Chapter 678 - 73: Three Thousand Years of Waiting

Chapter 678: Chapter 73: Three Thousand Years of Waiting

Seeing this, Saladin said frantically, "What are you trying to do? I already told you I don’t know."

Murphy didn’t look at him.

The enormous wings beat slowly in the night sky. With each flap, the dragon carried the two men across a vast expanse of wilderness.

In the distance, the Golden Threads enveloped Eira Village like a dome.

No people, objects, or houses could be seen inside.

All that was visible in the night was a brilliant golden light.

"You’ve seen so many villages and towns destroyed. Can you still be moved by the fall of a single one?"

Saladin fell silent.

Three thousand years ago, he had indeed seen too much. In the years after Ephialtes opened the rifts, invaders had swarmed out like locusts. Wherever they passed, villages became ruins and towns were reduced to ash. The towns where he had once drunk, traded goods, and driven away wild beasts for the locals—they all vanished from the map, one after another.

He had seen mothers clutching their children as they were swallowed by fire, young men nailed to walls before they could even draw their weapons, and entire cities turned into cities of the dead within a single day.

When you’ve seen enough of it, you do grow numb.

But being numb isn’t the same as being indifferent.

"Then what about you Wizards? You’ve destroyed so many worlds. Do you feel no pity at all?"

Saladin retorted, "How many worlds have you destroyed? Have you ever, even once, felt any compassion?"

"That’s right. Not a shred of compassion."

Murphy said calmly, "But just as you are driven to protect your home, are Wizards not driven to seek the truth?"

"Besides, if the Wizards’ conviction weren’t stronger than yours, how could they ever have defeated you?"

Saladin was left speechless.

He wanted to argue that this "conviction" to "seek the truth" was no excuse for destroying the homes of others.

But ultimately, they had been defeated three thousand years ago, and now, three thousand years later, they had failed again.

...

「Eira Village.」

「The Holy Hall.」

Sera was jolted awake by a loud BOOM.

When she opened her eyes, everything seemed bright—brighter than moonlight. It illuminated the intricately carved patterns on the stone pillars, making every detail crystal clear.

She rubbed her eyes and saw that her sister was gone. All that remained was the impression her body had left on the bedding.

It made sense. Mira and Murphy’s exchange had been lightning-fast. Sera was only a mortal; she had only just woken up as they were leaving.

"Mira!"

Sera cried out, but no one answered.

She called out again. Her voice echoed through the empty Holy Hall, bouncing off the stone walls and returning to her.

She looked up and froze.

The sky was filled with Golden Threads.

Countless threads, densely woven and stretched taut like the warp on a loom, spread out from directly above the village. They overlapped, layer upon layer, blanketing the entire village below.

This was the source of the light.

They flowed slowly through the air, like a golden river streaming across the heavens.

"Mira..."

She whispered, her voice scattering in the golden radiance.

A moment later, she heard the sound of hurried footsteps.

Elder Darius came running up the Holy Hall’s steps from a side path. He was clutching the hem of his gray robes, revealing two thin, veiny calves.

He wasn’t carrying his wooden staff and ran straight to Sera.

"Sera," he said, his voice urgent and breathless. "Where is your sister?"

Sera quickly rose to her feet.

She shook her head, her lips still trembling. "I don’t know... She was gone when I woke up... These threads... are they from my sister?"

Darius didn’t answer.

He too looked up, gazing at the dense web of Golden Threads blanketing the entire village.

In all his long life, he had never seen the High Priest envelop the entire village in Golden Threads.

’What did this mean?’

’It meant not only that an enemy had invaded, but that the enemy was so powerful she had to use all her strength just to protect the village.’

"Elder," Sera tugged at the corner of his robe. Her gray-blue eyes welled with tears that didn’t fall. "Is... is my sister all right?"

Darius looked down and placed a withered hand on Sera’s head, forcing his voice to sound steady. "The Golden Threads haven’t scattered, have they?"

He pointed to the sky. "Look. The threads are still glowing, still moving. That’s your sister’s power. As long as the threads remain, it means she’s still here. She’s all right."

Sera followed his finger, her gaze fixed on the golden, warm light that felt like the palm of her sister’s hand. Her lips parted, but she swallowed the "but" that was about to escape.

More and more people ran from the village toward the Holy Hall and entered the sanctuary.

The first to arrive were the Warriors, just back from the battlefield—

Some had broken arms, held in slings made of cloth strips.

Others had bandages wrapped around their legs, already soaked through with blood.

Still others had their heads wrapped in gauze, with only one eye showing.

The ordinary villagers came next.

Old Julius hobbled out of his stone house, leaning on a cane. He stared up at the sky, his mouth hanging open to reveal a few lonely teeth.

The woman who had been shelling peas clutched her hands to her chest, her lips moving ceaselessly as if in prayer.

A young mother held her crying child, who had been woken by the commotion. She covered the child’s mouth, afraid the sound would disturb something sacred.

Children were helping the elderly who could barely walk, supporting them as they shuffled forward one step at a time.

They all stared at the sky, the groggy confusion of being newly awoken turning to terror the instant they saw the Golden Threads.

Darius turned to face the villagers surging toward him from all directions.