Chapter Fourteen: Their Return

Night had fallen within the castle, its walls bare and desolate. Indeed, a castle with nothing but its four walls—a judgment every soldier had passed upon this place. The entire structure was empty, devoid of ornamentation, only cold stone bricks and walls remaining. The only objects to be found were a few crude chests and one enormous wooden table, making it utterly unlike the abode of any princess.

In the hollow great hall, people crowded around the rough wooden table, where Orina listened intently as the maid relayed recent happenings across the territory and reported on food reserves.

Scouts, some perched on stools, others seated upon the floor, busied themselves cleaning their firearms. Nearby, Aimoa was explaining to Qin Le the essentials of awakening the spirit.

"Success or failure in awakening the spirit depends mainly on individual talent," she said. "Some succeed in one attempt, some require a dozen, and for many, no matter how many times they try, it’s all in vain."

"If you can’t awaken the spirit, does that mean you can’t become extraordinary?" Qin Le asked.

Aimoa shook her head ever so slightly. "Not exactly. It just means you can’t become a mage or any profession that requires a strong connection to the spirit. With enough Awakening Pills, even a mediocrity can step into the extraordinary, though they’ll never rise above that threshold in this lifetime."

"Let’s begin, then."

Qin Le lay flat on the cold ground. Aimoa pressed her forefinger to his brow. "Close your eyes," she instructed softly. "Feel the flow of energy. Try to use mine to connect to the essence around you."

A faint white light appeared at her fingertip, radiating from the center of his brow. An unseen energy slowly began to emerge.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds...

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed before a strange, ineffable sensation welled up inside him, as though he were merging with the world itself. Something intangible seemed to caress him, a touch as gentle and comforting as a breeze upon his cheek.

But in the next instant, the marvel vanished. Everything returned to normal, and he felt no different than when he merely closed his eyes to rest.

Aimoa drew back her hand, puzzled that the energy she’d guided had simply disappeared. "What happened? Did it fail?"

From her experience, there were three usual outcomes: first, success, with the spirit beginning to absorb energy; second, failure, with the energy unable to enter the body. But for the energy to vanish without entering or being expelled—this, she had never witnessed.

The scene drew the attention of everyone present. All the scouts rose quietly, tension filling the air.

Fishhead came to Qin Le’s side, crouched, and shook his shoulder, but Qin Le’s eyes remained shut, and he did not awaken.

He checked Qin Le’s breathing, pulse, and heartbeat, frowning deeply. "Breathing normal, heartbeat normal, pulse normal."

He slipped the cord from Qin Le’s wrist onto his own and turned to Aimoa, questioning, "Miss Aimoa, is this normal?"

...

Seconds trickled by. Darkness and silence reigned, unchanged.

Qin Le thought it was over and opened his eyes to ask if he had succeeded.

But as his eyes opened, he was no longer in the castle.

Before him stretched a landscape of black and red, the air thick with the stench of rot and the rage of despair. Men, women, elders, and children—corpses twisted together, flesh interwoven in a horrifying tapestry. Rotten flesh, bone-white teeth gaping like crocodile maws, revealing endless abyss. Skeletons rose like mountains, bones formed groves, human hair matted into felted clumps, skin and flesh melted into mud and dust.

Qin Le stood upon this land of blood and meat, his mouth slack, unable to utter a sound.

A demonic whisper curled about his ears, followed by a deluge of lunatic murmurs, a flood forcing itself into his mind.

The voices were as twisted as the landscape, men and women, young and old, tangled together—madness, chaos, distortion.

Death!

At last, he understood the voices, and as comprehension dawned, death arrived.

Crack!

As more and more deranged thoughts crowded his mind, scarlet blood began to seep from his seven orifices, his skull slowly beginning to split apart. Red and white fluids oozed out, as if his brain were struggling to escape, desperate to flee the madness.

Bang!

With a thunderous explosion, Qin Le felt his head burst open.

Am I dead?

With the shattering of his skull, the maddening voices that had rendered him incapable of thought finally vanished.

Then, a streak of green appeared before his eyes. Somehow, behind him now stood a colossal tree, its crown piercing the sky, sheltering him from all hostility.

He reached up and touched his head—it was still there.

...

"I… I don’t know either," Aimoa stammered, panic in her expression. Never before had she encountered such an event.

The scouts around her silently released the safeties on their rifles, fingers curled on the triggers, their gazes growing icy as they watched Aimoa.

Fishhead peered into her emerald eyes, noting her panic, and sighed. "Miss Aimoa, we’ll wait one night."

Though the captain had fallen into a mysterious coma, his vital signs were stable and there was no immediate danger. For now, Aimoa was still their ally, and Fishhead was not about to turn against her without cause. If this was merely a misunderstanding, things could become complicated.

One night was the limit of their patience. If the captain did not awaken by then, or if something went wrong, they would show no mercy.

Aimoa immediately understood Fishhead’s warning.

Ruined! Why am I so unlucky? Even guiding someone through spirit awakening ends in disaster! No, this guy can’t die—if he does, I’m finished, and my red gold will be gone too!

With a pained expression, Aimoa unclasped her necklace—a string of deep brown, bean-sized wooden beads.

She fastened it around Qin Le’s neck. "This is an elven treasure, a necklace made from the heartwood of the Tree of Life. It keeps the wearer in perfect health and grants immunity to all adverse effects, even of the mind."

Crack!

With a crisp sound, one of the wooden beads shattered instantly.

Aimoa froze, petrified. Another precious item lost, after her last life-saving elixir.

But before she could grieve, something extraordinary occurred.

A crimson oval ring slowly appeared half a meter above Qin Le’s head, slicing through the space around. The red ring began to expand, spreading like wildfire, devouring the scenery.

Outside the castle, the night sky turned a blazing red, the color surging forth like a world-consuming inferno—suddenly, it was as if the entire world had become a sea of red.

Countless lives gazed upward in awe, terror, and disbelief. No one understood what was happening; the crimson simply drifted above everyone’s head.

It was a conflagration no one could hope to quash. All they could do was look up, as helpless as ants before the heavens.

...

The Roph Empire. Its palace, constructed of white marble, gleamed with gold for splendor and silver for sanctity, towering like a range of mountains.

A man sat upon the imperial throne, his attire ornate and sumptuous, a golden scepter in hand symbolizing supreme power.

Staring at the crimson sky, the human emperor, master of all, furrowed his brow in concern.

"Victoria Elven Empire, Giant’s Court, Atlantis, Dragon’s Lair, Iron Hills… Who has broken the pact and dared to touch those ruins?"

The Roph Emperor lowered his gaze to the twelve figures before the throne—men and women wielding diverse weapons, clad in an array of garb.

The Twelve Imperial Armament Bearers, the empire’s greatest force; each could slay dragons, shatter armies, or storm cities.

"Swordbearer, go to the Roph Ruins. If our empire is attacked by another nation’s imperial armament, open the ruins and retrieve the artifact."

"As you command, Your Majesty." The man with the strange longsword turned and strode from the hall, vanishing after three steps.

...

The Victoria Elven Empire. The ancient Tree of Life soared skyward, rooted deep within the land.

The beautiful Queen Victoria gazed upon the red sky, her voice ethereal and pure. "The Mother Goddess says—they have returned."

At these words, the hundred elven elite behind her exchanged uncertain glances.

At the moment the sky changed, every powerful elf in Victoria had gathered at the Tree of Life to ask the queen what had occurred.

And her answer: They have returned.

The ancient elven sage, frail with age, asked softly, "Your Majesty, who are they?"

"Humankind sings of them as ancestors; all races know not their names, yet survive on their legacy," the queen replied, leaving all present stunned, their hair standing on end.

"Your Majesty, do you mean the High Humans?" one elven warrior voiced the unspoken guess.

"Impossible! Weren’t the High Humans just a myth made up by humans?" another protested. "I remember when the human emperor was tricked into running naked through the streets— I was there!"

At the mention of the High Humans, everyone recalled that world-shaking farce.

Queen Victoria raised her hand in a gentle gesture, her serene and lovely face as expressionless as ever. "The High Humans are not a myth. The current legends are simply distorted history."

The ancient sage nodded. "Her Majesty speaks true. Of all short-lived races, humans are the most skilled at twisting history."

The longer one lived, the more one learned, and the sage felt ever smaller, more fearful of the truth behind the laughable tales.

No longer able to deceive themselves, the elves’ faces betrayed unconcealed panic and terror.

"Your Majesty, what should our people do?"

"We take one step at a time," the queen replied, her cold, impassive demeanor calming the assembled elves.

"Return to your duties. Do not be overly anxious. The great and merciful Mother Earth will protect us."

If the sky falls, there will be taller ones to hold it up.

At this, the elven warriors finally relaxed, leaving the Tree of Life behind until only the queen and the sage remained.

Once all had departed, the queen turned to her teacher. "Master, the Mother Goddess says they have returned—bearing fire and death, weapons and bones, wandering blind upon the ancient, muddy road."

The aged sage opened his eyes, which held naught but silent terror. "Can the Mother Goddess not stop them?"

"She cannot. Nor can any god. But we can."

A spark of hope flickered in the sage’s fearful gaze. "Then let us stop them."

"Master…" The queen looked quietly at him, her voice as cold and pure as winter’s snow. "It means death."

The fire in the sky gradually faded, and the sun slowly rose in the far east.