Many tis, the world does not unfold according to your plans. Gawain once believed that the confrontation between the royal family and the Duke of the East would at least last until the great walls were completed. He thought Anzu would enjoy at least a year of peace before the flas of war reignited, but in reality, before half a year had passed, another fire flared up from an unexpected place—the actions of the Oblivion Association were indeed beyond Gawain’s expectations.
He knew well that the dark sect posed a hidden danger, aware of the deranged and destructive nature of those cultists. However, until discovering the "vines" in the shadow realm, he never imagined the Oblivion Association’s influence had grown so dire. Until last month, he didn’t foresee their direct aggression against the royal family and the East’s noble army—by then, their actions had completely exceeded the concept of a "dark sect".
On the 5th day of the Revival Month, year 738 of Anzu, Gawain and Amber returned to Cecil Castle. They imdiately convened military and intelligence personnel.
In a high-level eting room in the Administrative Office, Amber reported the intelligence just received from her subordinates:
"...About two-thirds of the agents from the Intelligence Agency have received orders and are on their way back to the southern borders. The remaining one-third are out of contact. Their last report was from the last day of last month, where an agent in the royal-controlled area of White Pine Town reported that local residents were holding suspicious secret gatherings, and the local lord had not appeared for three weeks."
Gawain looked at Amber, "In which areas are the missing personnel mainly distributed?"
"In the intersecting area between the royal control zone and the Eastern Control Zone. Information from these regions has completely stopped,"
Standing to Gawain’s right, Aunt Heidi stood up: "Since late last month, the movent of rchants, adventuring teams, and travelers from those areas has entirely ceased. The last registered entry from those regions was a caravan recorded at rocky ridges Fortress and the Gran Region on the 41st day of the Cold Month. We are closely monitoring everyone who entered from those areas last winter and is still in the southern borders. So far, there’s no sign of curses, Divine Arts, or plague, but we are continuing with isolation. Additionally, reports from the White Sand Mining say everything is normal and the order in the East remains unaffected. I’ve instructed Hol to stay vigilant and be ready for evacuation."
Gawain nodded and turned to Rebecca, "Any progress from Kal’s side?"
Rebecca quickly stood up, "Yes, yes, Mr. Kal has provided a lot of information, including the traits of divine evils mutations at various stages and the characteristics of magical surges. He ntioned the divine evils’ most notable feature is their uncontrolled release of mixed attribute arcane energy. However, he also said these are materials from a thousand years ago, so there’s no guarantee that the Oblivion Association’s creations will be the sa."
Finally, Gawain looked at Sir Philip and Byron.
"The Armored Troops have already gathered and are on standby in rocky ridges Fortress and the Gran Region," Sir Philip stood first and said. "Besides the war chariots equipped with Heavy Incinerators, we also prepared a large amount of ’conventional’ fuel, including alchemical grease and adhesive glue."
Following him, Byron said, "The warships are ready to blockade the Duoergong River at any ti."
Gawain exhaled, relieved.
Thankfully, no matter how unexpected the actions of the Oblivion Association might be, he was not truly unprepared.
He had always been ready for the worst-case scenarios.
He then turned his gaze to Soldrin.
The High-Ranked Ranger had already stood up, looking ready to receive orders.
"Take your most elite mbers, with the best equipnt, and enter the East of the Plains of the Holy Spirits. You must find out what’s happening there."
Aunt Heidi took a slight breath. Although she had anticipated such an order, she couldn’t help but warn: "This might be seen as provocation or even invasion by the noble leaders of the Plains of the Holy Spirits..."
"In that case, they’re welco to bring their heads to and protest," Gawain replied calmly. "If they can’t protect their lands and residents, I’ll help them. If they can’t see the situation clearly, I’ll help them see it."
He then continued to instruct: "Soldrin, head towards the direction of Pompeii-Ronburg-Gigantic Tree Path Entrance into the standoff zone, but don’t go too deep. If you find refugees that can be rescued, signal at once. I’ll order Sir Wald to prepare a batch of chanical boats at the Duoergong River Mouth, ready to receive you at any mont—but if you find that the plague has spread, withdraw imdiately."
The High-Ranked Ranger pounded his chest with his fist, "Yes."
Gawain would try his best to save the Holy Spirits Plain people who might already be in danger, but he couldn’t save everyone. He also had to consider the risk of potentially infected refugees fleeing from the central standoff zone where the royal family and the Duke of the East’s confrontation was spreading a deadly plague. Under these circumstances, he had to ensure the safety of the southern borders first.
...
In the depths of the standoff zone in the Holy Spirits Plain, a sudden dense fog covered the entire area of the Gigantic Tree Path Entrance.
White Pine Town, Giant Tree Valley, the Gollondo Area, Grey Mountain City, The White City... Within a few hours, more than a dozen towns, countless villages, camps, and manors were shrouded in mist.
The giant sun had already climbed high, yet its warmth failed to disperse the fog. Roofs, spires of churches and bell towers, walls—all appeared hazy within the gray-white mist. Sunlight struggled feebly through the haze, leaving towns looking deserted as if they had suddenly beco ghost towns, with windows and doors tightly shut.
Outside a barracks, soldiers anxiously observed the scene on the street ahead. The abnormal fog seed to conceal a horrifying power. Even the boldest soldiers couldn’t help but grow tense upon seeing the shadowy street veiled in mist.
"This damn weather... lousy fog," one soldier gripped his spear tightly, cursing to alleviate the anxiety in his heart, "The fog is way too thick this spring!"
"I’ve never seen fog this thick in my life," another soldier grumbled. "I heard this kind of cursed weather is what they get in Typhon—they spend half the year living in fog over there."
"I’m feeling itchy—I suspect I didn’t bathe all winter long."
"No doubt about it; you didn’t bathe all fucking winter."
The banter eased the soldiers’ tension a little, and they turned back towards the distant, shadowy street.
A tall figure erged from the fog into the soldiers’ view.
"Who’s there!" The soldiers instinctively tightened their grip on their weapons, shouting at the figure moving through the fog.
Elsewhere in a town, several knights patrolling around the lord’s castle cautiously stopped. A looming, tall figure erged from the eerily dense fog in the distance, approaching silently.
That figure wore a wide, black robe, with its face completely hidden within the hood’s shadow. The knights could only make out its astonishing height—as if it were one of the mountain dwellers rumored to have giant blood in them. Standing almost three ters tall, the figure commanded a gaze upward.
The knights swiftly drew their swords and shouted loudly, "Halt! You are treading on the Viscount’s forbidden land!"
The towering figure stopped, and from the shadow of the dark hood, it seed a pair of alien eyes were quietly watching the knights before it.
The knights suddenly felt a slight itch on their bodies.
In town after town, figure after figure wrapped in black robes, nearly three ters tall, would erge from the thick fog.
They wandered the streets seemingly without a destination, yet almost uniformly appearing everywhere.
Tightly shut doors and windows opened, and a large number of townsfolk hiding in their hos ca out.
So were anxious, so fervent, so delighted, carrying a diverse array of expressions, silently and knowingly stepping onto the streets, following behind those towering figures.
More and more puzzled and uneasy gazes appeared behind the opened windows, their owners dazedly watching the scene on the streets, seemingly at a loss for what was happening. However, as the tall black-robed figures walked past, the confusion and daze in those gazes gradually faded. They, too, opened their doors and stepped onto the streets.
On the rooftop of a chapel, twin elves who looked almost identical stood on the eaves, smiling as they watched the scene in the fog.
"Did you hear it?" they whispered softly, "The heart has truly begun to beat..."
...
The sound of a heartbeat filled the entire underground rift, strong and powerful, shaking the minds of anyone who dared to set foot here.
The Archbishops of the Oblivion Association standing guard over the Flesh Abyss were on a floating platform above the lava, holding their breath and intensely watching forward with fervor and anticipation.
A massive chunk of flesh bound by chains of magic symbols hung in mid-air, pulsating with the heartbeat, continually wriggling and transforming. With each heartbeat, this gigantic, twisted chunk of flesh would further concentrate, shedding more of its terrifying and filthy bloodstained shape.
It gradually ford limbs, gradually grew fur, gradually took on the shape of what seed like a giant stag.
Countless slaves, blindfolded, ear-plugged, and wearing rune collars, were lined up on the long bridge, trudging aimlessly toward the body of the fake god. As they approached within a few ters of the "giant stag," their bodies would be eroded by so invisible force, instantly turning into indescribable, twisted flesh, rging into the body of the fake god—most of this flesh is discarded as "waste," falling into the churning lava below, while only a few faintly glowing "factors" remain, serving as "nourishnt" for the body of the fake god.
These are divine evils factors, elents of the divine passed down by humans from the Gondor era to the present.
Now, they are gathering again, molding a new god.
However, the quantity is still not enough; this level of "sacrifice" is insufficient, and the awakening process of the fake god’s body stalls at the final step. The already semi-divine and powerful stag calmly floats over the lava, its eyes remaining tightly shut, and its fur, along with the blood vessels and muscles beneath, constantly writhing, engaging in a ceaseless cycle of aggregation and collapse.
A figure erged from the depths of shadow, clad in intricately patterned black priest robes, his face hidden within a distorted illusion. He stepped into the air and arrived at the position of the "stag’s" head, leading the Archbishops of the Oblivion Association on the platform and the priests further away to kneel in unison: "Great Archbishop!"
For centuries, the reclusive Great Archbishop of Oblivion, who had always confined himself to a secret chamber and rarely appeared in public, finally left his room, arriving at this ultimate ritual site.
"Now only one step remains," spoke the man whose face was cloaked in illusion, "The awakening of the man-made god needs more divine evils factor, requires the first and the last believers...
"Let us begin."
...
Gurgle...
The soldier swallowed nervously—as the figure draped in black robes had already stopped not far from him.
He had to shout loudly to muster up his courage: "Take off your hood—imdiately!"
The black-robed figure stood there motionless, only slightly turning its head as if listening to the sounds in the air after half a minute.
Then, it removed its hood, and silently, the black robe turned to ash.
A giant intertwined with flesh and crystal stood in the dense mist, its entirely unhuman-like crystallized eyes staring at the soldier before it.
The soldier’s jaw dropped in great shock, yet he could no longer make any sound.
He gazed upon the giant, trembling all over, as if beholding an emissary of God, his teeth quickly crystallizing, clusters of crystals sprouting from his skin, joints crackling, energy surging between his flesh.
He raised his head, and amidst the rapidly changing view, he saw a touch of sacred radiance erge from the depths of the fog. A giant stag covered in pristine white fur walked out from the radiance, its antlers cast from light and its eyes made from crystal.
The stag looked upon him compassionately, as though gazing at every human in the world, with a sigh echoing from the radiance.
That sigh seed to carry endless regret and helplessness.
Anzu Year 738, Revival Month, Day 10.
The first disaster of this era incited by divine power, started by the hands of humans.
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