Chapter 598 - 597: Gloom
Within the Eastern Fortress Sorinburg, built of piled stones, Edmund Moen, draped in a black coat, sat silently in his high-backed chair. A letter, already opened, lay on the table before him, illuminated by the light of the Magic crystal lamps. A corner of the letter bore the emblem of crossed sword and plough, the seal of the Cecil Clan.
The Oblivion Association believers invaded and damaged the critical functions of the sentinel towers... The earliest erosion may have occurred hundreds of years ago...
If it werenât for the clues discovered in the shadow realm by the chance intervention of Gawain Cecil and his team, the actions of those cultists might never have been discoveredâuntil the great walls collapsed, until human civilization was destroyed.
A palpable pressure enveloped the castleâs long hall, the foul mood of the powerful Order Supernatural causing the attendants and guards to tremble like cicadas in the cold. Until a steady, powerful footstep echoed from the hall entrance, and Duke of the East Silas Loland, clad in full armor, walked in, the atmosphere gradually softened, returning to normalcy.
Silas Loland walked straight toward the main seat of the hall, bowed before Edmund Moen: "Your Highnessâwhat has happened?"
"A letter from the south," Edmund spoke briefly, pushing the letter forward, "Take a look, Duke Loland."
Silas Loland took the letter bearing the Cecil Clan emblem curiously, scanned it quickly, and furrowed his brow: "Your Highness, when was this delivered?"
Edmundâs tone was low: "Arrived at Sorinburg this morning."
After winter set in, the Anzu Kingdomâs military and the Duke of the East further reduced their troops due to the severe cold. Edmund temporarily returned from the Gigantic Tree Path Entrance frontline to Sorinburg, serving as a temporary base camp. Thus, letters from the southern borders arrived later than usual.
Silas Loland swiftly calculated the travel of the letter, reminiscing over the series of messages from the south, and said thoughtfully: "It seems Cecil Duke just arrived at the wasteland border and discovered these situations..."
Edmund took a gentle breath and looked at Silas: "Lord Loland, the focus isnât here."
"The focus is on those Dark Cultists," Silas Loland calmly said, his vision firmly on Edmund, "Your Highness, weâve known this from the beginning."
"Yes, I know. They were never trustworthy..." Edmund closed his eyes slightly, and upon reopening, there was a hint of chill in his gaze, "Lord Loland, we should heed the warning from Cecil Duke, shouldnât we?"
"Of course," Silas Loland nodded, expressionless, "Eradicate evil and maintain peace, itâs the duty of the aristocracy."
"Good... Belk should return to Sorinburg shortly. Once he returns, letâs entrust this matter to himâI believe that principled young man will handle it well."
Silas Loland lowered his head slightly: "Certainly, as you wish."
Accompanied by steady, powerful footsteps, Duke of the East departed from the long hall.
Edmund Moen sat quietly in the high-backed chair, his gaze once again passing over the warning letter from the south.
His sight lingered for a moment before looking towards the many documents and maps on the other side.
The Anzu Kingdomâs military adjusted its deployment after winter began, a Mountain Corps was stationed north of the Gigantic Tree Path Entrance, the winter chill in that area surpassing even the plains, Duke of the North, Victoria Wilder, had clearly personally arrived at the frontline. Itâs said her Mountain Corps was fearless of the cold...
Several towns in the eastern parts of Sorinburg still hadnât achieved better security, the influence of previous leaders hadnât fully dissipated.
The political reform within the Duke of the Eastâs territories faced unexpected backlash, with a large number of farmers resisting the land exchange billâclearly, this wasnât a spontaneous act but one spurred by the conservative leaders, though he couldnât find evidence.
Progress in education plans was slow, people lacked enthusiasm for literacy, and among the executorsâthe lower-level scribes and minor aristocracyâalmost none took their roles seriously. In many areas, they viewed such tasks as "penalties" or "degradations," thinking "teaching commoners to read is an undignified job"...
The Anzu Kingdomâs military was gaining ground, the conservative faction was resurging, the reformists were dividing, those executing decrees were exasperatingly slow, and the populace... the people he labored to help, to improve their plight, didnât comprehend his legislation.
Initially, everything went smoothly, the militaryâs successive victories and spoils boosted morale for everyone, pushing for decrees faced no hindrance, but once the war came to a standstill, once the reforms involved "land" and "population," countless obstacles and difficulties arose.
The sense of frustration crept inâa burden unavoidableâEdmund Moen suddenly felt irritable, reaching to take the cup from the table, wanting a sip of water to ease his restlessness.
âTo maintain clarity of mind, he hadnât imbibed in ages.
At that moment, his peripheral vision caught the fireplace on one side of the hall flaring with unusually bright flames, the leaping fire seemed shadowy, potentially conjuring something out of the hearth. Even the nearby ornamental candle brackets experienced an inexplicable surge, the flames growing.
It wasnât a secluded secret room or the top of a sentinel towers, the hall had attendants and guards all around, worsening Edmund Moenâs already sour mood. He frowned and waved towards the fireplace: "Audacious!"
The flames in the fireplace instantly returned to normal. Whatever had attempted to project was clearly interrupted.
Edmund Moen snorted derisively, emptied his cup in one gulp.
...
In the western part of Gigantic Tree Path Entrance, within the kingdom-controlled town of White Pine Town, Viscount Horn, dressed in a dark red coat, sat inside the carriage, listening to the soldierâs report outside with great displeasure.
Damn it, this is the cold winter! A Viscount having to run to the streets where commoners live in this terrible weather, overseeing some "evil eradication," listening to those foolish soldiers ramble onâwhat law is this?!
Viscount Horn cursed inwardly, but dared not utter his thoughts, as these matters were orders from Regent Duke Victoria, and that Duchess of the North who wields the power of winter was stationed not far north. He felt every indiscreet word spoken here would immediately reach the ears of the Duchessâno good would come of it.
The cold wind seemingly blew through the gaps of the carriage, prompting Viscount Horn to tighten his already thick and warm coatâdespite being a low-level Spellcaster, years of indulgence had already hollowed out his body. Even with the protection of the Wind Shield, he found the weather unbearably cold, while the soldier outside continued to relay:
"... Three people found dead in the cellar, clearly engaged in desecrating activities, with a bloodstained altar and containers of suspicious liquid found at the scene...
"The original owner of the house is missing, and people on the street say they havenât been seen since winter set in, which matches the informantâs description...
"... The three evil cult followers might have committed suicide, or it might have been internal conflict, thatâs for you to judge, sir..."
A hint of impatience flashed in Viscount Hornâs eyes, but when he spoke, he maintained a slow and steady toneâa manner of speaking with specific rhythm and intonation that a qualified aristocrat must possess: "I understandâso, in short, someone reported to the Knight about the evil cult followersâ traces, and you indeed found the desecrated altar and three dead cult followers here, correct, unmistakable."
The soldierâs voice came from outside: "Yes, sirâand also a missing resident..."
"I know, I know," Viscount Horn interrupted the soldier, "Iâve known about this, follow the proper disposition, burn the cultistsâ corpses, purify the altar with Holy Water, the house returns to the leader, thatâs it."
Having said that, he was about to order his departure from this place, but the inflexible soldier continued to speak: "But... but sir, wouldnât you... would you like to see... Itâs still the pro..."
What a blockhead, unknown who arranged such a fool into the city guard.
Viscount Horn cursed inwardly, quickly pushed open the cover at the carriage window, and glanced outside.
Outside was a tattered street, semi-melted snow rotting the walls of roadside houses and rubbish piles, a few soldiers guarding a house entrance, three corpses starting to emit a stench thrown on grass mats, with "heterodoxies evidence" like ritual daggers, pots, stone pieces on the mats, and some cringing poor people watching from a distanceâsome standing by the roadside, some hiding behind windows or doors.
Those fearful yet foolish gazes were very uncomfortable.
Viscount Horn just glanced and quickly lowered the cover on the window: "Alright, Iâve witnessed it in person, go ahead as I saidâMr. Pierre, pay them for their services."
Outside the carriage, the Viscountâs butler took out three silver coinsâpayment for dealing with the cultistsâ corpses and purifying the evil altarâand handed them to the waiting soldier captain.
Subsequently, the Viscount and his attendants, butlers left the street.
The remaining soldiers glanced at each other, either shook their heads or muttered a few words, before waving their swords to drive away the onlooking peasants who had come too close, with the captain calling a soldier over, casually handing the silver coin: "Alright, as the leader said, find two people to handle this place."
The soldier holding the silver coin watched his captain turn away, shrugged.
Then he noticed that quite a few of the commoners were still standing thereâthose ragged, emaciated people, some chased away by the swords earlier hadnât gone far, they simply stood dumbly by the roadside, using a strange, numb, empty gaze to look at the three corpses, the house without an owner, soon to be claimed by the leader.
The soldier left behind appeared bewildered, inexplicably shivering.
Damn cold weather, these commonersâ minds must have been frozen into bewilderment.
In inexplicable unease, the soldier abandoned the idea of scavenging that unowned houseâfor houses on this street likely had nothing of value anyway.
He lifted his head, looking past those numb and vacant peasants, saw two corpse pullers already waiting outside the crowdâthe dirty grey-black robes and the Reaper amulets hanging around the necks are the most noticeable features of the corpse pullers, these fellows who deal with corpses are always keen-smelling, theyâd likely been waiting nearby within half an hour of rumors of corpses being here.
"Todayâs bad luck..."
The soldier mumbled, called the corpse pullers over, casually handed them a few copper coins, instructing: "Drag the bodies outside the town and burn themâremember, they must be burned, orders from above."
After those words, he disregarded how the corpse pullers responded, stepped away from the place.
The primary reason for leaving quickly was knowing the corpse pullers would surely haggleâburning corpses requires extra money for wood and fat, those few copper coins were insufficient.
But after leaving, the matter would be none of his concern.
The leader departed, the butler left, as did the soldiers.
On the street remained only several dozen commoners standing scattered in the cold wind, three evil cultistsâ corpses lying on grass mats, a ground full of messy footprints, and two corpse pullers.
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