Chapter 26 The Steel Torrent from the Civilized World and the "Abyss" in the Hands of the Nobles
On the edge of the Forsaken Lands, north of the Grayridge Mountains.
The sky remained gray, but the suffocating smell of sulfur in the air had faded, replaced by a dry, biting sandstorm.
A large, disorganized army is winding its way across the wasteland.
That was a large group of kobolds evacuating from the Blackrock Mine. There were two or three hundred kobolds, with their families in tow, carrying tattered bags, and pushing wheelbarrows loaded with moldy jerky and other odds and ends, like a swarm of locusts passing through.
The leader, Gru, rode on the back of a giant mutated lizard. Although he had lost his iron axe of power and his leather armor was tattered, his face now showed some of the arrogance of a "tyrant of the wasteland".
"Hurry up, you bunch of lazybones!"
Gru brandished his whip, lashing one of his henchmen. "Once we leave that hellhole, this wasteland will be ours again!"
It looked back at the mist-shrouded forest to the south, a hint of lingering fear flashing in its eyes, but more so, resentment.
"Those immortal humans...that bunch of madmen..."
Gru gritted his teeth. He admitted he was terrified by the group of shirtless, resurrected humans, even fighting over monsters. The chaos and madness were more sinister than the abyss. And of course, most importantly, there was that evil god...
"Damn these righteous gods! They can't even kill all the gods! Are they blind?"
"However, once we reach the north and join the tribe of green-skinned orcs, we will be safe."
Gru thought confidently. This place was still far from the borders of human civilization, and those hypocritical humans who worshipped the "true god" rarely ventured into this barren land. For now, they remained the predators of this land.
"Boss! There are people ahead!"
A scout suddenly screamed.
"People? How many?" Gru scoffed. "If they're caravans, we'll rob them! If they're wanderers, we'll eat them!"
"No...it's not a caravan..."
The scout's voice trembled, his teeth chattering, "It's...it's iron...it's all iron..."
"What?"
Gru was taken aback.
The next second, it felt the lizard beneath its rear begin to stir restlessly. The pebbles on the ground bounced, and a low, rumbling sound, like muffled thunder, rolled in from the horizon.
Gru suddenly raised his head.
Its pupils instantly shrank to pinpoints.
At the end of its line of sight, instead of the fat sheep it had anticipated, stood a neat, uniform, silver-white steel defense line.
Hundreds of heavily armed knights, riding rams draped in armor, advanced slowly towards them like a moving iron wall. Their lances stood like a forest, and their huge white cloaks, embroidered with a golden sun emblem entwined with thorns, fluttered in the wind.
[Dawn Church - Knights of Judgment]
"The Knights?! How is that possible?!"
Gru screamed, nearly falling off the lizard's back in fright, "How could they come to such a godforsaken place?!"
But the Knights did not give it time to think.
At the head of the procession, the knight leader Gerald reined in his horse. He looked at the densely packed, filthy demi-human creatures ahead, his eyes beneath his visor showing no emotion, only a cold indifference to life.
"There are quite a few filthy creatures."
Gerald slowly drew his longsword, and the radiant runes on the blade lit up.
"Purify them for the sake of glory."
"kill!!!"
With a command given, the steel torrent began to move.
There were no tactical probing, no pre-battle rhetoric. It was a one-sided stomp.
Hundreds of heavily armored wildebeest began their charge, and the earth trembled.
Run! Run!
Gru let out a desperate howl.
The once-fierce kobold army crumbled instantly before this torrent of steel, like a sandcastle facing a tsunami.
"boom!"
The knights crashed into the kobolds' formation.
It wasn't a battle; it was a massacre.
The spear pierced through his body, and the iron hooves crushed his bones. The kobold's simple spear pierced the knight's plate armor without leaving a mark, and then his head was sliced off with a backhand sword.
Blood stained the wasteland red.
In just ten minutes, almost all two or three hundred kobolds were slaughtered.
Gru lay trembling amidst the pile of corpses. His prized survival instincts were utterly meaningless in the face of overwhelming power.
A heavy steel boot stepped on its back.
"This is the leader?"
Gerald made no unnecessary movements; he simply stood there silently, like an unshakeable mountain of steel. Under the gloomy sky, his silver plate armor, engraved with runes, gleamed with a cold and solemn light, while the white cloak embroidered with golden thorns and suns behind him fluttered in the bloody wind, yet remained untouched by any dust.
He didn't need to be angry or roar; the sheer, overwhelming pressure emanating from his very bones—a pressure of order and judgment—made the surrounding air seem to freeze.
In Gru's terrified eyes, the man looking down at him was no ordinary man, but a silver death god representing absolute justice walking across the wasteland.
Gerald looked down at the kobold feigning death with disgust. "Take the rescued civilians. The rest, burn them."
"No! Don't kill me!"
Gru sensed the palpable killing intent, and its survival instincts compelled it to unleash astonishing eloquence even in the face of its natural enemy. It clung tightly to Gerald's steel boots, screaming in its broken Common Continent language:
"I have intelligence! Big intelligence! I know the secret over there! That black temple... the undead monsters... the ancient evil has awakened!"
Gerald paused his sword strike when he heard the words "ancient evil has awakened."
He took out a golden detection crystal. When the crystal approached Gru, the originally clear light inside instantly became murky, and even developed wisps of black, flocculent material.
That was the remnant of the aura of a high-ranking evil god.
Gerrard's expression changed.
"Lock it up and take it back to Whitestone City." Gerald's voice was cold and hard as he looked toward the misty south. "The Cardinal is inspecting the area there, and he needs to know about this immediately."
...
Several days later, in Whitestone City, a major border town of the human kingdom.
Unlike the bloody battles of the wilderness, this is a civilized world where prosperity and decadence coexist.
Upper District, City Lord's Mansion.
To welcome the cardinal who had traveled from afar, the city lord hosted an extremely lavish banquet. Inside the magnificent hall, melodious harp music flowed, and elegantly dressed nobles clinked glasses and exchanged toasts.
In this entertainment-scarce border region, a batch of "Oriental treasures" that recently leaked from the black market has become the biggest topic of conversation tonight.
"Oh, darling, look at this sheen."
A marquis's daughter held a "Slime Magic Lamp" in her hands. The green gelatinous mass inside was wriggling slightly, emitting a soft and dreamlike light. "How beautiful this light is! It's much more wild than those tacky magic crystals."
"The lamp is just an ornament; this is the real treasure."
Beside him, a young count's son curled his lip in disdain and mysteriously pulled a black object from his pocket.
It was a palm-sized obsidian amulet with sharp, irregular edges and a dark red, eye-like gemstone set in the center.
"This is no ordinary decoration."
He lowered his voice, his tone carrying a hint of awe rather than fanaticism, "I wore it to bed last night, and those raucous whispers that always haunt my dreams disappeared. It was like a piece of ice, bringing me an unprecedented peace of mind. It's said... this thing can provide some kind of 'protection' in this wretched place filled with the aura of monsters."
It's not a curse, but a protection.
This is the real reason why these powerful and wealthy people flock to it. In the centuries following the war of the gods, the brilliance of the true gods gradually dimmed, while the shadow of the wasteland drew ever closer. Something that could bring a real sense of security, even if it came from an evil god, was a lifeline.
"Oh my god, I want one too."
"I heard it's already being sold for fifty gold coins on the black market?"
"What's fifty gold coins? This kind of forbidden pleasure is something that those tedious prayers in the church can't give you."
The nobles let out a knowing chuckle. They knew, of course, that it was contraband, but since everyone present was "one of their own," no one would report anyone else.
Just then.
"Bang!"
The heavy doors to the banquet hall were violently pushed open.
A cold wind, carrying dust from the wasteland and the stench of blood, suddenly rushed into the warm hall.
Gerald strode in, fully armed. His armor was covered in scratches, the marks of his recent slaughter of hundreds of kobolds. Behind him, two soldiers dragged the wounded and nearly dead Gru.
"Commander Gerald?" The city lord frowned, putting down his wine glass with some displeasure. "This is a banquet, what are you doing?"
Gerald ignored the city lord; he was directly under the Papacy and didn't bother talking to these officials.
His keen senses, honed on the battlefield, were instantly stung by the dense, chaotic darkness in the hall.
He looked around in shock at the strange, colorful lights filling the room, and the obsidian amulets that the nobles were playing with, emitting an ominous red glow.
"heresy..."
Gerald's voice trembled with extreme anger, "What are you doing?!"
He strode forward and snatched the "Eye of the Abyss" from the Earl's son's hand.
The instant their fingertips touched it, a chilling, violent aura surged from their fingers straight to their brains. This was absolutely a creation of an evil god! A curse fuse capable of corrupting ordinary people!
"Are you all crazy?!"
Gerald slammed the amulet to the ground, drew his longsword, and pointed it at the group of terrified nobles. "This is a curse from the abyss! You actually wore it like a toy?!"
"This kobold just confessed that the evil god there has awakened! An army of the undead is gathering there! And you... you're playing with its tokens in the city lord's mansion?!"
"Gerald!"
An aged yet gentle voice interrupted the knight's anger.
The crowd parted, and Cardinal Alban, dressed in a scarlet robe and holding a golden scepter, slowly walked out.
He glanced at the filthy kobold on the ground, then at the amulet that Gerald had slammed to the ground, a barely perceptible glint in his eyes.
"Your Excellency!" Gerald knelt on one knee, his voice urgent, "Please order the entire city sealed off! Seize all the evil artifacts! These things are coordinates, the seeds of plague! It must be done immediately..."
"Calm down, my child."
Alban smiled, bent down, and picked up the amulet.
"Don't panic."
Alban said casually, holding the amulet in his hand, "It's just a little thing with a special magnetic field. It doesn't corrupt the mind; on the contrary... it has a calming effect."
"But..."
"Confiscate all items and hand them over to the church for'safekeeping'," Alban interrupted the knight, his tone leaving no room for argument. "As for this kobold, take him away for interrogation. Gerald, don't let your neuroticism ruin this dinner."
Alban said calmly, holding the amulet in his palm to cut off its aura, "These lost sheep are blinded by curiosity. They are devout and do not need harsh judgment."
After speaking, he looked at the trembling nobles around him—these were the financial backers of the Vatican's renovation of the cathedral next year.
"Confiscate all related items and hand them over to the church for safekeeping," Alban announced. "We will conduct... proper purification research."
"As for this kobold..."
Alban glanced at Gru on the ground with disgust. "Take him away and interrogate him thoroughly. Don't let his filthy blood stain the carpets here."
"But sir! This is a harbinger of war!" Gerald stood up incredulously. "We are bleeding on the front lines, and here we are condoning it…"
"Gerrard."
Alban's voice deepened, carrying an undeniable authority. He walked up to the knight and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"This is Whitestone City, not your battlefield. Don't let your recklessness disrupt the... tacit understanding between the Papacy and the nobles."
"Some things are only safe when they are in the hands of the church. Do you understand?"
After speaking, Alban straightened up, his kind smile returned, and he waved to the crowd.
"Continue the feast. May the light protect you."
The music started again.
The nobles breathed a sigh of relief and cast grateful glances at the bishop. They handed over their amulets, but their faces showed no regret; instead, they were filled with a sense of relief that "the bishop truly understands us."
Gerrard stood there, all alone.
He watched as the bishop turned and left, clutching the evil amulet tightly in his hand, watched the hypocritical smiles of the nobles, and watched the green light still flickering throughout the hall, unbroken.
A deep sense of absurdity welled up inside me.
The evil god that awakened in the wasteland had already corrupted the soul of the city without even sending out a single soldier.
"Walk."
Gerrard took a deep breath, put on his helmet, and concealed the utterly disappointed look in his eyes.
He dragged Gru outside.
As the dragged dog-headed man passed by the nobles, seeing their greedy eyes, he suddenly let out a hoarse, extremely unpleasant laugh.
The laughter echoed through the luxurious hall, as if it were the greatest mockery of this civilized world.
...
As night deepened, the noise subsided.
The innermost prayer room of the White Rock Cathedral.
There are no glittering decorations here, only a suffocating chill.
Cardinal Alban walked alone through the long corridor. His footsteps echoed in the empty hall.
He walked to the altar. There stood a huge statue of the radiant god, but at this moment, the statue appeared particularly dim in the candlelight.
At the feet of the statue, there is a crystal box containing a feather that is more than half withered and blackened—a sacred relic left behind by an angel three hundred years ago.
This is also the last resort for this border city with a population of 100,000.
"The light is growing weaker and weaker..."
Alban stretched out his withered hand and stroked the cold crystal box. He could feel that the holy power within that feather was like a candle flickering in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment.
After the war of the gods, the gates of heaven were tightly shut. For hundreds of years, there were no miracles, no response. These clergy, guarding the meager "legacy" left by their ancestors, struggled to survive on this increasingly dangerous land.
"Tap, tap, tap."
I heard steady footsteps behind me.
Olben did not turn around: "The banquet is over, Your Highness."
The tall, gray-haired lord of Whitestone City walked in. He wasn't wearing his usual ceremonial robes, but rather a heavy black robe.
He walked to the bishop's side, looked at the withered angel's feather, and remained silent for a long time.
Then, he took something out of his pocket.
It was a black "evil god amulet" inlaid with rubies.
"You kept one too." Alban wasn't surprised; he also slid out the amulet he had "confiscated" at the dinner party from his sleeve.
The two old foxes exchanged a glance, and two tokens from the evil god emitted a faint glow beneath the statue of the righteous god.
"That kobold wasn't lying."
The city lord stroked the amulet's cold surface, his voice low, "I've tried it. As long as you hold it, even if you're staring straight into the abyss, that feeling of unease will disappear. That thing... has truly awakened."
"But it's very weak," Alban continued. "If He were at His peak, the power contained in this amulet would be enough to turn this city into ruins. But now, it can only offer this pitiful little bit of protection."
"But at least, it's 'alive'."
The city lord suddenly raised his head, his eyes revealing a chilling madness and despair.
"Olben, do you know? News has come from the south."
The bishop's hand trembled slightly: "The City of Radiant Sun?"
"They have fallen."
The city lord gave a bitter laugh. "This happened three days ago. That was a holy city with three saints guarding it... When it was swallowed by the black tide, not even a ripple was made. God... did not descend."
A deathly silence enveloped the prayer room.
The fall of Radiant City signifies the complete collapse of humanity's southern defenses. Next, Whitestone City may be next.
"God has abandoned this land."
The city lord gripped the evil god's amulet tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.
"We are expendable, Alban. We're just guarding the ashes and feathers of the dead; we can't stop the next Black Tide."
He turned his head, stared intently into the bishop's eyes, and uttered the words that would send him to the stake:
"If that 'Old One' has truly been resurrected... even if it is an evil god..."
"Perhaps He can protect us?"
"As long as these 100,000 people can survive, what does it matter if we change the god we worship?"
This is the real reason why they tolerated the influx of evil god artifacts and even suppressed Gerald.
They are looking for a way out.
This is a high-stakes gamble. If the true god is dead, then turning to a new, evil god who desperately needs believers may be the only way for this city to survive.
Alban remained silent for a long time.
He slowly turned around and looked at the tall, silent statue of the radiant god. The statue's face was hidden in shadow, as if it were coldly watching the two traitors.
"Don't say these things in front of God."
Alban glanced at the sun emblem on his chest, a symbol of his lifelong faith, his voice hoarse and tinged with endless weariness.
He neither refuted nor rebuked.
He silently and solemnly placed the evil god's amulet into his inner pocket—the place closest to his heart.
"Let's go, let's talk somewhere else."
The bishop turned and walked into the dark corridor. With a creak, the last sliver of light that had leaked in, along with the whispers, was shut out of the prayer room. Darkness enveloped the room once more, with only the feather emitting a faint glow.