Chapter 1271 - 572: A Starkly Different Atmosphere

Chapter 1271: Chapter 572: A Starkly Different Atmosphere

All I can say is, this really is an excellent matching mechanism.

Eliza counts as tsundere, but mainly because she has to act tsundere in order to maintain her chuunibyo.

Kreti, on the other hand, is a more textbook tsundere—orthodox, both proud and shy, and stubborn to boot.

When these two tsunderes run into each other, there’s a natural, inexplicable bond between them, the kind where they’re born to find each other an eyesore.

The fact they haven’t actually started fighting can only be attributed to the respect they’re giving Herbert.

If the situation weren’t so special, Herbert wouldn’t have sent the two of them out together when they’re not even that familiar with each other.

But this time the circumstances are special, the opportunity is simply too rare; there’s no reason to leave them behind.

After his initial proposal was "brutally rejected," Herbert submitted another, slightly less aggressive plan.

Since no one wants to see their fellow Cultivators sacrificed, then what if they just swap in someone else?

He proposed letting the prisoners of the Third Commandment Hall serve as the main force in the attack on the Mist Mountain Range, letting them atone through merit and fiercely wash away their sins with achievements.

And since Herbert had taken the initiative to retreat a step, the Cardinals also reciprocated, retreating a step in turn, and agreed to his new proposal.

Aside from Valentina, who had gone on ahead and was already waiting in Elda, Herbert brought Fremay, Eliza, Svanni, and Kreti—four in total.

As for the remaining people... Flora was still attempting a breakthrough, Luhier still didn’t dare walk under the sunlight, and Lukalia’s main body was truly not very mobile.

With the opportunity so rare, Herbert practically brought out every Monster Girl he could take from the Third Commandment Hall this time.

No special ulterior motive.

He just wanted to bring his "little sisters" out to farm some battle records while they were in a winning game.

"So, this really is okay?"

Svanni also walked up beside Herbert and asked softly:

"One of the Moore Clan ancestors once left a warning—that at no time should you think you have everything under control."

"Arrogance kills Powerhouses."

She gave Herbert a subtle reminder, hoping he wouldn’t get carried away and end up giving others the chance to reverse-kill him.

After hearing her reminder, Herbert’s lips curled slightly. He winked at her and said with a smile, "Relax, I’m not so kind as to give other people a chance."

"But saying there’s absolutely no crisis or variables at all... that would be an exaggeration."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, looking toward Elda, and spoke softly: "Do you hear the wind?"

He said:

"The storm is coming."

...

...

Time in the Mist Mountain Range seemed to have vanished long ago, frozen for a thousand years from the moment the Divine Kingdom shattered.

But today, this deathly stillness was broken by a will like a torrent of steel.

On that wasteland forgotten by the world, Magic Power drifted about like a startled flock of sheep, restless and chaotic.

There was no wind, only a silence that seeped into the bone, as if even the land itself were holding its breath for what was about to arrive.

Julia stood silently atop a fractured boulder, her bizarre face—half normal, half hideous—like the outward reflection of her inner struggle.

She was filled with anticipation, yet also with unbearable pain.

At this moment, she could only tighten her expression and gaze down expressionlessly.

The Heroic Spirit Warriors, answering the call of their Legion Commander, were converging from all directions.

They had no mounts, for their will itself was their mount.

They had no banners, for their shattered souls themselves were their standards.

The Heroic Spirits marched in silence, heavy metal boots treading upon the cracked earth, each step sounding a dull, weighty thud.

Those footsteps were like a funeral drumbeat for themselves—steady, monotonous, pounding upon the hearts of every existence.

This was an army of the dead, a legion driven by obsession and pain.

Their armor was ancient and mottled, covered in the dust of ages and dark red stains that could never be scrubbed clean.

Beneath their Face Masks, Soul Fire was the only source of light, yet it no longer burned steadily, but flickered like a dying candle in the wind.

Some Heroic Spirits were clearly at their limit—the edges of their bodies flickered in unstable blur, their souls unraveling like threads of smoke drifting away.

Worse still, parts of some bodies had already completely twisted into the form of Resentful Souls—warped, pitch black, emanating an ominous dark-red glow, jarringly out of place with their originally valiant Spirit Bodies, yet grotesquely fused with them.

They were the final echoes of that Doomed Divine Kingdom, pitiable creatures who had slowly marched toward self-Destruction in a despair that spanned eternity.

Julia watched them; in the normal half of her face, her gaze was cold as iron, yet beneath that coldness lay a trace of almost imperceptible compassion.

The skeletal half of her face, however, was oddly calm at this moment; that dark-red glow flickered faintly, as though even the rage within had been suppressed by the heavy atmosphere, transmuted into a deeper, more absolute resolve.

When the last Heroic Spirit still capable of movement stepped into the ranks, nearly three hundred Warriors stood upon the wasteland.

They formed a silent phalanx, weapons lowered, awaiting the final command.

"...Hah!"

Julia drew in a deep breath and took a step forward. Her voice was not loud, yet through a strange kind of spiritual resonance it clearly reached the "ears" of every Heroic Spirit, striking directly at their Soul Cores.

There was no passion in that voice, no incitement—only a calm that stated the facts, a calm so still it made one’s heart tremble.

"My compatriots."

The voice echoed across the wasteland, piercing the heavy mist.

"A thousand years!"

"We have kept watch here, like forgotten tombstones, holding fast to a vow that may long have been cast aside."

The opening of her words was this blunt, even carrying a trace of blasphemy, making the Soul Fire of some Heroic Spirits flicker violently.

"We endure the attrition of our souls, resist the whispers of madness, watch as the companions beside us are extinguished one by one, or else...become the very things we once swore to annihilate."

Her gaze swept over those comrades who were partly transformed into Resentful Souls, with no reproach in it—only a sorrow that recognized them—for she too had not escaped.

"Why?"

She asked herself, then quickly gave the answer.

"Because of faith? Because of glory? Perhaps. But more than that, because of our unwillingness!"

"Because we cannot accept that a being as great as Our Lord would fall silent like this!"

Her voice rose slightly, bearing a metallic, grating sharpness.

"And now, the answer lies ahead!"

"It is not an oracle of Our Lord’s return, but the most thorough desecration! The true calamity is those traitors, those thieves!"

"They have seized Our Lord’s legacy, defiled the holy pool that granted us new life, twisted our compatriots into their puppets and claws!"

She lifted her hand and pointed toward the direction of Elda: "Ahead lies Elda—our land of shame, our cage, and also...the end of our thousand-year vigil."

"This battle..."

She spoke each word with weight, her voice resolute as iron nails, "is not for the hollow name of victory, not for the craven prolonging of existence, but for—purification!"

"With our Soul Fire, we shall burn away all blasphemy! With our blades, we shall sever every Shackle!"

"Either we level Elda, wash away our shame with the utter annihilation of the traitors, and reclaim the glory that belongs to Our Lord!"

"Or else..."

She paused, the entire phalanx deathly silent, with only the uneasy hum of Soul Energy.

"...in this battle, we burn out our last wisp of Soul Fire, and return all that we are—together with our loyalty and longing for Our Lord—back to Him!"

Julia shouted high, rousing the "battlefield" to which they were about to march and die.

"Let this land remember that there was once a host of Warriors who, for a faith that might no longer exist, fought until the very end!"

"There is no third path left to walk."

Her voice finally descended into absolute coldness, as she said icily, "The gaze of the Legion Commander is fixed upon us."

"And Our Lord...wherever He may be, in this moment must be awaiting our choice, awaiting us to prove through action that His grace was never misplaced!"

There were no earth-shaking shouts, no furious roars.

What answered her was the heavy sound of all the Heroic Spirits below striking their weapons against the ground at once—

Thud!

As though a mountain had been shaken.

Immediately after, an invisible yet overwhelming and tragic aura surged skyward, churning the dense mist that had not changed in ten thousand years.

It was not vitality, but the most absolute will toward death and resolve.

With silence, they proclaimed their resolve to be reborn in death.

"Since there is no need for me to say any more, then..."

"March out!"

The advance began.

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