Chapter 970: Nightfall

The arcane carriage glided steadily along the broad avenue leading to the Obsidian Palace.

The glow from the magic crystal street lamps swept past the windows in a steady stream.

The seat beside him was empty—no sign that anyone had ever sat there. It seemed the carriage had only ever held two occupants: a trusted attendant at the reins, and an imperial duke wielding great power.

Duke Perdin’s face was grave. He extended his mental senses outward, but detected no lingering magical fluctuations, not even a trace of life force nearby. He glanced at the attendant in the front seat, who looked bewildered by recent events but seemed to sense his master’s gaze from behind.

“Sir, is something wrong?” the attendant asked.

“…No, nothing,” Perdin replied in a low voice, reaching out to touch the empty seat beside him. The leather was cold to the touch—no warmth remained from a human presence.

The duke’s expression darkened further, his eyes clouded with thought. Outside the window, flickering neon lights and faint strains of music suddenly caught his attention.

From the corner of his eye, he saw towering buildings lining the left side of the street. The spires of the Saint Jorem War God Cathedral rose above them, while on the right, the bustling Van Narian Salon came into view—the carriage had just passed its entrance, and the noise filtered in through the glass.

“We’ve just passed the Van Narian district?” Perdin’s pupils narrowed slightly as he looked up and asked the driver.

“Yes, sir,” the attendant answered promptly. “We just passed the Van Narian Salon. It’ll be a while before we reach the Obsidian Palace. Would you like to rest?”

“…” Perdin was silent for two seconds, then shook his head. “No. Increase speed. Let’s get to the Obsidian Palace as soon as possible.”

Though puzzled, the attendant did not question the order and immediately complied.

The black arcane carriage accelerated through the sparsely populated streets of the night. After some time, the imposing silhouette of the Obsidian Palace finally appeared before Perdin’s eyes. Yet a lingering unease gnawed at the old duke’s heart. His mind replayed the strange, sudden visit from Malm Dunit, and the cryptic words the man had spoken. But as he gazed upon the palace’s spires and walls, his anxiety gradually eased.

The guards on night watch inspected the carriage and verified the occupants. Duke Perdin stepped into the palace and was led by a lady-in-waiting toward Rosetta Augustus’s private reception chamber.

“Is Lady Diana not on duty tonight?” he asked casually, glancing at the woman walking just ahead of him.

“She has other assignments,” the lady-in-waiting replied respectfully. “By His Majesty’s orders.”

“Hm.” Perdin nodded briefly and said no more.

As they passed through the final archway leading to the inner court, Perdin looked up at the familiar roof and columns—classical multi-faceted pillars supporting the corridor, their capitals extending beams in four directions, each carved with reliefs of heroic figures. Near the arch, all the beams and sculptures connected, gilded in gold. Black and red banners hung solemnly on either side, grand and imposing.

It was like the throat of some colossal beast. Perhaps only by building one’s home like this could a mortal symbolize imperial majesty.

A sudden, inexplicable feeling of awe stirred within Perdin’s heart. He shook his head and stepped through the gate.

…

Inside Rosetta Augustus’s private reception chamber, the lights were bright, and a faint scent of incense lifted the spirits of all who entered. Soft music played from somewhere, gently coaxing visitors into relaxation.

The empire’s brilliant ruler sat in his favorite high-backed chair. When Perdin entered, Rosetta was bent over a thick tome, absorbed in its pages.

“Your Majesty,” Perdin greeted with a bow. “I have arrived.”

“Oh, Perdin—you came earlier than I expected.” Rosetta looked up and smiled faintly. He stood, marking the page with a bookmark before setting the book aside.

The cover faced up, and Perdin caught the gilded title in the corner of his eye: Society and Machines. He recognized the book well—he had read much of it. Rosetta Augustus had commissioned copies to be printed and gifted to select nobles and officials. As the emperor’s most trusted noble representative, Perdin naturally had one.

The book was by Cecil, and Perdin had to admit many of its insights were enlightening. He had been impressed by the clear yet overlooked principles it laid out. Yet now, seeing the book resting on the table, a certain unease stirred within him.

But this was no time to dwell on Cecil’s “way of thinking.” Perdin shifted his focus back to Rosetta.

“Your Majesty, you summoned me late at night because…?”

Rosetta’s gaze swept the room. The few attendants and senior ladies-in-waiting quietly slipped out. Once only the two of them remained, the ruler nodded gravely.

“Malm Dunit was called by the Lord tonight—about four hours ago.”

Perdin’s breath caught sharply. His heart seemed to skip a beat. All the unease he had been harboring suddenly connected. Rosetta noticed immediately and fixed him with a concerned look.

“Lord Perdin, your reaction is unusual. What do you know?”

“Your Majesty,” Perdin inhaled deeply, his expression grave, “I saw Malm Dunit tonight—on the way here. But his appearance was strange, the whole encounter… felt deeply unnatural.”

“Tell me everything—every detail,” Rosetta commanded.

“Yes,” Perdin nodded and began recounting the bizarre experience. “It happened about an hour ago, as I passed the Van Narian district near the ‘Salon.’ There were no witnesses besides me. At that moment…”

He told the story succinctly, reconstructing the eerie encounter as clearly as he could. As he finished, Rosetta’s brow furrowed tightly, his expression darkening.

“That could have been an illusion, or some kind of mental projection,” Perdin speculated. “Either way, it’s serious. The War God Church’s abnormalities have spread to its highest ranks. If the pope himself, Malm Dunit, is the source of this mutation, then our contingency plans may…”

Rosetta cut him off sharply. “Have you considered that this abnormality didn’t spread upward, but originated at the very top?”

Perdin’s eyes widened, then he fell into deep thought. After a moment, he looked up.

“Your Majesty, is it certain that Malm Dunit was called by the Lord? Are there more details?”

“The news hasn’t been made public. Only the Grant Cathedral and you and I know. You understand the tradition: whenever the War God Church’s pope dies, the royal family must be informed immediately to maintain stability. The Grant Cathedral fulfilled this duty well this time. But after that, things became strange,” Rosetta explained. “After reporting the pope’s death, the Grant Cathedral refused the royal delegation’s normal rites for the body, giving no reason. They also cut off all communication with the Obsidian Palace.”

“They cut off communication with the Obsidian Palace?” Perdin was stunned. “Then what is happening at the Grant Cathedral now…?”

“Diana is investigating. I’m awaiting her report,” Rosetta said. “I summoned you because we must prepare for a worse scenario.”

“A worse… scenario?”

“The War God’s priests and ascetics are the most formidable combatants among the clergy. Recent developments have made them extremely tense,” Rosetta said slowly. “The Royal Knights and Obsidian Guard have been deployed around the Grant Cathedral, Saint Jorem, and Saint Matim War God Churches. But we must plan further.

“If, as we discussed, the War God’s clergy might collectively lose control and go berserk, they could act with madness and unpredictability beyond normal humans. Facing such a threat within the city is a challenge. Young Hadiren may lack the experience to handle such complexity.

“Be prepared. If necessary, we may have to deploy the Protectorate Knights—though that would be the worst-case scenario.”

“Could it really come to that?” Perdin frowned deeply. “The Protectorate Knights only act when the capital faces an existential threat during war…”

“If the empire’s largest church goes completely rogue in Aldern, the situation won’t be much better than an enemy siege,” Rosetta said slowly. “I don’t want it to come to that… but from the first signs of the War God Church’s abnormalities to this deterioration, time has been too short. We lack sufficient preparation. And without solid evidence and justification, we cannot take harsher measures against the church. You must be ready, Lord Perdin.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Then let us discuss some details…”

…

Deep within the Grant Cathedral, silence and darkness reigned. Along the corridor leading to the inner sanctuary, countless wall niches once held flickering candles, but now all were extinguished. The radiant light that once illuminated the sanctuary had vanished, leaving only a single row of candles hanging from the ceiling to provide the faintest glow, preventing the long hallway from falling into complete darkness.

According to the sacred texts of the War God Church, the candles in these niches are only extinguished when the church’s highest authority—the divine’s earthly representative—is called by the Lord.

They remain unlit for ten full days and nights, until a new church leader receives enlightenment, passes the trials, and successfully takes up the papal staff. Only then will the “God-given flame” reignite them.

In the dim corridor, fully armored ecclesiastical knights stood silently between pillars and niches. Battle priests and senior clerics guarding the doors stood like statues before the great gates.

It was early winter, and a thick fog had already settled over Aldern. The starlight struggled to pierce through the clouds and mist blanketing the plains, casting the imperial capital into an even deeper darkness beneath the night sky. Yet for the clerics within the Grant Cathedral, the darkness inside this sacred sanctuary was far heavier than that outside.

A faint breeze stirred through the dim corridor, slipping past the vigilant eyes of the church guards.

No sign of life. No trace of magic leaking out. Not even the slightest fluctuation in heat. The elite supernatural sentinels patrolling the hallway remained utterly unaware that an uninvited guest had crossed their defenses right under their noses, slipping into the innermost prayer chamber of the sanctuary.

Malm Duniet’s prayer room was empty, save for a single oil lamp casting a weak, flickering glow over the center of the room. In that hazy light, a figure clad in black with dark hair materialized from the air.

Diana deactivated the cloaking effect of her light-bending field and, maintaining her precise awareness of the surroundings, began to survey the modest chamber.

As expected, the corpse was long gone—most likely reduced to ashes by now.

No matter how the former pope had met his end, or what twisted, horrific remains he had left behind, all that was left now was a handful of ashes and a wisp of smoke.

But that didn’t mean the prayer room held no clues.

After a quiet scan of the room, Diana pressed her hand to her temple. A faint mechanical whirring sounded as the skin on her forehead split open along a seam. Parts of her “skull” retracted, pushed back by an internal mechanism, revealing intricate, softly glowing structures beneath. Beams of rapidly flickering light shot out, scanning every inch of the chamber.

At the same time, the black-haired maid’s eyes grew cold and detached. The photosensitive units deep within her pupils adjusted minutely, beginning to meticulously record every trace the scan detected.

Under the probing rays, vast swaths of the floor, walls, furnishings—even the ceiling—glowed faintly with an eerie fluorescence.

It was the residue of bloodstains—horrifying remnants that could only be revealed after an adult’s entire body had been drenched in blood. The clerics responsible for cleansing this place had already used alchemical potions and divine rites to erase all visible traces of blood, but their efforts had clearly escaped no detail from Diana’s vision.

Suddenly, her gaze fixed on something.

She looked toward the small platform holding the oil lamp. On the vertical surface near the floor beneath it, a faint line of letters—once smeared in blood—glowed softly in fluorescent script before her eyes.

“Devout prayers offered, beseeching mercy, having received the holy will… as you wished.”

(Friendly recommendation: We, the Wild Monsters, Don’t Want to Die—fantasy genre, imaginative and mind-bending. That’s all for now. Thanks for reading!)

(End of chapter)