Chapter 971: Like a Shadow

Beneath the small altar used for prayers, the words had been written—though the bloodstains had long since been wiped away, the faintly glowing traces remained vivid in Diana’s eyes. She saw the trembling, twisted strokes, each line seeming to pour out the writer’s entire strength, as if she could peer through them and witness the overwhelming emotion that had gripped Malm Dunit as he penned them—

A madness bordering on frenzy.

Diana tore her gaze away from the frenzied script and scanned the room once more. This time, she found nothing else—the priests responsible for the cleanup had been thorough and diligent.

The black-haired head maid blinked, then turned to leave the scene.

But just as she pivoted, a sudden surge of intense magical energy coalesced in the room—no, it appeared as if it had descended from nowhere, materializing out of thin air!

Diana spun around instantly. In the next moment, an invisible gust of magical wind swept through the prayer chamber. Wisps of black-and-red aura rose from the air, swirling like a vortex around the small altar. It was as if the blood once spilled here was flowing backward, returning to a body long since vanished. The dim little lamp on the altar flared to life, blazing fiercely. Within the sudden brightness, a tall, translucent figure took shape—an apparition woven from smoke and light, hovering in midair.

“Blasphemous heretic!” The shadowy, distorted figure glared furiously at Diana, who stood firm in the prayer room. The smoky visage faintly resembled Malm Dunit. With a roar, he suddenly spread his arms wide, as if embracing or offering himself, and cried out a fervent prayer: “Lord! Please send down the punishment of souls and destroy this heretic who defiles your sanctuary!”

The moment the phantom appeared, Diana assumed a defensive stance. Her eyes glimmered faintly, pale halos suddenly glowing at her limbs and torso. A barely perceptible shield enveloped her entire body. Then, as Malm Dunit’s prayer echoed, a hazy silhouette emerged—a giant clad in black armor, its face shrouded in dark mist, save for two blood-red eyes burning with murderous intent. It rose above Malm’s apparition, took a step forward in midair, and raised a fiery battle axe high before bringing it crashing down toward Diana.

The axe seemed unavoidable. Diana barely moved before the ethereal blade struck her head, then sliced through her body from skull to torso without hesitation.

But nothing happened.

She looked down at her unscathed form. In an instant, her figure began to fade rapidly, vanishing from the room in the blink of an eye.

The phantom armored giant hung motionless for a moment, then too began to dissolve and vanish. The prayer chamber was filled with Malm Dunit’s confused muttering: “…A pile of steel… no heart?”

Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor, accompanied by urgent, low-toned voices. The prayer room’s half-open door was flung wide, and a squad of fully armed church knights and numerous battle priests flooded into the small chamber.

The room was empty—no intruders, no strange phenomena. To the bewildered priests, only a small lamp glowed quietly nearby, casting a dim, drowsy light over the prayer room.

…

Ferdinand Wendell’s face was grave as his gaze slowly swept over the vast map of the empire. The painstakingly crafted map, the product of countless cartographers’ efforts, was mottled with rust-colored spots and patches scattered across the entire realm.

“For the first time, I realize just how deeply the church’s power has seeped into secular affairs—without any of us noticing,” the former wolf general, who rarely furrowed his brow even on the battlefield, now knit his brows tightly, his tone unusually grave. “It’s shocking.”

“This is the result of the royal family’s persistent suppression and checks over the past decade,” Rosetta glanced at the old duke beside her. “The faith in the God of War is tightly bound to the empire’s military might. This has indirectly made many military nobles also devotees of the war god. Their influence runs even deeper than the Holy Light Church’s sway in Ansu. For centuries, the people of Typhon have come to see the war god’s priests as reliable protectors and guides, making royal checks and suppression all the more difficult.”

“I know the resistance you faced, and for a long time… even I couldn’t understand some of your actions toward the church,” Ferdinand’s expression grew complex. “If not for Bard…”

“Speaking of which, I want to confirm something,” Rosetta interrupted suddenly. “You once had a ‘revelation’ in which you saw Bard abandoned by the gods, tormented and burned by the fire of faith. That vision came years after his disappearance… Given that, do you really believe Bard was still alive then?”

“Malm said it was a ‘warning’—that Bard had betrayed the gods, and the gods used the revelation to warn me. But I know Bard. He’s not the kind to betray the divine. He…” Ferdinand’s voice faltered, as if struggling to express his conflicted, shaken feelings.

Rosetta didn’t let him continue. “Enough, Duke Ferdinand. I understand how you feel—just as I understand Bard. Regardless, your doubts about the church and your decision not to have Andesha baptized now seem justified. Faith, which humanity has long relied upon… isn’t as safe as we imagined.”

“At the time, I didn’t think about all this. I just wanted to prevent Andesha from walking the same path until I understood what truly happened to Bard…” Ferdinand shook his head, unwilling to dwell on the past. He lifted his gaze back to the map. “You warned me long ago to keep a distance from the church. Now your warning has come true…”

His expression grew even more serious as he gestured, as if wielding an invisible sword. “Your Majesty, the truth behind the gods… is indeed as you said.”

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Rosetta said solemnly, “but Gawain Cecil has sent us abundant evidence and documents. And all of it… perfectly matches the current aberrations within the War God’s church.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Ferdinand nodded slowly, straightening up and saluting like a knight. “Then this is war. Allow me to take my leave and prepare for it.”

The aging former wolf general turned and strode steadily out of the imperial audience chamber. The vast, brightly lit room was left with only Rosetta Augustus, the empire’s ruler, who quietly watched Ferdinand’s departing figure. After a few seconds, her gaze suddenly froze.

Not far before her, where the light should have fully illuminated the floor, a hazy shadow was clearly visible. The shadow seemed almost tangible, writhing and pulsating on the floor’s surface. Along its edges, countless rust-colored, nearly invisible lines had silently spread, creeping onto the surrounding walls, the nearby door, even the ceiling.

As Rosetta’s eyes settled on the shadow, an indescribable, dreamlike whisper suddenly filled the room. A rusty, bloodlike scent surged into her nostrils. Then, a vague humanoid form rapidly took shape in the air, faintly connected to the rust-colored lines and the shadow on the floor. A hoarse, indistinct voice tore at Rosetta’s eardrums: “Augustus…”

“Malm Dunit,” Rosetta’s expression froze like ice, her black eyes locked onto the eerie apparition. She twitched her fingers slightly, but no magical alarm stirred outside. The guards who should have rushed in at the first sign of trouble did not appear. Still, she showed no sign of panic—only a colder gaze than before. “I never expected we’d meet under such circumstances, old friend.”

“I never expected you’d stray so far down the path of defying the gods…” The shadow rasped, its form growing more solid. “I thought you were just playing a balancing act, like before. But you’ve completely lost your mind, blind to the true path—how tragic, my old friend…”

“This isn’t the same as your previous ‘balancing acts,’ Malm,” Rosetta said gravely. “This is no longer about worldly power or interests. Your church is broken. Your faith is broken. Your god is broken. You’re sliding into something twisted and dark. To the empire, you’re no longer a threat—you’re a danger.”

Those words enraged the shadow. It suddenly surged upward, filling the room with indescribable whispers and layers of rust-colored auras. It bellowed, “Enough! You have fallen into a pitiful heresy. Your guidance was wasted—let the Lord’s power restore your senses!”

Despite the sudden pressure, Rosetta stared coldly ahead. She didn’t retreat; instead, she stepped forward. “I suppose… judging by your state, you’ve become something like an evil spirit or a restless soul. Expecting you to retain reason is a luxury.”

The shadow seemed not to hear the taunt. It raised its hands high, and a wave of rust-colored energy surged toward Rosetta. “Sinner! Face the Lord’s judgment!”

“You’ve miscalculated one thing,” Rosetta lifted her head, calmly meeting Malm’s shadow. “The Augusti, cursed by the gods for two centuries, have never feared any so-called ‘Lord.’”

He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, his deep black irises shimmered with infinite starlight.

In the next instant, the entire reception hall was engulfed by a surging tide of starlight. Walls, ceiling, furnishings—everything swiftly dissolved and vanished into the radiant glow. An extraordinarily brilliant starry panorama, as if plucked straight from human dreams and fantasies, swallowed all in its path. It effortlessly consumed the projection of Malm, who had been calling upon the power of the war god—he barely managed to let out a piercing howl and a voice filled with disbelief and rage: “…How dare you!”

The dazzling starry sky drowned out Malm’s words. The bright points of light began to slowly spin within the swirling purple-black mist, forming a bizarre, chaotic, and dizzying pattern. At the center of this “disordered starfield” stood Rosetta Augustus, becoming the focal point around which all the stars revolved.

Listening to the last agonized roar left by Malm’s projection, Rosetta sighed softly, “It takes little courage to kill a monster.”

In the next moment, the illusion of the chaotic starry sky rapidly contracted and vanished. The objects in the reception hall, once swallowed whole, reappeared before Rosetta’s eyes. He furrowed his brow and shook his head gently. “Just a trivial shadow…”

“It’s enough. A shadow alone proves your sincerity,” a hoarse, low voice suddenly whispered in his ear—a voice he knew all too well. It was the voice that echoed endlessly in the deepest recesses of that nightmare palace, heard by every descendant of the Augustus line. “I have indeed tasted it… the power of divinity and faith. A rather appetizing starter.”

“I have shown my sincerity. Now it’s your turn to show your stance,” Rosetta said coldly. “Don’t forget the promise you made.”

“Of course, of course—we’re both tired of this endless torment. That’s something we share. You use yourself as a stepping stone to help me return to the ‘outside’ world, and I will lift the curse on the Augustus family and never return… It’s a fair trade, one we both look forward to,” the voice said cheerfully, yet with genuine earnestness. “I will keep my word more faithfully than any mortal—you can rest assured of that. After all, I am the Eye of God. I disdain lies and deceit.”

“That’s for the best.”

…

Gawain stood on the widest terrace of Melita’s home, beneath the dazzling night sky of the Arctic. He looked up toward the mountain where the Council headquarters stood.

Though night still cloaked the land here, by Cecil’s time it was already morning.

Gawain’s expression was grave.

For some reason, a faint unease had been gnawing at him since the previous night. At first, he thought it was the psychological weight of discussing so many secrets with the Dragon God—about the Voyagers, the gods, the Tide, and the Black Trap—that unsettled him. But even after sorting through his thoughts and resting overnight, the unease hadn’t lessened in the slightest.

Moreover, last night he had vaguely sensed something akin to the “aura” of a Voyager relic. Though the feeling was faint and lasted less than three minutes, he was certain it wasn’t a hallucination.

Talonrad did possess some Voyager relics, collected by the dragons from various places. But they were merely sealed away. Under the Dragon God’s absolute rule, no dragon would dare to touch or activate these relics. Yet last night, Gawain was sure he had felt the ripple of a Voyager relic being activated… an unmistakable anomaly.

Something was about to happen—his intuition grew ever stronger.

(End of chapter)