Dayat descended the tower stairs with heavy, leaden steps. Each stair felt like scaling a mountain. The wound on his shoulder still bled, despite being crudely bound with a strip of cloth torn from his shirt. His body felt hollow—his manifestation energy was depleted, and his physical strength was nearing its limit.

He stopped at every landing to catch his breath. Outside, the sky began to shift colors, turning from a deep, inky black to a pale, ghostly gray. Dawn was imminent.

‘Two hours,’ Dayat thought. ‘Two hours since I walked from that narrow alley to this place, fought, climbed the tower, shot Alaric, and now… the descent.’

He forced himself to keep moving. Every downward step felt heavier than the last.

The alleys of the Elite District felt like a ghost town. There were no footsteps, no shouts from merchants, no glowing crystal lamps. The residents hid inside their homes, bolting their windows shut. They didn’t dare venture out. They had heard the gunfire throughout the night. They had seen the bodies strewn across the pavement. They were terrified.

Along the path he traveled, the bodies of guards lay scattered on the stone floor. Some still groaned in agony. Others were motionless. Those who had survived had fled long ago into the night.

Dayat walked past them without a second glance.

He wanted to get there quickly. He wanted to see Dola. He wanted to ensure Dalgor was safe. He wanted to— ‘stop.’

Dayat halted in the middle of the alley. He closed his eyes, regulating his breath.

‘Later. All that comes later. For now, just keep walking.’

He resumed his pace. Slower than before, but he did not stop.

In the Old House, Middle District.

Dola sat beside Dalgor. The old Dwarf remained unconscious, his chest rising and falling slowly. His breath was shallow, but it was more stable than before.

Dola had cleaned his wounds with fresh water. She bandaged them with cloth she had retrieved from the first-aid kit. She had also administered a simple concoction to Dalgor using the remnants of medicinal plants she found in the house’s kitchen—dried leaves stored in jars and roots hanging from the ceiling. It wasn’t a potent medicine, but it was enough to stabilize the old Dwarf.

If only my energy would return.

She extended her hand; a faint blue light flickered at her fingertips. But only for a moment. The light died out again.

The seal of the six goddesses still restricted her. And the battle last night—even though she had mostly been acting—had drained her reserves. She could only rely on the first-aid supplies Dayat had manifested earlier.

Dola sighed. She sat on a wooden chair by the window, staring at the brightening sky.

“What’s taking you so long, Husband?”

In the Private Chamber of Emperor Volco, Brassvale Capital.

The letter arrived this morning. A courier delivered it directly into Emperor Volco’s hands.

The Emperor broke the red wax seal bearing the Viperion family crest. He read it. Once. Twice. Three times.

His hands did not shake. His eyes did not widen. He simply fell silent.

‘The Maiden’s Envoy.’

Emperor Volco stood up. He walked to the window facing west—toward Bakasa.

“Assemble the troops.”

“Your Majesty?” his aide asked.

“The Royal Elite Guard. One hundred men. Have Captain Veldris lead them.” He paused for a moment. “And inform the Church. They will undoubtedly want to be involved.”

The aide nodded. “It shall be done immediately, Your Majesty.”

Emperor Volco stared at the letter once more. In his hands, the paper felt heavy.

‘The Maiden’s Envoy has returned.’

He didn’t know whether to feel joy or terror.

In the Private Chamber of High Bishop Valerius, Church of Gear-Breaker.

The letter arrived via a magical bird. Valerius received it with trembling hands.

He read it. Once. Then he read it again. And again. And again.

‘The Maiden’s Envoy has returned.’

His hands would not stop shaking. Not from fear. Not from anger. But from a joy that could not be concealed.

“The Harbingers of Cataclysm have returned,” he whispered. “The demons we thought were extinct… they still draw breath.”

He stood up. On his desk stood a small statuette of the Gear-Breaker—the symbol of the church he led. He touched it, his fingers tracing the cold metal surface.

“Summon Thamuz.”

“Your Holiness?” the priest behind him asked.

“Call the Inquisition. Call everyone who possesses faith.” Valerius turned around, his face beaming. “We will capture the Maiden’s envoy. We will bring him here. And we will show the world that the Church of Gear-Breaker is never wrong.”

He smiled. “Demons must be burned.”

At Castle Zero, Mourning Forest.

Kancil had been sitting on The Terrace of Equilibrium since dawn.

He hugged his knees, staring at the forest below. The fog was thick, hanging between the black trees like a giant blanket. Occasionally, the howl of a wolf echoed from the distance—not too close, but not too far either.

‘The howling last night was different.’

Kancil remembered it. Longer. Deeper. More persistent. As if something was disturbing them. As if something had trespassed into their territory.

“You didn’t sleep well?”

Kancil turned. Lunethra stood behind him, a green shawl draped over her shoulders. Her face was calm, but her eyes—they were the eyes of a mother worried for her child.

“I slept fine,” Kancil replied. But his voice lacked conviction.

Lunethra sat beside him. “Kancil.”

“Yes?”

“Something is bothering you. Tell me.”

Kancil was quiet for a moment. He gripped the Desert Eagle at his waist, ensuring the magazine was full.

“Sister Lunethra,” he finally said. “Do you feel anything strange in this forest?”

Lunethra observed the black trees in the distance. The fog moved slowly, as if something were pushing it from within.

“I feel it,” she said. “For a few days now. Something is moving deep within the woods.”

“Something… What is it?”

“Something unusual. The energy is too dense, and it’s only growing thicker.”

Kancil gripped the Desert Eagle tighter. “What should we do?”

Lunethra didn’t answer. Her eyes remained fixed on the forest, on the shadows shifting between the trees. Not monsters. Not wolves. But something else.

“We wait,” she said finally. “And we stay vigilant.”

In Bakasa, That Morning.

Dayat finally reached the old house in the Middle District.

The door opened before he could even knock. Dola stood at the threshold, her eyes immediately darting to the wound on Dayat’s shoulder, to his torn black jacket, to his pale face.

She didn’t ask questions. She simply pulled Dayat inside, led him to the wooden chair by the window, and began to unravel the crude bandage stuck to her husband’s wound.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“A bit.”

“Liar.”

Dayat offered a faint smile. “Yes. It hurts.”

Dola took the first-aid kit she had prepared. She cleaned Dayat’s wound with a wet cloth, applied a simple herbal salve, and re-bandaged it with clean linen. Her movements were careful and slow, as if she were tending to her most precious possession.

“Gravion is dead,” Dayat said.

“I know. I knew you could defeat him.”

“Alaric too.”

Dola didn’t respond. She continued bandaging Dayat’s wound.

“I shot him from the tower,” Dayat continued. “I saw his letter fly away. I took aim… but I was too late. The bird was already too far. I fired anyway, but I missed.”

Dola paused. She looked at Dayat. “So… the letter was sent.”

Dayat exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yes. I didn’t make it in time.”

A moment of silence followed.

“Now they know we’re back,” he added, his tone growing colder. “But it doesn’t matter. Sooner or later, they would have found out anyway.”

They fell silent. In the corner of the room, Dalgor still lay unconscious, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

“I met Vael,” Dola said.

Dayat raised an eyebrow. “Vael? From back then?”

“Yes. He survived.” Dola sat in the chair next to Dayat. “He knows where Kancil’s friends are.”

“Riri? Tomas? Sany? Loy?”

Dola nodded. “They’ve joined the bandits. In the forest north of Bakasa.”

“Bandits? The ones we ran into before?”

“Yes, those ones.”

Dayat sighed. “Poor kids. They’re just children.”

“We’ll find them.”

In Brassvale Capital, That Morning.

One hundred elite soldiers began to march from the royal barracks. Their black iron armor gleamed under the morning sun. Spears and swords were drawn. At the front of the line, Captain Veldris stood with his hands on his hips.

“We are heading to Bakasa,” he declared. “We will capture the Maiden’s envoy. We will bring him before the Emperor.”

“Is he really that strong?” one of the soldiers asked.

Veldris smirked. “I don’t know. But we won’t take risks. I believe one hundred men are enough to deal with the Maiden’s envoy.”

The troop began to move, leaving the capital at a brisk pace.

At the Church of Gear-Breaker, That Morning.

Thamuz had been ready since last night. His giant axe was strapped to his back, his black cloak donned, and prayers of cruelty had been uttered before the altar.

“We are going to Bakasa,” said Inquisitor Morvain, a high priest with a cold face and sharp eyes. “We will capture the Maiden’s envoy. We will bring him here. We will show the world that the Church of Gear-Breaker is never wrong.”

Thamuz grinned. “Can I kill him?”

“No. We bring him back alive.”

“Pity.”

“But if forced… just kill him.”

The Inquisition forces began their march. They left the church quickly, heading south—toward Bakasa.

In the Old House, Middle District.

Dayat stood near the window, staring toward the north. Dola was at his side.

“They will pursue us,” Dola said.

“Let them.” Dayat didn’t look away. “We already have a goal. Find Kancil’s friends. Get Dalgor to safety. And then…” He paused. “Then we go home.”

“Home?”

“To Castle Zero. To Kancil. To Lunethra.” Dayat smiled. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been home.”

Dola smiled. “Yes. A long time.”

Behind them, Dalgor was still unconscious. But his breath was steadier. His face wasn’t as pale as it had been the night before.

Dayat turned. “We leave tomorrow morning. Before the troops arrive.”

“Can you still manifest a vehicle?”

“I can.” Dayat gripped her hand. “I’ve been cared for by my wife all night. I should be healed by now.”

Dola giggled. “Such a simp (Bucin).”

“Being a simp is fine. As long as my wife is happy.”

They laughed together. In the corner of the room, Dalgor let out a soft groan—a sign that he was still alive, still holding on, still going to survive.

Outside, the sky grew bright. Morning had truly arrived. And in the distance, from the East and the Southeast, the footsteps of a hundred-man army began to resonate.

But for now, in the old house in the Middle District, there was only silence. And warmth.

At Castle Zero.

Kancil was still sitting on the terrace. Lunethra was beside him. They didn’t speak. They only watched the dark forest.

“Sister Lunethra,” Kancil finally spoke.

“Yes?”

“Brother Dayat and Sister Dola are definitely coming home, right?”

Lunethra looked at the brightening sky. “Definitely.”

Kancil offered a thin smile. He gripped his Desert Eagle tighter.

Inside the forest, something moved. Something that shouldn’t have been there. But for now, they only waited.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep