Jeanne stared at the horn, which seed to be forged from solid gold. Her intuition told her that if she were to blow it, a Great Flood capable of destroying the world would return once more, washing clean this sinful earth.
She had truly never imagined that one day, the fate of the world would be placed in her hands—though, theoretically, she already possessed the power to end it herself. If a person with a weaker mind were standing here after reading that previous letter, they would likely have blown the horn without a second thought, wouldn't they?
Perhaps this was why the Saint who left the letter had initially departed, and the primary reason he returned later.
Jeanne wasn't in a hurry to study this weapon of mass destruction. Instead, she set it aside and picked up the accompanying letter. Rather than a letter, it was more like a diary, recording the journey and the results of these people returning here and discovering the horn.
"Even though the sins we have committed are heavy, we have walked across the land and found no shadow of that God's wrath punishing humanity."
The opening was in that familiar handwriting. But this ti, the script was trembling, whether from hunger or so other cause. However, Jeanne was inclined to believe the claim that God had not punished humanity. Though that God might have a bit of a temper, He was actually quite tolerant when facing mankind.
But having seen what they did, Jeanne had originally assud that Originium was a punishnt sent by God. If it wasn't, then where did it actually co from?
That wasn't the key issue right now. After the Saint and the others found this place, they also discovered the golden horn. The mont they held it, knowledge of its functions flooded into their minds in a miraculous fashion. Obtaining such an incredibly powerful weapon left them feeling both excited and terrified. They were thrilled to possess such a tool, yet feared they could not control their own hearts and would trigger a catastrophe.
Thus, a dispute arose among the Saints—who were still Sarkaz at the ti—and others, sparking a wide-ranging debate on how to handle the weapon. So believed they should use it to conquer the continent and build a great nation that could dominate all of Terra, making the na of Kazdel echo across the land. But many others, led by the Saint, believed they lacked the ability to control it, and reckless use would inevitably lead to an irredeemable disaster.
"I record here that we, who were once one of the great Royal Courts of Kazdel, have here split in two and beco irreconcilable enemies..."
It appeared that back when they were still in Kazdel and not yet Sankta, their tribe held a position of high status. Jeanne wondered if the branch that remained Sarkaz still existed today, and what kind of beings they had evolved into.
The letter ended there for now. The Saint had hidden the records along with the horn and then feigned a getaway with the weapon.
"Why couldn't you just finish it all at once? Always giving it in segnts... you know, writers who cut chapters like this usually get sent razor blades in the mail!"
Jeanne grumbled to herself in the room. she didn't understand why, if the author intended to leave this for posterity, the information was so scattered. This part seed to have concluded, but what happened next? What did the Saint and his supporters experience? At least say sothing!
She couldn't exactly go to Kazdel for an archaeological dig, could she? Besides, nobody knew where the Kazdel of that era was located anymore! That must have been a very long ti ago, before the era of mobile cities, when Kazdel was likely at its absolute peak. They probably hadn't experienced their first destruction yet; their eyes were still filled with the ambition—and perhaps the strength—to conquer Terra.
Suddenly, Jeanne felt a flash of light before her eyes, and the horn beside her began to shimr. Following this, an image surfaced in her mind.
It was a location Jeanne had never seen, surrounded only by vast stretches of yellow sand. Looking as far as the eye could see, it was so barren that hardly a tree was visible. It looked as though it had been struck by so catastrophe; the surroundings felt dead. In the middle of the wasteland knelt a person holding the golden horn.
It was a Sarkaz. Seeing the two white, goat-like horns atop their head, Jeanne quickly identified the individual. They looked like a sun-dried corpse. After a long ti, Jeanne saw another person arrive.
Clearly, this was a kinsman. He looked at the surrounding desolation, then at his mummified fellow, and knelt on the ground, weeping bitterly.
"I cannot let this mistake happen again."
That Sarkaz muttered to himself, and then, as if having made a decision, he grabbed the horn from the ground and sprinted into the distance. A gust of wind blew, and the mummy fell to the ground. Its withered eyes stared into the distance, the corners of its mouth curving into what looked like a smile.
"Do you also agree with his choice?"
Jeanne looked at the corpse, and though she knew this was just a past shown to her by the horn, she still spoke to the phantom. But a phantom is a phantom; the scene gradually blurred, and then Jeanne found herself under a pitch-black sky.
Almost nothing could be seen under the night sky except for a distant burning bonfire and white walls faintly visible in the firelight. Around the bonfire stood various Sarkaz. Set against the night, they looked like an army from hell intent on destroying the world of n.
"Surrender. We do not wish to stain our blades with the blood of our kin! If you hand over the stolen item now, the Demon King can pardon your sins."
At the front of the army, a long-horned Sarkaz in black armor looked toward the distant crowd. It was a group of Sarkaz who possessed pitifully few weapons. If possible, he didn't want to kill them. Every Sarkaz's blood was precious and shouldn't be wasted in a place like this.
But they had stolen the hope that could allow the Sarkaz to dominate the continent! The severity of this act led the Demon King to issue a direct order: if they remained stubborn, kill them all!
"You're dreaming, Mammon! Even if we all die, we will never let this thing fall into your hands!"
In the midst of the firelight, a long-horned Sarkaz was reflected. Jeanne recognized him instantly; he was the one who had wept before the mummy. Jeanne now understood the situation—this was the day recorded in the scriptures when the Saints caused the Bell of Revelation to ring!
However, unlike the scriptures, they were still the Sarkaz race here, not the Sankta recorded in the texts.
"The Demon King's will must be executed. Since you are so stubborn, I can only set aside our past friendship. Do not bla for what happens next."
The Sarkaz in black armor shook his head. As his voice fell, he drew the sword from his waist and swung it forward. The Sarkaz army behind him understood imdiately, raising their weapons and charging toward the camp.
In their eyes—in everyone's eyes—the outco of this battle was a foregone conclusion, provided the other side didn't use that weapon. Whether in terms of numbers or military strength, they completely overwheld the "traitors" who were burdened with won and children. The opposition had only one end: dying under their blades.
The result was as expected. The soldiers' weapons continuously harvested these lives; they had no power to resist. But the general was dissatisfied, for he found that the leaders had vanished! They weren't facing his soldiers alongside their companions.
Where did they go? Had they abandoned their people and run off with the object? He knew very well that the Demon King wanted more than just the heads of traitors—he wanted the stolen treasure. To achieve this goal, anyone standing in the way could be killed!
Jeanne watched this battlefield where one side had no chance of winning, and she saw the unard people weeping in pain on the ground. But not one of them blad the leaders who had led them away. They had gathered here for the sa purpose.
Suddenly, the sound of a bell rang from a high place. Following it was a light as bright as the midday sun, dispersing the surrounding darkness. At that sa mont, all the soldiers were hurled out of the camp by a mysterious force.
Then, an unexpected change occurred.
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