itself, were indistinguishable from the real “Great Stag Amon.” Without a doubt, this was an astonishing creation—though an enemy, and one that had taken a wrong path, the bioengineering technology wielded by the Cult of All Things’ End still left Gawain in awe.

They must have harvested genetic material from humans—genes originating from the natural gods—and then used some kind of reverse-engineering process to shape this abomination. The level of technological prowess…

Couldn’t they have put it to better use?

Gawain could only sigh at this thought. But the Cult’s leadership had likely been wiped out in the initial chaos when this terrifying artificial god awoke and went berserk. His questions and frustrations had nowhere to go. The only thing left was to find a way to deal with this colossal mess.

He glanced at the arcane network terminal before him. A holographic projection hovered midair, showing a half-length portrait of Commander Mariland. Behind her, the Iron Throne’s tactical command center buzzed with activity—several holograms flickered in the background, and numerous clerks clutching documents hurried through the carriage. Clearly, the appearance of the “Great Stag” had everyone on edge.

“What’s the current situation? Is that… monster still in the same place?”

“Yes,” Mariland’s voice was slightly distorted, likely due to interference from the powerful energy field saturating the Holy Spirit Plains. “During the initial encounter, it showed extreme aggression, destroying two of our armored vehicles and killing the soldiers inside. But it soon ceased movement and began wandering the plains…

“I’ve dispatched several squads to monitor it from a distance. So far, we’ve confirmed one thing—when our troops approach within a certain range, it activates and attacks. But after some time or if it can’t find a target, it stops…

“Its range of activity is gradually expanding, and our observers report it’s becoming increasingly restless.

“We suspect it hasn’t fully awakened yet. Maybe it will take a few days, or perhaps just a day or two, before it’s completely ‘awake’…”

Gawain listened intently to Mariland’s report. Nearby, another hologram displayed footage of the “artificial god.”

The grotesque creature sprinted wildly across the plains, unleashing attacks resembling plasma jets that scorched deep furrows into the earth. It emitted frenzied sounds—an incoherent cacophony beyond human language—that spread across the battlefield. The crystalline giants nearby grew even more frenzied in response. Wherever it roamed, a radiant glow followed, and birds, beasts, even the crystalline giants fell in droves, their bodies blossoming with countless flowers and vines.

In some distant shots, it wandered aimlessly, seemingly confused, but would suddenly burst into a mad sprint, attacking indiscriminately.

All signs pointed to one thing: madness.

This was the “divine power” manufactured by the Cult of All Things’ End.

According to Mariland’s report, the creature was incredibly powerful. It was almost impervious to main battle tank shells. In theory, even fixed ground artillery or the most powerful calibrated beams might not be able to kill it. Its offensive capabilities were terrifying—energy beams it summoned could easily slice through tank hulls and penetrate the shields crafted by the Steel Ambassador. It could also summon strange, hard-to-defend supernatural forces. Without shields, any living being approaching it would be transformed into vines and blooming flowers. This meant that conventional ground forces standing within a certain radius would be wiped out en masse…

This was the most formidable enemy the Cecil Legion had ever faced.

Yet Gawain judged this Great Stag to be a failed imitation. He even suspected the Cult had only managed to create a monster with some semblance of divine power.

Because the creature’s flesh and blood were not as invincible as he had imagined. Although the Warhammer-I’s main cannon inflicted minimal damage, it still caused harm and hindered the beast—if mere mortals could damage it, that was proof enough that this Great Stag was a crude monstrosity.

With the full might of the Southern Territories, and at great cost, relying on overwhelming long-range firepower exceeding the creature’s regenerative limits and pre-set traps, it might still be possible to kill this “artificial god” independently—this was Gawain’s assessment based on the intelligence.

But he had no intention of sacrificing so much just to deal with this “fake.” With the empire still unstable, hollow inside and surrounded by enemies, he had to conserve strength. This threat… he would leave to those ravenous deep-sea visitors.

It was time to end this farce.

The monster had likely just broken free from its “incubation,” still wandering the plains in a half-dream, half-awake state. It would soon fully awaken and instinctively unleash destruction—but before that, the traps needed to be ready.

…

Southern Territories, Cecil City, by the Whitewater River. A fast mechanical vessel bound for Rockfort was docked at the pier. Several arcane-powered vehicles bearing the Sword and Plow insignia were parked along the wide road leading to the pier. People preparing to board were saying their goodbyes to friends and family nearby. The sea witch Tyr lounged lazily by the dock, watching the scene with mild boredom.

She was “lying down,” not “sitting,” because she was currently using her fish tail.

Humans were truly strange creatures… or perhaps all short-lived, fragile species looked odd to a sea witch. These people valued even brief separations so much that, even if only a few hundred kilometers apart or separated for a short time, they would spend half a day saying goodbye, sometimes with what seemed like ritualistic gestures—exchanging tokens, offering blessings… At first, it was somewhat interesting, but after a while, it just felt tedious.

At least for the lazy Miss Tyr, these things were far less comfortable than basking in the sun and napping on the dock.

Tyr yawned deeply, stretching from head to tail tip, then flicked her tail, flipping herself over on the concrete pier with a splash, and resumed sunbathing and dozing.

Suddenly, a shadow approached, blocking the warm, comfortable sunlight and rousing the nearly asleep Tyr.

The sea witch lifted her head to see the figure—a woman dressed in a simple white dress, her gray-white hair pinned back, holding a wide-brimmed sunhat recently popular in the Southern Territories. A prominent scar marked her cheek. It was someone familiar:

Miss Jennipero, director of the Rune Research Institute and Cecil’s chief rune expert.

Tyr rubbed her eyes. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your friends?”

“There’s nothing to say goodbye to. I’ll be back soon anyway,” Jennipero replied with a slow smile. “I came to say hello to you…”

“You and your formalities with everyone are so hard to get used to,” Tyr yawned again. “Why say hello to me? I’m just sunbathing.”

“Thank you for entrusting us with those mysterious runes on you. According to reports from the front, they’ve indeed been effective, saving many soldiers’ lives,” Jennipero said sincerely, bowing her head. “It’s embarrassing, but we’ve only scratched the surface and haven’t yet unlocked their secrets…”

“Well, you’d better figure it out soon, because even we don’t know how those runes work,” Tyr said, tapping the ground with her tail. “Maybe someday I can take you to see the giant squid. You could study the patterns on its skin and figure things out… Your way of thinking and perceiving is different from ours sea witches’. Maybe you’ll see things we can’t?”

Jennipero’s smile brightened immediately. “I look forward to that day.”

“Enough about that,” Tyr propped herself up on her tail, wobbling slightly, and glanced at the mechanical vessel not far off. “…That’s the one heading to that Saint Suniel City, right? Gawain’s there?”

“Yes,” Jennipero paused briefly before answering. “They need a lot of manpower to restore order. The duke also requires a team of scholars to organize royal archives and the Mage Association’s records, preparing to inherit Ansu’s technological legacy… I’ve been assigned to lead a group of rune experts to assist.”

“I heard you came from that city,” Tyr said curiously, her tail flicking lightly on the concrete. “Do you know anyone there?”

Someone she knew…

Jennipero was silent for a moment, then turned her gaze toward the shimmering Whitewater River, the mechanical vessel folding its arcane wings, and the direction of the capital.

The chief runesmith smiled faintly. “Yes, I do.”

She then bid Tyr farewell and headed toward the docked vessel.

Tyr blinked, sensing a subtle shift in Jennipero’s emotions at that moment. But still unfamiliar with humans, she couldn’t quite place it. She shook her head, stretched lazily, and prepared to flip over again before sunset.

But today, she wasn’t going to get that chance.

Urgent footsteps approached from nearby, clearly heading her way. Tyr lifted her eyelids to see a young woman in a black uniform running toward her.

It was Joan, the dock district’s sheriff. She had a brother working in a factory—Tyr often came to the riverbank to sunbathe and knew the sheriff.

“Miss Tyr!” The young sheriff arrived quickly and saluted crisply. “The Administration Office sent a message. You’re requested to come to the council immediately.”

“Me? What’s going on?” Tyr scratched her head.

“I’m not sure… but Lady Hetty asked me to tell you this, saying you’d understand,” Joan said seriously. “‘Dinner is served. Time to eat.’”

“Dinner? Do I really need to go to the council for that…” Tyr was still half-dazed from the sun, but the next second she sprang up. “Dinner’s ready?! Got it—I’m on my way!”

Before she finished speaking, the sea witch had already dissolved into a mist of water, then shifted into her agile sea serpent form and sped away.

If you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, no one would believe such a big creature could move that fast…

…

Saint Suniel, Silver Fortress. Gawain had already established a connection with the Southern Territories.

“Our elemental warp tower is ready. Now, all we need is a guiding beacon,” the sea witch Tyr spoke solemnly, her image projected as a hologram from the arcane network terminal. “I’ll need a relatively stable environment—ideally somewhere near a river or some body of water. That’s where I’ll send out the signal to guide it. Then, you’ll have to find a way to lure that ‘stag’ right into the trap.”

“This is a risky operation,” Gawain frowned, his gaze slowly drifting over the map hanging on the nearby wall.

The sea witches can cross the endless sea through a method called ‘elemental warp,’ but the process causes a significant energy buildup. Even if the giant stag is disoriented, it’s unlikely to just stand still and wait for the warp to complete. To ensure the success of the hunt, the trap must be set up in advance at a different location, and then the stag must be coaxed into it somehow.

As he pondered, a plan began to take shape in Gawain’s mind.

(End of chapter)