Chapter 887: Omen

The solemn, majestic tolling of the bell echoed through the sanctuary. Deep resonances filled the War God’s Grant Cathedral beneath the steel dome. Matilda rose from the bench and addressed the elderly pope seated before her.

“The bell has rung. I should return to the Obsidian Palace now. If you’re still interested in my experiences in Cecil, I can share more with you next time.”

“I look forward to it,” Malm Dunit said with a peaceful, kindly smile. His gentle demeanor hardly matched that of a battle priest who had charged on countless battlefields. Only his broad, sturdy frame and the sharp glint in his eyes silently attested to the strength he still possessed—and to his unquestioned authority over the church. “Give my regards to Rosetta—he hasn’t visited the War God’s Grant Cathedral in quite some time.”

Matilda bowed her head slightly. “I will.”

No matter how much the Augustus family kept their distance from the gods and the church, regular contact with church representatives and visits to the cathedral were duties the royal family could not shirk. These were public displays for the nobles and common folk alike, and they had to be done.

Gathering her attendants and guards, Matilda left the imposing hall.

From the inner sanctuary to the exit stretched a long corridor.

The War God’s cult revered iron as a sacred metal. Black steel frames and classical iron sculptures adorned the corridor leading out of the cathedral. Countless candles flickered in wall niches, casting a warm glow. Between the pillars and narrow windows hung banners depicting various war scenes and sacred maxims, decorating the walls on both sides.

Matilda walked down the long corridor, the candlelight wavering in her vision. As she neared the exit, she instinctively slowed her pace. At that moment, a figure appeared naturally at her side—a black-haired, dark-eyed woman with a dignified yet gentle face, dressed in a maid’s long gown.

This woman was one of the maids trailing behind Matilda, but until she stepped forward, no one had noticed her presence. No one saw how she slipped past the other maids and attendants to quietly appear beside the princess.

“Lady Diana,” Matilda whispered to the black-haired maid, “did you feel… something strange in the cathedral today? Some kind of… atmosphere?”

“I didn’t notice anything, Your Highness,” Diana replied softly, matching Matilda’s pace with small steps. “Did you sense something?”

“No, perhaps it’s just that I haven’t been here in a long time. The cathedral’s heavy, somber decor unsettles me a bit,” Matilda shook her head, then changed the subject. “It seems Pope Malm has noticed the recent changes in Aldern. Fresh air is finally blowing through the cathedral.”

Diana’s tone was gentle. “Though His Holiness Malm pays little attention to worldly affairs, he’s never been a stubborn traditionalist. When new things come into his view, he’s always eager to learn.”

Even as a mere maid, she spoke of the pope with calm respect.

Matilda nodded slightly, clearly approving of Diana’s insight. Then she quickened her pace, leading her retinue swiftly down the corridor.

The candle flames flickered, though no breeze stirred the air. Yet each flame danced in a different direction, as if an invisible wind swirled in a dimension beyond human perception, disturbing the sanctuary’s silence.

…

Malm Dunit finished a brief prayer, opened his eyes, and exhaled softly. He reached for a cup of herbal wine brought by an attendant and took a small, measured sip.

The spicy, bittersweet taste spread through his throat, invigorating his spirit. He waited quietly for the revitalizing effect to take hold, then casually asked, “Has the princess and her party left?”

A deacon in deep black priestly robes bowed beside the pope and reported respectfully, “They have already departed the Grant Cathedral, Your Holiness.”

“Hm,” Malm nodded. “Then we shall continue our discussion about the festival later.”

“Your Holiness, perhaps…” The deacon glanced at the old pope with concern, hesitating. “You have received many visitors today. Maybe you should rest. Your energy is easily drained at times like this.”

“I am not so fragile,” Malm shook his head. “And the trials the Lord sends cannot be avoided—especially around the annual festival.”

As he spoke, the old pope traced an X over his chest and whispered the War God’s name.

An invisible power surged through the cathedral—divine, vast, and unfathomable. Malm sensed faint ripples in the air, the subtle undulations of the god’s power wavering between the mortal realm and the divine kingdom.

The War God was a deity unusually close to humanity—closer even than the gentle, just Holy Light. Perhaps because humans were inherently a warlike species, or because the War God cared more about the mortal world than other gods. Whatever the reason, this closeness had profound effects.

It granted the War God’s priests more potent and accessible divine magic, and allowed the god’s power to “bleed through” into the mortal world in cyclical waves. Now, a new wave of this divine “resonance” was approaching, and signs had already begun to appear in the Grant Cathedral, the place closest to the god’s will.

For seasoned War God priests, this was normal—just a natural phenomenon.

But this year’s resonance… seemed stronger than ever before.

“Your Holiness,” the deacon’s voice interrupted Malm’s thoughts. “More and more clergy have reported hearing strange noises during prayer, especially inside or near the cathedral.”

“The Lord is drawing near this world again,” Malm said gravely. “Human minds cannot fully comprehend the gods’ words. Knowledge beyond our understanding manifests as noise—this is normal. We must keep our priests devout, their hearts and minds aligned with the divine teachings. That way, they can better grasp the Lord’s will, and the ‘noise’ will lessen.”

The deacon bowed deeply. “Yes, Your Holiness.”

After a brief pause, the deacon hesitated, then asked, “Your Holiness, this ‘resonance’ seems unusually strong. Could it be a sign that the Lord is about to issue a decree?”

Malm glanced at him, lowering his eyelids. Folding his hands before him, he said, “Do not speculate on the Lord’s will. Our duty is to serve with reverence.”

The deacon accepted the admonition, lowering his eyes and folding his hands, quietly reciting prayers to the god. His voice was steady and solemn, sacred words flowing from his lips.

But suddenly, Malm frowned. Amid the deacon’s words, he caught faint, strange murmurs—odd echoes mixed into the human voice, as if a foreign throat uttered whispers no human could produce. The noise was brief, and the deacon’s prayer ended moments later. The devout priest opened his eyes, calm and clear, showing no sign of awareness.

He seemed completely unaware of what had just occurred.

Malm withdrew his gaze and calmed the extraordinary power stirring within him. “Summon the bishops. We must discuss the festival.”

…

The Shield of the Guardian lay quietly on the table. The ancient Cecil crest had corroded into a rusted, blurred patch on the metal surface. Gawain’s fingers traced the weathered metal slowly, when Amber’s voice came from beside him.

“You’ve been staring at that shield a lot these past few days—are you lost in memories? Reflecting on the past? Feeling nostalgic? That’s a sure sign you’re getting old…”

Gawain glanced at the half-elf, who was openly shirking work beside him. “Running around during work hours just to get a scolding from me?”

Amber waved her hand. “I’m not just wandering—I came to report something important.”

Gawain set the shield aside and frowned slightly. “What’s the matter?”

Amber stepped forward, pulling some folded documents from her pocket and placing them on Gawain’s desk. “I’ve organized everything.”

Gawain opened the papers, marked with the internal security department’s seal, and scanned the printed text quickly. After reading, he raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly. “So, our shadow plays are a hit among Aldern’s bourgeoisie?”

“After overcoming initial promotion hurdles, this fresh form of entertainment easily captured the city’s middle class,” Amber explained casually. “Even simple plots engross the audience. The shadow theater fits perfectly with Aldern’s citizens’ mindset. Tickets are affordable but still require some extra spending. Respectable citizens need to prove they can ‘enjoy life’ through this cheap yet trendy pastime. And since it’s a ‘theater,’ it’s become a symbol of refined taste for Typhon’s commoners.”

“Of course, these are secondary reasons. The main draw is that it’s genuinely ‘fun’—and on this invisible battlefield, ‘fun’ is the most powerful weapon I’ve seen.”

Gawain listened to Amber’s confident analysis and couldn’t help but smile at how much she’d grown over the past two years.

“That’s good news. Our first phase is succeeding,” Gawain nodded, placing the documents on the desk. “What comes next is simpler and clearer.

“Rapidly produce large quantities of new shadow plays. They don’t need to be high quality, just interesting enough to attract more Typhon citizens. Avoid overtly promoting Cecil to prevent Aldern’s suspicion or resistance, but frequently reinforce Cecil’s advanced image in the plays…

“Increase investment in foreign newspapers and magazines. Recruit locals to create ‘academic authorities’—they don’t have to be genuine experts, but as long as enough papers and magazines declare them so, many Typhon citizens will believe it…”

Gawain laid out his ideas one by one, explaining the plan he had devised to dismantle the Typhon people’s collective consciousness and shake the very foundations of their society. Amber listened intently as he spoke, and only after he finished did she let out a sigh. “Honestly, I think what you’re doing is scarier than any battlefield slaughter…”

Gawain glanced at her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because battlefield killings only take down soldiers,” Amber said with a wry smile, “but the weapon you’re building can bring down an entire nation. And the worst part? That nation won’t even realize it’s falling until it’s too late.”

There was a brief silence—two seconds—before Gawain finally spoke. “You never used to think this deeply.”

“Yeah, well, I never used to deal with things this deep either,” Amber shrugged. “If I’ve gotten sly and cunning, it’s definitely because of you.”

Gawain listened to her casual teasing without a hint of irritation. Instead, he fell silent for a few thoughtful seconds, then let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Sometimes I feel like my methods aren’t exactly clean,” he admitted. “But we’re facing a Typhon that’s always ready to snap at us… I’m genuinely wary of this old empire with its ill intentions. So I have to keep turning up the dose of ‘poison,’” he said, shaking his head and brushing the topic aside. “Enough about that. Next, I want to try something, and I’ll need you to watch over me.”

Amber’s face lit up. “Hey, that’s my specialty—guarding… Wait, isn’t the Evernighters’ neural network already nationalized? No need to risk sneaking in anymore, right?”

Gawain knew she’d misunderstood and couldn’t help but laugh, waving his hand. Then he tapped the Guardian’s Shield resting on the table with his finger. “Not sneaking into a network—I want to try ‘talking’ to this shield.”

Amber’s eyes shifted, a strange look crossing her face. “…You want to talk to a shield? I knew something was off with you staring at that thing all the time lately. And you kept saying it was nothing. Maybe you’ve been dwelling on old memories too much, and that’s why…”

Gawain gave Amber a steady look, then tapped the shield on the table again. “I don’t mind using this to slam you against the wall.”

Amber immediately shrank back, glancing at the legendary shield. It was much broader than the Pathfinder’s Sword—if he actually did throw her against a wall with it, she’d be plastered on there so evenly there’d be no peeling her off, let alone scrubbing.

“I’m just joking,” she said, shrinking her neck. “Don’t be so brutal all the time…”

Ignoring Amber’s quiet grumbling behind the “Empire’s Shame,” Gawain refocused on the Guardian’s Shield before him.

After days of hesitation and weighing his options, he finally decided to try something—using the same approach he had with the Eternal Stone Tablet—to reach out and connect with this “Legacy of the Stars” in front of him.

(End of chapter)