Chapter 184 - 023: Meaning

Chapter 184: 023: Meaning

Grant said firmly, “I am innocent!”

Then he fell into silence.

He stopped speaking, simply staring blankly at the tree hollow in front of him.

Is that it?

Although somewhat disappointed, Lynch still walked forward, intending to collect the Confession Heart. After all, this step was mainly about letting Grant’s Spiritual Field soak into it; talking more or less didn’t really matter.

However, at that moment, Grant spoke again:

“Why?”

His eyes were slightly red, and his emotions were agitated: “Why is it that, as fellow creatures in this world, Wizards can persist for ages, while we ordinary humans only have mere decades of life?”

“Why is it that despite my rigorous training, giving my entire life to this cause, I still have to face death?”

“Why!”

He roared, “This kingdom was built by me! I fought south and north, exterminated the Gnolls, and waged bloody battles against the Giant Trolls, clearing obstacle after obstacle, bit by bit, until this vast land was won for the people here, so they could have this country!”

“It was me who created everything here! Everything here should belong to me!”

“I only used them for trade to gain what I desired; I only wanted to extend my life!”

“Is that wrong?”

He shook his head, resolute: “I am innocent!”

“If there’s guilt…”

“Then it’s only the guilt of this world!”

…

After successfully collecting the Confession Heart, there remained only one more ingredient: the Merit of the Dead.

This was also a spiritual body ingredient. When people pass away, they often recall the glorious feats of their lifetimes. These intense spiritual forces can, to some degree, affect reality and form a unique spiritual body upon the death of the deceased.

This material can be gathered in cemeteries, but ordinary people’s lives rarely contain events worth celebrating, with their spirits not intense enough. Cemeteries rarely produce the Merit of the Dead, requiring individuals with grand and extraordinary lives.

“I know of a place.”

Just as Lynch pondered where to search, Grant offered his suggestion: “Dawn Cemetery, where my Knights are buried.”

Before setting out, Lynch and his company went to the castle to greet the Count of Falcon.

By coincidence, they encountered Arthur preparing to depart as well.

The Count, like Jamie, tried to dissuade him: “Since you’ve managed to escape, why go back?”

Arthur replied, “Because of my surname.”

“Grant?” Marshall scoffed, “Didn’t I tell you? The name ’Grant’ has never existed in this world; it’s nothing but a despicable scoundrel’s fabrication.”

Arthur’s voice was unwavering: “That may be your opinion, but I believe he exists.”

“Though I don’t understand why he did such things, there’s no doubt he once fought for this land, for this kingdom…”

“If there were no Grant…”

His voice rang with determination: “Then I will become Grant.”

And with that, he headed off again.

This time, he sought no aid, preparing to return to Gwodis to stand alongside his companions, waiting for the moment to come.

The next day, Lynch and his companions also resumed their journey.

After setting off again, Lynch noticed Grant’s footsteps felt noticeably heavier—perhaps something from Hawk Castle had stirred him?

As they reached a hillside, Frey sneered, mocking: “That foolish human—what’s he thinking? Expecting others to go die with him? People aren’t idiots; why would they listen to him.”

Lynch grinned: “Oh, you never know.”

Frey glanced at him: “What are you talking about? That Count clearly refused him, and he’s searched all over the Seven Kingdoms—where else could he find reinforcements?”

Lynch replied, “The Count of Falcon never explicitly said no.”

Frey froze: “You mean…”

As the two continued their discussion, a distant, long horn sounded suddenly.

Then, they saw orderly formations of soldiers emerging from the castle gates: infantry, cavalry, archers, gunmen—all neatly arrayed, their armor gleaming.

Count Marshall of Falcon led the procession at the front, clad in shining silver Chain Armor. His weapons and armor, shimmering in the blazing sunlight, radiated an imposing, intimidating aura.

Grant was visibly startled: “Where are they headed?”

Lynch responded, “Don’t you already know the answer?”

The direction of the procession was clear—toward Gwodis City.

This did not surprise Lynch.

The night he had accidentally wandered into the workshop downstairs, he had seen the Blacksmiths tirelessly forging weapons and armor in full swing. Their creation wasn’t anything else but instruments of war.

In such circumstances, mass-producing armaments had a clear intent.

Evidently, the Count of Falcon had long been preparing to intervene in Gwodis and had been meticulously planning for it.

Frey stared in shock: “These humans—are they insane? Why would they do this?”

Lynch replied, “Who knows? Maybe for an oath?”

Frey asked, puzzled: “Do they even understand what they’re facing? Aren’t they afraid of death?”

Lynch said, “People live—you always need some purpose, right?”

Grant stood on the hillside, gazing at the throng of soldiers below, marching to their ’death,’ silent for a long time.

Vaguely, his eyes seemed to clear a little.

…

Dawn Base.

Located on the northern side of the Ramos Duchy, this cemetery is where the Dawn Knights who once followed Grant and helped establish the kingdom are buried.

Each Dawn Knight was laid to rest here upon their death.

These individuals experienced grand and remarkable lives, leaving behind spiritual fields strong enough to influence reality and form the Merit of the Dead.

Upon arriving, Lynch lit a Dead Soul Candle, its pale light quickly revealing clusters of faint white luminescence floating above the graves. Upon nearing, one could glimpse vague scenes within each glowing orb.

“Charge! For Grant!”

“Hold them back!”

“Draw your swords! Fight to the bitter end!”

The scenes portrayed soldiers charging into battle, bleeding amidst ferocious combat, defending their homeland. Each memory ultimately converged upon the towering figure at the forefront—Grant.

Dressed in Golden Battle Armor, wielding the Fearless Great Sword, he had once been invincible among thousands, unstoppable like an immortal force.

Grant remained silent.

The vivid scenes seemed to awaken memories long dormant within him. His eyes slowly grew brighter.

Meanwhile, Lynch had already collected enough Merit of the Dead: “Alright, it’s time to begin.”

The long-awaited moment had arrived, yet Grant seemed remarkably subdued.

He suddenly asked, “What’s the fate of Wizards?”

Lynch replied, “I don’t know—perhaps truth and eternity.”

“Eternity…”

Grant murmured softly, “Does it truly exist?”

Lynch shook his head: “Everyone wants to know that answer.”

Grant asked, “As for Wizards who never reach eternity—what happens to them? What is their fate?”

After a pause, he bitterly answered his own question: “It must be death too, right?”

Lynch nodded: “Yes.”

Grant questioned, “Tell me—someone like me… can I truly achieve eternity?”

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