madman."
Klein murmured softly.
The boy's body was still convulsing; he was dead, though his mind was still alive.
It is common for truth and consensus to clash. People often think that breaking a heart is as deadly as cutting off a head, but that is not the case.
Even without a heart, a person's indomitable will will still linger on the edge of the abyss of despair, mobilizing all remaining resources to prolong every precious second, regardless of the cost, until six minutes later, when the exhausted brain cells can no longer obtain oxygen.
An innocent boy lay in a pool of dark red blood, his blood gently embracing his cooling body. The generous earth silently bore yet another crime that had befallen it, wanting to lament but powerless to do so.
The boy saw the faintly beating, vibrant heart held aloft by the "Sea God" priest. Despite it being their first meeting, he recognized it as his own heart, perhaps one of the most precious treasures he possessed.
This wealth, along with his dignity and the peaceful life he should have lived, was taken away by the despicable invaders in the eyes of the adults. He lived in fear and trepidation for thirteen years, hiding in his thin chest, but today he still could not escape his predetermined fate.
His compatriots took away one of his most prized possessions.
Dewdrops fell gently, kissing the foreheads of every Rosd person in the square. The priests shouted the name of the great "Sea God." This rare blessing shook everyone's reason, plunging them into fanaticism. No one cared about the life or death of the first sacrifice anymore.
The boy eventually died.
Six minutes is both short and long; at least for Alger, it felt like an eternity before he could tear his gaze away from the boy's ripped chest.
"A pathetic madman."
He wanted to conjure a smile.
"I thought I was ignorant enough, blind enough… They had no idea what they were doing, or what the consequences of those low-level sacrificial acts would be. They were like animals, acting solely on impulse and instinct."
He had seen too many things like this, experienced too many tragedies, and was even a tragic figure himself.
Alger couldn't understand what was causing the restless emotions in his heart.
"The Empire hopes to support the Rosds to defeat Rune and make Bayam a city ruled by the Rosds... To be honest, I am not qualified to question the Empire's decision, but I really want to know if the Empire's high command will have even a little bit of regret after witnessing the Rosds' amazing way of thinking."
The ritual seemed to be in its later stages. Klein noticed that the atmosphere was pressing down, the clear, cloudless sky was growing increasingly dark, and a storm was about to form.
"No, the question of who will govern the Rothschild Islands is a false proposition. Even if the natives succeed, Bayam's new government will only be a puppet of the High Council."
Unlike his usual idealism, Klein takes a rather realistic view of the present.
He was never a young man who knew nothing about society and acted only out of passion.
His personality makes him indecisive, hesitant, and hesitant to make a decision, but that only applies when he is still willing to listen to the rumors that Huanmeng tells him. Once he realizes that some hopes are so slim that they are almost a gamble, he will not hesitate to abandon his fantasies and switch to another way of thinking.
"Yarn Courtman may take action."
The dark clouds gathering over Blue Mountains Island grew thicker and thicker, the leaden sky drawing ever closer to the earth. An invisible force was pressing down on natural hazards, actively promoting the birth of a disaster.
As a "Wind Follower," Algerby Klein was more acutely aware of the information hidden in air currents and moisture.
It wasn't just the "Sea God" responding to believers; another "god" was also taking action.
The indigenous people's sacrifices were too barbaric and backward. Many spiritually significant offerings were gathered together and set ablaze in the spirit world.
Their primitive methods not only attract the attention of the "Sea God," but also draw in more qualified spirit beings. Powerful high-sequence extraordinary beings will also be drawn to this sudden "flame."
A hideous face emerged slightly from the thunderclouds, and the Calamity grew eyebrows and eyes, resembling Arne Cortman. The storm let out a roar that made the archipelago take notice.
The enraged "Sea King" caused dark clouds to pile up high in the sky, making the sky extremely dark. The azure waters in the circular harbor were rising rapidly against all reason, almost becoming a real curtain of rain that blocked all sides of Blue Mountain Island.
In the square of the private plot, a group of fanatical and numb locals, wearing tarabas and tattered jackets, knelt and prayed repeatedly towards the sea, oblivious to the torrential rain.
The pool beside the priest, once teeming with spiritual energy, no longer dried up but overflowed, its waters swirling wildly and the roars of aquatic animals echoing throughout the pond.
The two beings, who both wield power over the ocean, simultaneously revealed their sharpest fangs at this moment.
The sudden downpour seemed to have transcended the purely material realm and was affecting the spiritual world and the extraordinary. As a "diviner" with an even more acute spiritual premonition, Klein felt like a blind man. He could hear and see, but in the raging storm, he was even more terrified because he had lost his "vision" and dared not take a step forward, let alone make a divination.
The sky is split in the middle, symbolizing the violent collision of two opposing wills.
In an instant, the ceaseless battle song of the surging tides reached the ears of every living creature on the islands. The low-pressure clouds were torn open by the aftershocks, and boiling rain poured down continuously, as if the sky was bleeding.
The battle between the two demigods shook the physical framework of the surrounding environment; for a moment, everything—the earth, the sea, and the sky—trembled.
"this..."
Like many other ignorant natives in the square, Alger stared blankly at the anomaly, his voice stuck in his throat, unable to utter a sound.
"Natural disaster"... "Sea God" is essentially an angel who travels through storms.
Although it is unknown what method Yann Courtman used to barely avoid being at a disadvantage, he did indeed challenge the authority of the angels for a short period of time.
What is unfolding above the archipelago is a true battle between mythical creatures.
Perhaps only Mr. Fool can end the disaster...
Just as Alger was about to squeeze out a sentence, a blurry black shadow quickly swept past his right side of vision.
He saw Gehrman Sparrow press something to his lips and then blow hard. Immediately, puffs of cold mist replaced the sweltering heat, and the whole world began to recede behind them.
No, that's not right!
I was still in the same place... Alger discovered that the world within ten meters of him and beyond ten meters seemed to be divided into two far apart, non-intersecting spaces.
The plaza disappeared, replaced by a lush primeval forest. Huge, terrifying-looking giant dogs leaped down from the treetops and mist, their thick vines thronging the jungle with countless pairs of burning orange-red eyes.
These colossal beasts with split mouths and black fur burning like flames were the "Hounds of Fugen," who had met Alger once before and recently acted as messengers to visit the "Azure Avenger."
Clearly, the Rosd people's worship of the "Sea God" also attracted these creatures living in the mists of history. Klein did not expect that so many "Hounds of Fugen" would respond to his call.
The only intact "Ancient Scholar" in the horde glanced at the battlefield hidden above the clouds, its flames in its empty eye sockets suddenly waning, and a few sparks drifted down.
The demigod, staring intently at something, took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure, and, along with his companions, bent his forepaws toward Klein, who had summoned them.
"Master…" The cracked mouth of the "Hound of Fortune" paused for a moment, then clearly changed its shape, "Your Highness."
It understood the meaning behind its master's eyes. Although it didn't understand why its master wanted it to change its form of address, a master's command was a command, and it obeyed.
Is there any way to stop their fighting?
"Or we could weaken their influence on reality."
Klein knew that he had undoubtedly presented the "Hounds of Fugen" with a difficult problem.
"Of course, if you wish."
Without the slightest hesitation, "Fugen's Dog" immediately responded.
Wait, what I meant was... Klein wanted to say something more, but the "Hounds of Fugen" had already taken action.
The enormous canine suddenly lunged forward, its mouth, flowing with viscous flames, opening to its limit and catching a wisp of cold mist that swept past it at a tricky angle.
Beneath the black fur, the outline of the muscles became even clearer. The "Hound of Fortune" tightened its jaws and tore backward, dragging a sufficiently realistic shadow out of the mist.
It was a man wearing long boots, a white robe, and a mix of silver armor.
Like most young people in the Northern Continent, he had common blond hair and unremarkable blue eyes. Apart from the easygoing temperament he had developed from years of travel, he had almost nothing to be proud of.
But it was this seemingly ordinary young man who stirred up a storm in the hearts of Klein and Alger.
Roman, Roman Ambrose!
A figure renowned even among angels, a student of the "God of Mysteries," and the original author of most of the legends and stories in the Holy Scriptures.
When the shadow first appeared, it resembled a painting, as if the "Hound of Fortune" was not summoning a real person, but rather the angel murals commonly found in many churches that worship the "mysterious god".
But as the full, azure sun turned to the left, and a scrutinizing gaze fell upon Klein, he truly realized that the angel closest to the "God of Mysteries" had come to his side.
Fear, hesitation, relief... a multitude of emotions simultaneously washed over Klein's mind. In his panic, the young "Master of Puppets" glared at the bewildered "Hound of Fortune" and then couldn't think of doing anything more.
The shadow of Ambrosius at the end of the Third Age looked around, his gaze lingering for two seconds on the split sky before turning back. After a long silence, he raised his hand and then lowered it, taking a little more time to make up his mind.
"Trying it won't kill me..." Roman forced a smile, trying to get closer to the figure that occupied the most important memories of his life, and snapped his fingers.
Your wish has been granted.
Previous Chapter
Table of contents
Next chapter