Chapter 994: Shadows Rising
A series of astonishing events were unfolding in the imperial capital, a city with a history spanning two centuries—people were being purged, past mistakes corrected, abandoned plans revived. Some vanished from their homes, disappearing without a trace, while others suddenly received secret orders, like seeds dormant for a decade now awakened to resume their hidden work…
All of this was shrouded in the thick, lingering fog of the 739th year of Typhon, in the month of Mist.
Count Duler stood inside his family estate, on the balcony of the third floor. Through the wide crystal glass windows, he gazed out at the fog-blanketed street. Today, the mist had thinned just enough for him to make out the scene across the way—the spire and portico of the Saint Jorem War God Cathedral stood solemnly in the haze. Yet, on this day, usually reserved for worship, no common folk lingered near the church.
The bravest among the civilians kept their distance, tens of meters from the cathedral’s doors, their faces etched with fear and apprehension as they watched the unfolding events.
A squad roughly the size of a battalion of Obsidian Guards, accompanied by numerous robed Wanderer battle mages, had gathered before the cathedral. Soldiers were also scattered along the surrounding paths and at secretive alleyways nearby. Count Duler saw the commander of the Obsidian Guards ordering the cathedral’s massive doors to be opened. The clergy inside resisted, but after a tense and unfriendly exchange, the iron-black doors were forcibly breached.
Fully armed Obsidian Guards and battle mages surged inside.
The onlooking civilians gasped and held their breath. Among them were likely followers of the War God—they wore pained expressions, cursing and shouting loudly, yet no one dared cross the barricade formed by soldiers and mages.
Chaos reigned for a while. Even from a distance, Count Duler sensed multiple violent surges of magical energy within the cathedral. He noticed flickers of light inside the dark doorway, causing him to instinctively clutch the button at his chest. Then, the flashes, noises, and magical disturbances ceased. The soldiers and mages who had entered began orderly withdrawal. Some were wounded; others escorted a dozen or so priests and clerics in War God vestments out of the building.
The crowd grew restless. This time, a soldier stepped forward to quell the unrest, pointing toward the cathedral’s entrance. Count Duler saw the Obsidian Guard commander—the tall, burly man—emerge last, carrying something wet and heavy on his shoulder. When he dropped it on the ground, Duler could barely make out what it was.
A large mass of rotting flesh, grotesquely mutated. Even through the mist, he saw writhing tentacles around the bloodied mass, and terrifying faces emerging from the gore.
The crowd screamed in horror. A battle mage raised his voice with amplification magic, loudly reading out the findings of the cathedral’s search. Several soldiers summoned blazing orbs of fire, publicly purifying the foul, monstrous flesh. Count Duler suddenly felt a wave of nausea, covering his mouth as he stepped back, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the grim scene.
The flames roared, and a strange, inhuman howl echoed briefly before fading away.
Exorcising evil spirits from the cathedral, purifying them with fire on the street, publicly judging heretics and demons… Count Duler never imagined he would witness such scenes in his lifetime. In his memory, such events belonged only to history books—times when human civilization was fragile, the nation unstable, and dark, corrupt, twisted forces still entrenched in the land.
Great Typhon… when did you fall to such peril?
His brow furrowed deeply, breath catching in his chest. He had felt this suffocating pressure before, when the parliament was abruptly closed, thinking then that was the nation’s most dangerous moment. Now he realized the true threat lay far deeper beneath the surface. Clearly, the empire’s rulers recognized this danger, hence the drastic measures underway.
He no longer cared about the parliament’s affairs. All he hoped was that His Majesty’s actions would be effective and timely enough to pull the country back from the brink.
Footsteps approached from behind. A familiar presence appeared—one of his longtime attendants. Without turning, Count Duler asked casually, “What’s happened?”
“My lord,” the attendant stopped two meters away, hands respectfully folded, voice tinged with nervousness, “This morning, Viscount Cornelian of Maple Street No. 16 was taken away… by the Obsidian Guards.”
Duler’s fingers twitched involuntarily. Two seconds later, he exhaled softly. “I see.”
“Are you still meeting with Count Bern Turan tomorrow?”
“…Cancel it. I’ll have Dawn personally deliver an apology and explanation,” Duler shook his head. “Has Miss Jaliya been informed?”
“Miss already knows. She’s worried about her fiancé’s situation but remains in her room without your permission.”
“…Let her stay there. No one can do anything about this,” Duler closed his eyes, voice heavy with complexity. “Also, tell him Viscount Cornelian will return safely—but there will be no more Viscount Cornelian. I’ll reconsider that marriage… No, I’ll speak to her myself later.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Duler nodded. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed new movement across the street.
A black magi-car approached from a distant intersection, bearing the royal and Obsidian Guard insignias.
An inexplicable wave of tension and dread surged from his core. He clenched his fists instinctively, though he knew he bore no stain or misdeed to attract trouble now. Still, his gaze locked onto the vehicle, as if etching every edge, every wheel, every crystal pane into memory. He watched it draw closer to his estate’s gate.
His heart pounded so fiercely he thought it might burst. His intense focus even tricked him into thinking the car was slowing down. The pounding of blood in his ears was deafening. Then, the car passed without slowing, drove past his home, and headed toward another building.
Only then did Duler realize he’d been holding his breath for a long time. He gasped sharply, triggering a violent coughing fit. His attendant hurried forward, patting his back anxiously.
“My lord, are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Cough, cough… fine,” Duler said between coughs, still watching the black magi-car vanish into the fog. As the discomfort eased, a strange smile crept onto his lips. “Looks like… this time, truly no one can stand in his way.”
“My lord?” the attendant asked, puzzled.
“Nothing,” Duler waved a hand, loosening the collar button. “Go to the cellar. Bring me that bottle of Platinum Physis wine I’ve been saving. I need to calm my nerves…”
Hadrian sat in his study within the Obsidian Palace. The scent of incense filled the air, soothing and clear. Decorative shields hung on the walls, gleaming under the glow of magic crystal lamps. The young commander of the Obsidian Guards glanced down at his desk—a dark red surface where a list lay spread before him.
“Another name…” he muttered softly, picking up a steel pen and crossing out a name with heavy strokes. His brow furrowed even deeper.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
He looked up toward the door. “Enter.”
The door opened, revealing Diana, the black-haired head maid dressed in a black servant’s gown.
“Ah, Lady Diana…” Hadrian sighed with a smile upon seeing her. “No wonder I couldn’t sense who was outside… What is it? Don’t tell me it’s another list…”
“Yes, Prince Hadrian. A new list,” Diana nodded calmly, stepping forward to place a magically sealed and solidified document on his desk. “Based on intelligence gathered by the Wanderers over the years, we’ve finally identified a group consistently undermining the reforms—some controlled by the War God Church, others colluding with external forces. They still require interrogation, but the results shouldn’t differ much.”
“Lists, lists, new lists…” Hadrian smiled wryly as he took the file, scanning it quickly. “Many of these names I expected without investigation. For over a decade, they’ve tirelessly built their power, eroding the benefits of the reforms. Their sabotage is practically out in the open…”
He paused, lingering on a few names, lips curling in a slight sneer.
“More secret dealings with Cecil… bribed with cash or shares, or caught in political scandals. The proud and glamorous ‘high society’ is no stranger to such people.”
“There are likely more connections behind them,” Diana said expressionlessly. “But most of our investigations failed before they even began. Their contacts are extremely cautious; all communication can be severed unilaterally. Those bought off are just the lowest pawns, unaware of each other’s existence. In the end, we only catch these insignificant spies.”
“I’ve heard of the Cecilian intelligence agency and their ‘operatives’… We’ve clashed with them several times,” Hadrian said casually. “They’re a tough opponent—far more so than spies from the Gaoling Kingdom or the Shadow Brotherhood. And I believe you—these exposed agents are just the tip of the iceberg. There must be many more hidden, or else that agency’s reputation would be undeserved.”
He set the list aside.
“I’ll personally handle the nobles on this list. Each name should fetch a good price at the negotiating table.”
Diana nodded, stepping back almost silently. “Then I’ll take my leave.”
In the next moment, she vanished from the room.
Hadrian blinked, glancing at the still-open door with a hint of helplessness. He muttered under his breath, “At least close the door…”
Before he could finish, a familiar voice came from the hallway outside. “That’s because she saw me coming this way.”
The next moment, a tall figure in a black court gown stepped into the study, smiling as she nodded at Hadrian. “Looks like you’re swamped.”
Hadrian looked up, surprised by Matilda’s sudden appearance. “What are you doing here at a time like this? Shouldn’t you be dealing with those restless noble delegates or the anxious merchants?”
“I’ve already handled them—calming their nerves didn’t take more than two hours,” Matilda replied casually. “So I thought I’d check on you. But it seems like you still have a long way to go?”
“Lady Diana just brought me a new list,” Hadrian said, lifting his eyelids, his deep eyes—an inheritance from Rosetta Augustus—showing a trace of weariness and resignation. “All of it urgent.”
Matilda’s gaze drifted to Hadrian’s desk before she quickly looked away.
Hadrian glanced at his sister and said casually, “If you’re trying to find out about Andersa, I suggest you ask Lady Diana. The Wanderer is far better connected when it comes to intelligence than I am. But I doubt she has any more detailed information. Our intelligence network on the western front is currently disrupted, and the Cecilians are keeping a tight lid on anything related to Andersa. All we know is what’s publicly available… She’s alive, doing well, and the Cecilians haven’t mistreated her or the other defectors. So, you can probably rest a little easier.”
“I know,” Matilda said, pressing her fingers to her forehead before shooting Hadrian a sharp look. “Even politically, the Cecilians would treat an ‘important hostage’ like Andersa well. That’s not what worries me.”
“But I’m quite displeased with you guessing my thoughts so casually,” she added.
Hadrian chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. Then he looked at Matilda seriously. “Alright, my bad. I shouldn’t be guessing your thoughts—and you shouldn’t make it so easy for people to guess them, should you?”
(End of chapter)