Chapter 226: Dragon-Eagle

Fog Fortress, if one truly entered inside, they would find the solid fortress full of cracks. The bodies of those knights and warriors looked as if they had split open, covered with crimson fissures.

The training grounds of the fortress were filled with corpses. They lay interlaced on the ground, faces calm.

Those handling the corpses held wooden sticks. When they reached one body, they lightly tapped it, producing a clattering sound like striking hard stone. The corpse struck seemed to react to the force. The fissures spread from the tapped spot along with the sackcloth, until they covered the entire body. With a sharp crack, the person shattered apart, turning into a pool of dark-red powder.

The dark-red powder spread casually across the ground. When the corpse-handlers stepped on it, it became compacted.

When walking, the corpse-handlers lifted their legs high, carefully avoiding sweeping the powder.

It was obvious—they were already very experienced.

Outside the training ground, on the upper level of the fortress, stood a chair. Seated on it was Earl Raul.

He wore luxurious robes. His hair was deathly pale, his hands resting on the armrests thin as skin-wrapped bones. His head drooped, as if his upper body was supported only by those bony arms. His face was full of cracks, flesh shriveled as if drained dry. His eyes were shut, breath weak.

But the most striking was the stone embedded in his forehead.

It was like a third eye.

Suddenly, Earl Raul’s body seemed tugged by invisible threads. He straightened, leaning back on the chair, raising his head slightly.

His eyes remained closed. Only the stone on his forehead “looked” toward the sky.

Corleon’s Incarnation appeared there, facing the stone.

“@！#￥%……”

The exchange was so chaotic that even will itself could not communicate. Corleon could only feel the rage within.

Pure rage, filled with the fury of Great Annihilation.

From the cracks of the stone shone power, as though seeping out from its core—the power of Great Annihilation.

It was choosing to destroy its own material form.

A god could not be killed. Only forgotten. Then they would fall into eternal silence.

One needed to erase the god’s will, erase the god’s material, exile the god’s existence.

Its existence had already been exiled. What remained was only a sliver of divine will. After being partly assimilated by Corleon, that instinct-driven will grew even weaker. Now, under the urging of Great Annihilation, it chose to sacrifice its material to offer Corleon the greatest destruction.

Yet Corleon extended a finger. At its tip shone golden light, which touched the stone.

Golden brilliance spread, invading the stone, dyeing the crimson annihilation light into gold. Finally, it erased the god’s resurrected will from within this Mystery, leaving behind only the “Holy Relic” purified by Corleon.

Slowly, he withdrew his finger. The stone embedded in Raul’s forehead drilled itself free.

It was the size of an adult’s fist, spherical, with golden cracks upon its surface. Blood and white brain matter from Raul clung to it.

Once removed, Raul’s forehead showed a ghastly hollow. One could see his skull, and the faintly trembling brain within.

If such a wound were on an ordinary man, no one would believe he still lived.

But now, Raul’s expression relaxed slightly. His breathing steadied.

Corleon’s figure faded. The stone streaked away as a dim stream of light across the heavens, flying toward Mist Fortress. At the same time, within Fog Fortress, more than half of the people turned into dark-red powder, as if their life had been drained.

……

Mist Fortress. The tremors finally ceased. Marl and the Temple Warriors set upright the Lord’s Throne and the cross, bowing their heads in brief prayer.

Richard stammered, “……That… that was the power that allowed Earl Raul to guard the border, wasn’t it?”

His eyes shone with admiration.

Marl finished his prayer, looked at Richard, and said, “Perhaps the fishmen attacked again? Even just from afar, that strike could have destroyed a small town.”

“But the battlefront is still too long, and the conscripted warriors too few. Otherwise, under such great power’s protection, these fishmen would never cross the border.” Marl calmly analyzed.

Back when Councilor Julian defended against the werewolves, he used a fortress as the core, drawing a line of watchtowers that the werewolves could not pass.

At that time, the number of werewolves was less than today’s fishmen, and the line of defense shorter. But the werewolves were stronger than fishman servants. Even so, Julian did not possess such Mystery that could erase a town in an instant.

“If we could gather two thousand warriors, it would be enough to hold off thirty thousand fishmen, preventing them from breaking through,” Marl said.

Yet, with what he knew, only Earl Raul and the warriors of Fog Fortress guarded this border. Beyond stretched a cleared no-man’s-land. Every few days, civilians were escorted across this empty zone into Fog Fortress.

Beyond the no-man’s-land, scattered knights and local gentry cleared out fishmen.

Richard thought less deeply. He only said, “If the Earl issued a call-to-arms, I believe many warriors would answer. But the Earl is too merciful, choosing only to hold the line himself.”

Marl glanced silently at Richard, thinking perhaps he should sit with Olivia at meals.

At least now, even George would not speak such words.

Suddenly Richard raised his head again, pointing at the horizon. “Wait! Another light—it’s coming toward us?”

Marl followed his gaze. The light carried a familiar closeness.

Richard gasped, “We’re doomed! The fortress is still burning, we have nowhere to hide!”

Marl shook his head. “Do not worry. This time it will not harm us.”

The certainty in his tone left Richard stunned.

That earth-shattering force earlier had been seen by all.

Yet Richard chose to trust, watching the stream of light draw near, pass above them, and fall into the misty forest beyond.

Richard finally exhaled, then asked with curiosity, “How did you know it wouldn’t hurt us?”

Marl ignored him, folding his hands in prayer once more.

Above them, Corleon’s will lingered, siphoning power through the cross from the Clock Tower.

Just as the stone carried the will of Great Annihilation, Corleon’s body was also “material” holding his will.

When Corleon “devoured” Faith as the drive of his power, he began evolving toward Mystery—or rather, toward the source of Mystery, the divine. When he fully embraced Faith, forming it into his own eyes without erasing his existence, he already bore the will of a god.

In some sense, Corleon was now in a near-divine state. His existence and will leaned toward Faith, toward the Light Orb, toward the Lord—yet he still remained “Corleon.”

The places sheltered by the Lord were extensions of Corleon’s will. Beyond the Lord’s protection, Corleon’s will could not reach far. Only with the cross as an anchor could his will descend.

This was the will of a god, unseen by mortals. Even a priest like Marl could not perceive it. He could only sense that the Lord’s gaze had turned here.

Perhaps once Marl became a bishop, he would directly feel the wills of gods.

To truly “see” them, though, would require higher Commandments.

After the stone of Great Annihilation plunged into the misty forest, Corleon’s will vanished from the cross above, reappearing within the forest.

All unknowns and legends in this world originated from Mystery.

Just as Lake Salvador harbored the Magical Beast Salvador, this mysterious forest too housed magical beasts.

It was the Dragon-Eagle, a creature with both dragon and eagle traits. Its head resembled a mighty eagle’s, its sharp beak like a dagger. Above the beak were golden eyes, gleaming faintly with pain.

On its head grew a row of dragon-like horns, curved and spiked, stretching from forehead to neck. The longest one at the center bore the stone of Great Annihilation. Cracks spread around the embedded stone—its implantation was clearly not gentle.

Its long, flexible neck swayed. Its massive wings spread wide in agony.

Its body was covered in fine golden feathers, streaked faintly with blue runes that pulsed with magical aura.

Corleon’s will manifested at human size before the Dragon-Eagle, small enough that the beast could swallow him whole.

Yet the Dragon-Eagle spread its wings, attempting to flee.

Corleon raised his hand and lightly clenched. The Dragon-Eagle seemed seized by invisible hands, its body crushed, bones snapping, feathers torn away, blood seeping out. Its wings twisted as its enormous form crashed from the sky to the earth.

“……Humans! You swore not to trespass into my territory……”

The Dragon-Eagle’s cry rang like an eagle’s shriek.

Corleon ignored it. His fist opened, his hand beckoned.

The longest horn with the embedded stone tore free from the Dragon-Eagle’s head, floating into Corleon’s grasp.

Blood spurted in a fountain. The beast screamed in agony.

Ignoring its suffering, Corleon gripped the horn, running his hand along it. Golden light corroded its form, reshaping it into a four-meter-long spear.

The shaft shone in white-gold, the spearhead glowed red—its base was the Dragon-Eagle’s horn-root, still stained with its blood. At its butt was set the stone of Great Annihilation.

With a casual swing, destructive power erupted. The spear tore a massive wound across the Dragon-Eagle’s sturdy body, revealing writhing internal organs and shattered bones.

The Dragon-Eagle cried in pain, its shrieks stirring the fog of the forest into turbulent waves.

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