Chapter 479

Chapter 102: Iron Bones Clash and Hot Blood Burns Part I

The rain had stopped.

This torrential downpour that had swept across half of the Silgaya Republic since late March, flooding farmlands, destroying houses, and leaving countless civilians homeless and starving, finally came to an end on this night after more than four months.

At this moment, it should have been a time of national celebration for Silgaya, a time to pray for divine grace, a time when countless people would weep with joy.

However, for the Silent Castle, this night was one filled with sorrow and devoid of color.

On this night, many women who were too severely injured passed away in their faints.

On this night, the bishop and monks held a brief funeral ceremony for Viscountess Alanstert, after which she was buried in the Alanstert cemetery behind the castle. The women who could still walk silently bid her farewell.

On this night, I curled up on the balcony of the fourth-floor master bedroom, watching over the crazy girl in the room, slowly falling asleep.

On this night, many people, carrying various emotions, fell asleep one by one in the darkness.

When the light of dawn rose over this beautiful land, the knights sharpened their weapons, the golden-armored troops marched in grand procession, banners fluttering, setting out from the Silent Castle to the south, heading straight for Arethion City, tens of kilometers away.

The women and the remaining nun-knights stood on the walls, waving goodbye and watching them depart—regarding the future of this castle, Angel had written an urgent letter to the Holy City, ordering the Church to provide aid with supplies, led by a highly respected archbishop, temporarily taking over the Silent Castle to manage this land and handle the aftermath of the great disaster, while the remaining members of the Alanstert family and their future descendants would retain permanent residency, management rights, and inheritance rights at the Silent Castle.

This was the decision made by His Holiness.

…………

After the rain cleared up.

The road ahead was no longer as difficult.

I wrapped myself in a clean cloak, riding a huge horned beast, carrying a black leather box, and together with Isaac, still walked at the forefront of the group, moving swiftly. In the coming days, they crossed two large mountains, crossed the Wilross River, leading the knights and priests who were ready for battle, all the way to the southern Lockel region. When they reached a town only a dozen kilometers away from Arethion City, the group slowed down and began to reorganize.

The original small town had long become ruins, with collapsed brick walls, dilapidated stone tiles, and occasional bones among the weeds along the path. Under the slightly gloomy sky, clusters of bonfires burned amidst the ruins, crackling, mixed with human voices and animal sounds, bringing life back to this place temporarily.

The knights cooked porridge in iron pots or clean helmets in front of the bonfires, eating it with hard jerky. Knights with minor injuries cursed at heretics near the fire, while on the other side of the camp, the priests of the Faith Group ate more civilly, sipping hot soup from bowls, speaking little during meals.

Soon, someone brought roasted bread. The bread was hot, and the knights blew on it before tearing off pieces and throwing them into their mouths. The knight who brought the bread sat down with them, sipped some porridge, and then started a conversation.

“…Just found a few rats nearby, chased them down and killed them. Damn, those things actually dared to resist… Kept two alive and sent them to Lord Isaac, not sure what we can get out of them…”

At the edge of the ruined town, several knight squads rode beasts, now close to the lines mentioned in the intelligence. However, the situation remained unclear, and the traces of heretics could appear at any moment. They had already killed two groups of scouts today, and there was still a possibility of ambush. The knights’ patrols were much stricter than before, with nearly double the number of scouts sent out.

Inside the tent, Angel, Isaac, and young Bishop Victor were discussing and arranging various matters. The knights went in and out, receiving orders to carry out their respective tasks. Once everything was settled, Angel frowned and asked, “Has there been any news from the Third Knight Order? Can we locate them?”

The tall knight commander shook his head slightly, “We haven’t found anyone yet. I’ve already sent knights to investigate towards Arethion City. If nothing goes wrong, we’ll receive news by nightfall.”

“Did you get any information out of the two captured heretics?”

Isaac rubbed his head and asked. The knight commander replied, “As usual, they didn’t say anything. They’re just a bunch of madmen. Once caught, they only laugh and refuse to speak, even burning one of our knights. Out of desperation, I cut off their heads.”

I moved a rock, sitting in the corner of the tent, listening to their conversation while biting into a large piece of bread. Occasionally, I lifted the tent flap to check the sky and watch the knights bustling outside, enduring the inner torment, waiting for reliable news to arrive.

Every day and night on this journey, suppression and anxiety often accompanied me. As the distance to Arethion City and the traces of the heretics grew closer, my emotions became increasingly intense, yearning for release, yearning for battle, yearning to eliminate those evil and cruel heretical lunatics, yearning for the clown to pay for his actions.

The costs weighed on my mind, sometimes keeping me from sleep.

When I couldn’t sleep, I would practice the power of Illusion.

I couldn’t use the Netherfire, and I couldn’t use Death Smoke. The Illusion was my most “special” ability. Its greatest advantage now was that it didn’t rely on Death Smoke; it only cast illusions through my eyes. Even if I used it on someone, others would find it hard to notice—Angiel had only questioned why my eyes turned red, attributing it to the Netherfire within me and warning me not to let others see.

Of course, I wouldn’t let anyone see. Anyone who did would inevitably fall into the illusion I created.

Along the way, even though Safiros was always close behind, I still found opportunities. At night when I slept, or when I made excuses to eat or go to the toilet, I would shake off the nagging knight commander and go to a quiet place alone to practice the Illusion.

I gradually understood this ability.

Illusion was a complex and troublesome yet incredibly powerful ability. There were two forms of its execution, which I named for easier understanding and memory: Fixed Dreams and Dynamic Dreams.

Usually, what I executed was the “Dynamic Dream,” where through eye contact with a person or creature, I could make them see what I wanted them to see—under such circumstances, both myself and the person I was making eye contact with, or any other creature, remained motionless in reality, like soulless bodies, feeling nothing but illusions.

At such times, if someone attacked me, I might not even be aware—by the same logic, if someone attacked an enemy under illusion, they probably wouldn’t realize it either, but perhaps the enemy would wake up. I couldn’t verify this, so it was just a guess.

In short, such dreams would make both myself and the enemy fall into illusion together. I could make them unable to see me, make them see something else, but everything would be detached from reality. Regardless of what happened in the dream, in reality, we hadn’t moved since our eye contact began, while time continued to flow. Everything happening in the dream was my spontaneous creation.

For a long time, I believed that the Illusion ability could only manifest in this form—until I used the endless “Shaping” power to create an Abyssal creation, discovering another form of its execution.

Inspiration came from Elyush.

I remembered the snake she created in the mud of the Abyss, and her eyes, which plunged me into the “space” created by a bored little girl—the house of Zentel Castle that she imagined.

Illusion can be cast through the eyes of an Abyssal creation. This, I had already confirmed.

And during repeated practice, I discovered the “Fixed Dream.”

That is: I could pre-create a dream, space, fantasy, or even spend a lot of time constructing a small world, storing it in the consciousness of an Abyssal creation… They should have no brain, but possess simple consciousness. This consciousness was given to them by me, and I could store the pre-created dream in their consciousness.

As long as I looked at them, I could cast the Illusion.

“Dynamic Dream” is suitable for one-on-one situations… In fact, its effect may be quite limited; I might not be able to inflict severe damage on the enemy through dreams unless I had help.

But “Fixed Dream” has considerable flexibility. In such a situation, the enemy falls into an illusion cast through the eyes of the Abyssal creation, not mine. So, at this point, I am not in the dream, and my body can move freely.

This is a terrifying trump card.

However, to use it, I must first create at least one Abyssal creation—at this realization, I felt somewhat disheartened. Because it meant I would still reveal my Abyssal power and thus couldn’t use it openly in front of everyone—not this time at least.

It’s fine…

Even with only the Frost Order, with my current affinity, dealing with a third-stage Heretic… would be enough.

I bit into the bread, full of confidence.

Inside the tent, the firelight flickered. Isaac and Angiel were talking about something, but I wasn’t paying attention. The bald giant then went out, and several new commanders stayed inside, including Safiros, who was reporting the surrounding situation to His Holiness—the enemy’s traces had not been found.

Just then, a hoarse cry echoed in the sky.

“Ga—”

It was a crow’s call…

Familiar?

Wait!

“Milk Cheese!”

I suddenly stood up, shouting loudly, startling His Holiness and the commanders, who all looked towards me. Ignoring them, I ate the remaining bread in two bites, lifted the tent flap, and ran out.

“Milk Cheese—”

I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted towards the sky.

Gray clouds floated above, and black ravens spread their wings, flying over countless ruins and debris, coming towards me from afar.

It really is milk cheese!

Which means there is news from Beaudet…

Is he in Arethyn City?