Chapter 792: Approaching the Nightmare

For a moment, Gawain was stunned—Veronica’s words were completely unexpected.

“The scent of a god…” After a few seconds, he rubbed his chin and broke the silence, speaking slowly, “What kind of scent exactly? Is she a devotee of some deity? Or does she carry a high-level relic? The ‘scent of a god’ can mean many things.”

“The aura is extremely faint, and there seems to be some anomaly—whether it’s corruption or a ‘divine blessing’ is unclear. But she’s probably not a god’s chosen,” Veronica said seriously. “First, there’s no intelligence indicating that Mathilda August is a devout follower of any god. According to Typhon’s official records, the August family isn’t close to the church. Only Prince Hadrian has ties to the War God’s church, but no family member is openly a believer. Second, if she were a god’s chosen, she would inevitably emit uncontrollable divine energy, and her entire demeanor would change. Since gods exist on a plane far above humans, such changes can’t be hidden or reversed.”

“Uncontrollable divine energy, huh…” Gawain listened but suddenly thought of something else, glancing at Veronica. “Like the divine aura you carry?”

“…Exactly,” Veronica nodded. “The holy light affinity I have is exactly that kind of uncontrollable divine aura—in strict terms, I am indeed a chosen of the God of Holy Light.”

Gawain looked at Veronica, faint holy light swirling around her, and thought of her true identity as a Renegade. An indescribable absurdity washed over him. “…To be someone who essentially defies the gods, yet truly be a chosen of the God of Holy Light—Gondor’s technology really is world-class.”

“Gods cannot directly intervene in the mortal realm. Their responses and feedback follow certain rules,” Veronica smiled gently. “As long as you understand these rules and find the loopholes, I can become a chosen of any god—except the Goddess of Magic. She doesn’t respond to any prayers beyond what’s necessary, nor does she select any worldly representatives.”

Gawain’s mouth twitched.

So by exploiting loopholes, you can become a chosen of any god without getting struck down by their myriad divine powers? That’s basically the grand champion of cross-domain double-dealing. This level might even surpass Daniel…

But while Veronica spoke casually, Gawain knew this “loophole chosen” trick wasn’t something anyone could replicate. Understanding a god’s rules and finding loopholes sounds easy, but in reality, it demands absolute control over one’s mind—every thought, word, and deed must perfectly mimic a fanatic’s standards without raising suspicion, while simultaneously maintaining the Renegade’s free will by creating a “real controlling persona” deep inside. This is beyond the reach of normal humans.

Only Veronica/Ophelia—who has already transformed her soul and, strictly speaking, is no longer human—could pull off such a high-risk act right under the God of Holy Light’s nose.

Gawain shook his head, pulling back his wandering thoughts and furrowing his brow. “If it’s just a divine aura, that doesn’t prove much. She might simply be carrying a high-level relic. As Typhon’s princess, it wouldn’t be strange for her to have something of that caliber.”

Veronica shook her head. “There are many relics under various churches, but most are artifacts left behind by mortal priests who performed miracles or made noble sacrifices. Though powerful, these are still ‘mundane’ objects. True ‘holy relics’ imbued with divine essence are extremely rare—usually fragments of eternal stone tablets, impossible to copy or fake. Under normal circumstances, they never leave church headquarters, let alone be carried by someone who isn’t even a devout believer—no matter if she’s a princess.”

Gawain curled his fingers against his chin. “Can you tell which god the aura belongs to?”

“No. I can only tell it’s divine in origin, with a hint of knowledge corruption, but I can’t identify the deity.”

“Is it dangerous?” Gawain asked again.

“Just the aura itself isn’t inherently powerful. It won’t cause corruption or spread,” Veronica shook her head slightly. “But whether Mathilda herself is ‘harmful’… that remains unknown. After all, Typhon’s church forces are completely different from Ansu’s, and the August family remains a mystery to us.”

Gawain pondered quietly. After a moment, he exhaled softly and leaned back in his chair. “Let’s hope she’s just a carrier.

“Since you can sense this aura, keep a close eye on the Typhon princess these next few days. But if she shows no abnormal signs, don’t take any action.

“Guests have come a long way—we should treat them well.”

Veronica bowed her head slightly. “Understood.”

…

Before the formal talks began, the envoys from Typhon were given ample rest and invited to tour the Supreme Administrative Hall in the government district, as well as the adjacent Mage Quarter.

This city, hailed as the “Capital of Arcane Engineering,” left a deep impression on the visitors.

Clean, new, beautiful, and livable—it was a completely different kind of city from the old feudal royal capitals. Mathilda, visiting for the first time, couldn’t help but compare it to her own imperial capital, Aldern.

As the sun dipped lower, half of the great sun had already slipped below the horizon, its golden rays slanting across the city. The distant dark mountains shimmered with a golden glow, jagged and sprawling behind the urban backdrop. This breathtaking scene surged into the giant picture frame formed by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Mathilda stood before it, silently watching the foreign city bathed in sunset, speechless for a long time.

Count Duller stood behind her, also gazing at the view, unable to help but sigh, “I once thought Aldern was the only city worthy of the word ‘majestic’… but now it seems there’s more than one such place in the world.”

“In terms of planning, Aldern’s layout from two centuries ago is already outdated. The demands of arcane industry for transport and sewage are pushing us to renovate the imperial capital,” Mathilda broke the silence softly. “Whether we like it or not, the planning of Cecil City will serve as a major reference for us—after all, this is where arcane technology originated.”

Count Duller’s tone held a trace of helplessness. “Aldern was once the most advanced city in planning.”

“Nothing stays advanced forever. Our ancestors two hundred years ago couldn’t have imagined a factory needing so many raw materials, or a road needing to accommodate so many vehicles,” Mathilda’s voice remained calm. “We once looked at Ansu as a decaying giant, but now we must do everything to avoid becoming that decaying giant ourselves.”

Just half a day of touring had already shaken the delegation deeply.

The Typhon people were proud—pride born of their martial spirit and their status as the strongest nation among humanity. But pride is not blindness. Those sent as envoys were far from foolish; from the moment they left their homeland, every one of them had sharpened their eyes. Now, they saw something that made everyone uneasy.

At least on the surface, the prosperity and advancement of the Cecil Empire’s capital surpassed Aldern.

“Endersha’s judgment and concerns were correct. This country is rising rapidly,” Mathilda’s gaze passed through the window, resting on the bustling district opposite the Autumn Palace. Her supernatural vision allowed her to see many details on the streets—contented residents, new signboards, thriving commercial streets. “Also, Count Duller, have you noticed something…”

“What do you mean?”

“This city seems to have no slums.”

“That’s true… at least from the districts we’ve passed and the intelligence we’ve gathered, there doesn’t seem to be any real slum areas,” Duller thought for a moment, nodding. “It’s puzzling… where do the poor live? Could they be outside the city? That might explain why the city stays so clean, and why everyone we’ve seen looks relatively well-off and spirited.”

Mathilda glanced at Duller and shook her head slightly, but said nothing.

After a few more seconds of silence, she spoke casually, “Tomorrow, before the first meeting begins, we’ll have a chance to visit their Imperial Academy. That’s very important—one of the main reasons we came here.

“They say their academy breaks conventions more thoroughly than ours. All commoners and nobles study in the same school, even living in the same district. We need to see it with our own eyes, understand how they plan it, and how the academy is managed.

“Other than that, let’s just do our duty as guests.”

Count Duller nodded slightly, then left the room with its large floor-to-ceiling windows.

As the sun sank lower, Mathilda turned away from the window and walked to the bar on one side of the room. She poured herself a glass of light wine, then lifted the crystal-clear goblet to her eyes. Through the swirling liquid, she watched the almost frozen golden light of dusk pouring into the room.

The next moment, the twilight light truly seemed to freeze near the window, spreading like a slowly bleeding paint that quickly covered everything in her sight.

Where the dusk light touched, objects appeared to undergo centuries of weathering—the vibrant tapestries lost their color, exquisite wooden furniture cracked and faded, the room’s furnishings vanished one by one, weathering away. Even the layout of the room rapidly shifted into something else entirely.

Before Mathilda’s eyes, the once bright and new room transformed swiftly into the corridor of an ancient, silent palace. From all directions came suspicious, malevolent whispers, as if countless invisible guests had gathered inside this “palace,” inching closer to Mathilda with ill intent.

On the wall nearest her, a deep black door suddenly appeared. Behind it came steady knocking, accompanied by indescribable hoarse murmurs, interspersed with chilling sounds of chewing and swallowing—as if a ravenous beast crouched outside, pretending to be human, patiently knocking on the door.

Mathilda calmly watched the now twisted scene before her. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a delicate metal vial, twisted off the cap, and swallowed the bitter, spicy potion inside.

As the sharp liquid slid down her throat, the whispers approaching from all sides gradually faded, and the distorted vision quickly returned to normal. Mathilda still stood in the Autumn Palace room, though her face was slightly paler than before.

She reached out and picked up the wine glass she had just set down on the nearby bar. Her hand trembled slightly, but she still lifted the glass and drained it in one gulp.

A fleeting metallic tang of blood spread through her mouth, but it quickly faded. Matilda closed her eyes briefly, took several deep breaths, and when she opened them again, her gaze was calm and steady—deep and still like water.

With madness growing relentlessly within her, she had spent her life fighting it. Yet, after reaching adulthood, she found herself slowly slipping into the nightmare that every member of the Augustus family was doomed to face—sooner or later, to be consumed by it.

This was the fate of every Augustus.

A faint, self-mocking smile tugged at the corner of Matilda’s lips, but she quickly suppressed the emotion that shouldn’t have surfaced. Turning away, she walked over to the desk nearby.

On the desk lay an open book—not some arcane grimoire or important state document, but a casual read she’d picked up while visiting the Mage District, freely available to all citizens of the Cecil Empire:

Advanced Mathematics.

The contents were strange and difficult to grasp at first glance, but it was said that students across Cecil were utterly absorbed by it—so much so that they carried a copy everywhere, even while eating or walking. That must mean the knowledge within was truly important.

Having successfully resisted the nightmare and the madness, Matilda felt she needed something different to clear her mind… to reset her mood.

(End of chapter)