Chapter 679 - 73: Three Thousand Years of Waiting

Chapter 679: Chapter 73: Three Thousand Years of Waiting

He spread his arms like an old, sparsely feathered bird trying to shield the chicks behind him with his wings.

"Listen to me!" His voice wasn’t loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the silent night. "Everyone, listen to me!"

The crowd fell silent.

Dozens of pairs of eyes watched him—old and young, men and women. Some were fearful, some were lost, some feigned composure, and some held the steely resolve of Warriors.

"The Golden Thread was cast by the High Priest," Darius’s voice steadied, each word spoken slowly and deliberately. "She is protecting us, protecting us from the invaders’ attack. As long as the Golden Thread holds, we are safe. All we have to do is wait here. Don’t cause trouble, and don’t distract her."

Someone in the crowd muttered something, but no one replied.

The few injured Warriors were the first to react. They bent down and placed their hands over their left chests.

Old Julius followed suit.

Then came the woman who had been shelling beans.

Finally, everyone did.

They stood in the Holy Hall, bathed in the golden light. With their right hands over their left chests and their eyes closed, their lips moved, reciting the prayers passed down from their ancestors, prayers that had been spoken for thousands of years.

Darius closed his eyes as well.

He silently recited a name in his heart—Orestes—and the names of the heroes who followed him and drank the Divine Blood.

He prayed for them to protect Mira.

Time passed, bit by bit.

No one left. No one spoke. Everyone was waiting.

Waiting for an outcome.

Sera stood at the very front, her head tilted back, her gray-blue eyes staring unblinkingly at the golden lines in the sky.

Her neck grew sore, her eyes dry, and her toes numb from the cold, but she didn’t move.

She was afraid that if she moved, the lines would disappear.

An unknown amount of time passed.

Sera finally couldn’t bear it any longer.

She tugged on the corner of Darius’s robe, her voice small and hoarse. "Elder, my sister... is she really going to be okay?"

Darius opened his eyes.

He looked down at Sera’s small, upturned face, at the gray-blue eyes that were identical to Mira’s. His lips moved, and just as he was about to speak—

The sky split open.

The Golden Thread that enveloped the entire village tore open down the middle, like a piece of cloth ripped in two.

Beyond the tear was a Crimson light, brighter than the Golden Thread itself. It poured down from the opening, dyeing the entire village blood-red.

...

「Leander left the village.」

He thought he would have to walk for a long, long time on the rugged mountain path, just like before. He’d have to pass through the birch forest and cross the hill whose peak was perpetually shrouded in gray mist to return to the battlefield.

The last time, it had taken him three full days and nights.

This time he was injured; he didn’t know how long it would take.

But he wasn’t afraid. No matter how treacherous the path, he would walk it to the end.

This was his resolve.

A promise he made to Mira, to Sera, and to himself.

However, Leander hadn’t gone far. In fact, he was only a few hundred steps from the village entrance.

The leaves of the olive trees were still rustling behind him when the familiar dirt path before him began to blur.

It transformed into a wide, vast expanse of polished white marble, its location unknown.

Then, he saw him.

A man standing in the middle of the path, dressed in a long, pure White Robe.

His hair was silver-white, as white as winter snow. It fell loosely over his shoulders, the ends curling slightly and fluttering gently in the wind.

His face was young, as youthful as Leander’s own, like that of a teenager. His features were gentle, and a warm smile played on his lips.

Leander knew who he was.

The High Priest.

Not the High Priest of the village, Mira, but the High Priest of the entire world. The one who commanded all Holy Halls, all Priests, and all believers. The one who stood beneath the four Demigods and above all mortals.

But he shouldn’t be here.

He should be on the front lines, behind the Demigods, directing the forces from all over the world against the invaders.

"High Priest?"

Leander’s voice was respectful, and he stopped walking involuntarily.

The young man with silver-white hair smiled.

It was a gentle smile, not like that of a man who stood above millions, but more like an older brother from next door watching his reckless younger sibling run up to him.

"I know the questions in your heart. I am here because I appear before everyone who has resolved to make a sacrifice for the world."

Leander froze for a moment.

Then it dawned on him. His own desire had summoned the High Priest.

But he was still confused.

"High Priest, what is your purpose here?"

The High Priest didn’t answer.

He stood there, his long, silver-white hair fluttering gently in the wind. His pale gray eyes gazed at Leander, at the freshly healed scar that ran from the young man’s eyebrow to his cheekbone. After a long moment, he asked in return, "Leander, do you think we will achieve victory?"

Leander spoke without a second thought. "We have four Demigods. We’re countless times stronger than we were ten years ago. We were able to fend off the invaders then, so of course we’ll be victorious now!"

The High Priest’s smile didn’t change; it remained faint and gentle. "If that’s the case, why are you returning to the battlefield?"

Leander answered without hesitation, "I’m returning to the battlefield so that fewer people have to die. I have the ability to help."

The High Priest looked at him and shook his head. "I regret to inform you that we will very likely not be victorious."

"What!"

Leander’s voice was almost a roar.

His pupils dilated abruptly.

If an ordinary person had said such a thing, he might not have believed it. He might even have questioned their motives.

But this was the High Priest, the Commander of the entire war effort.

His sudden appearance here seemed to be an omen.

The High Priest’s voice continued, "That’s right. Victory is impossible. Even if we achieve a temporary win, even if we drive all of this wave of invaders back, we can never escape the Wizard World, much less the current Marknas Empire. They have more people than us, more resources than us. We repel them once, they’ll come a second time. We repel them twice, they’ll come a third time. Each time, they will be stronger than the last. One day, we will no longer be able to hold them back."

Leander’s mind went blank.

He stood frozen, his hand suddenly gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.

Then, a thought shot through his blank mind like a beam of light through a crack. ’The High Priest said he appears before everyone who has resolved to make a sacrifice for the world.’

’If he only came to deliver bad news, if he only came to tell me, "You can’t win," then what’s the point? Is he sending me to my death in despair?’

"High Priest," Leander’s voice was a little hoarse. "You appear before everyone who has made a resolution. You must have a way, right? Otherwise, why would you appear at all?"

The High Priest smiled.

He nodded. "Such a clever child. Of course there is a way."

He turned around.

The moment he turned, the air behind him began to distort, like paper being crumpled by an unseen hand. Then, it split open.

A deep, dark passage appeared before the High Priest.

The edges of the passage glowed with a silver-white light. Inside, it was dark, with faint points of light twinkling like stars in the night sky.

"Come with me." The High Priest’s voice drifted from the mouth of the passage, his long, silver-white hair fluttering in the halo of light at its edge. "Three thousand years of waiting... it’s time for the curtain to fall."

He took a step and entered the passage.

The corner of his White Robe brushed gently against the silver-white light at the passage’s edge.

Leander did not hesitate.

He released his grip on his sword hilt and stepped forward, following him.