Ascension from Dual Professions

Heta County City, at the pinnacle of the clock tower.

A lead-gray sky hung low, and gunpowder smoke coiled around the spire like a murky veil.

Carina—or rather, the entity wearing Carina’s skin—leaned lazily against the cold bronze bell. The hem of her deep violet velvet dress swayed gently in the frigid wind, like a patch of frozen night.

Her inhuman, glass-bead eyes pierced through the chaotic battlefield, precisely locking onto the side alley Jon had just passed through.

“Heh…”

A soft chuckle escaped her lips, carrying a deep, multi-layered echo.

“Using a Dharma Seal to unify six effects… The little one plays with his Magic quite well.”

Her fingertip traced idly over the mottled green patina on the massive bronze bell, tapping it lightly as if in thought.

“He’s stronger than before… But… what exactly is making him progress so quickly?”

“Is it the favor of the Deities? Or something more… clandestine?”

However, just as she was pondering, a roaring tide of battle cries erupted from the direction of the city’s main thoroughfare.

There, the banners of the resistance coalition swayed behind dilapidated barricades. The nobles’ private soldiers and the remnants of the rebel army clashed like two muddy torrents, grinding against each other. Severed limbs and shattered shields bobbed in the mire, and the wails of the dying were drowned out by even more fanatical war cries.

The woman’s slender, beautiful brows twitched slightly, and she immediately let out a helpless sigh.

“Oh, well… There will be other chances to figure it out…”

“As for now, let’s make this performance… a little grander.”

She curled her index finger and tapped her nail lightly against the ancient bronze surface of the bell.

“DOOM…”

There was no great, booming clang, only a vibration so dull it was almost imperceptible, like a massive stone plunging into the deepest part of a dark pool.

Invisible ripples of gray energy spread out silently from the clock tower, brushing like light smoke over the dense rooftops, seeping through the cracks of sealed window lattices, and washing over the trembling bodies huddled in cold cellars.

Wherever the ripples touched, the civilians cowering in their dilapidated homes suddenly froze.

The flames of terror in their eyes were extinguished as if by cold water, their pupils dilating into vacant black dots.

The taut, fear-twisted lines on their faces were silently smoothed away by an unseen hand, leaving behind only a vacant blankness.

As if pulled by invisible strings, one after another, they pushed open creaking doors with the stiff movements of marionettes and stepped out onto that hellish battlefield. Men, women, the elderly… they walked with an unsteady gait toward the spattering blood and roaring blades, oblivious to the cold glint of steel hacking down right before them, as if they were walking to a grotesque morning prayer.

“Carina” looked down as this bizarre human tide flowed into the swirling vortex of the battlefield.

Maddened soldiers cut down the blank-faced civilians who approached, only to be tripped up by more numb bodies the next moment. The pushing walls of people became unexpected human shields in the path of the nobles’ cavalry charges. The screams of the dying and the unconscious groans of the enthralled intertwined bizarrely…

The chaotic slaughter was suddenly injected with a viscous, desperate sense of suffocation, like pouring gasoline on a fire.

“Look, this is the symphony Destiny was meant to be… the beauty of destruction in chaos.”

She chuckled softly, her fingertips caressing the cold surface of the bell as if stroking a lover’s skin.

The lead-gray daylight outlined her enchanting silhouette, her thick, dark curls writhing in the wind like living things.

Suddenly, she tilted her head slightly, her glass-bead eyes turning toward the city gate, as if she had sensed something.

“Hmm… what a pity…”

“I can’t stay in this prime viewing seat for much longer.”

She sighed softly, but her voice held not a trace of regret.

The moment she finished speaking, her figure leaning against the wall began to blur and waver from the edges, like a sand painting blown away by the wind.

The deep violet of her dress dissolved silently into the shadows of the stonework, and her thick black hair melted into the lead-gray sky.

Just an instant after she departed, a cold, stern will swept over the clock tower. It felt the lingering, low vibration on the great bell before departing just as solemnly.

‘What a cunning creature…’

…

Paris stood just inside the city gate, his gaze sweeping over the familiar yet alien city before him. The doors and windows of the houses lining the streets were shut tight, giving it the dead silence of a massive tomb.

However, this dead silence was being broken by something even more grotesque. More and more civilians, like puppets pulled by invisible strings, were emerging silently from behind those closed doors and out of dark alleyways, flooding onto the streets with unsteady steps.

Their faces held no fear, no anger, only a mind-numbing, vacant blankness.

Men, women, the elderly, and even children formed a viscous, slow-moving human tide. They ignored the muddy pools of blood and scattered, broken weapons at their feet, ignored the thunderous sounds of slaughter from the main thoroughfare in the distance, and simply moved mechanically, single-mindedly, toward the highest point in the city—Red Crying Castle, which loomed like a congealed scab of blood.

The sight was more chilling than the most brutal battlefield.

Paris’s brow furrowed deeply, and his knuckles turned white from gripping his sword hilt too tightly.

His intuition told him this was likely another one of the enemy’s vile tricks involving Evil Magic.

And on a scale like this—

Just as this suffocating, eerie atmosphere reached its peak, the air beside him rippled silently, like the surface of water after a pebble has been dropped in.

A figure in a dusty, unremarkable gray cloak, as if coalesced from Shadow itself, appeared without warning just half a step from Paris’s side.

The newcomer exuded a cold and restrained aura. The hood of his cloak was pulled down so low that it revealed only a hard-lined, bloodless chin.

Paris’s pupils contracted sharply, but his face showed no surprise. Instead, he instantly straightened his back, placed his right hand over his left breast, and gave a flawless military salute.

“Lord Bagget, you’ve arrived.”

He didn’t even ask why the man had appeared at such a time.

The cloaked man—Bagget—responded to Paris’s salute with only the slightest nod, like the passing of a faint breeze.

He did not look at Paris. His eyes, hidden in the shadow of his hood, scanned the silently surging tide of blank-faced people before them. His voice was like two cold iron plates grinding against each other.

“Have your Soldiers move immediately. Intercept and disperse all civilians attempting to converge on Red Crying Castle.”

“Contain them. Use ropes, use barricades, use any means necessary. You absolutely must not allow them to reach Red Crying Castle.”

Paris’s heart sank. The urgency in Bagget’s words pointed to a terrible possibility.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he suppressed the storm of shock raging within him and spoke tentatively.

“My lord… has something happened at Red Crying Castle? The state of these civilians…”

Bagget finally turned his head slightly. From beneath the shadow of his hood, a gaze utterly devoid of warmth seemed to fall on Paris’s face.

It was a gaze that felt as if it could pierce the flesh and see every thought in the depths of his soul.

“Execute your orders, Viscount.”

His voice was devoid of inflection, yet it was as heavy as a mountain, each word landing like a hammer blow on Paris’s heart.

“This is not the time for questions. Every second of delay could send this situation spiraling into an unrecoverable abyss.”

Before his voice had even faded, the hem of his cloak blurred for an instant, as if dissolving into the air.

Paris didn’t even see him move. The gray shadow vanished from the spot as if he had never been there, leaving only a wisp of cold air and that heavy command echoing in the frigid wind.

Paris stood frozen in place, a chill crawling up his spine to the nape of his neck.

He took a sharp breath. The cold air, thick with gunpowder and blood, stung his throat but also instantly dispelled his daze.

When he spun around to face his men, his expression had returned to its usual cold severity.

The noble commanders who followed him, their faces usually arrogant or slick, were now filled with incredible shock.

“L-Lord Paris…”

A lord with a meticulously groomed beard moved his lips, his voice barely a whisper.

“That… that gentleman just now was…?”

Paris’s gaze, like a cold iron awl, slowly swept over each uncertain face.

He didn’t raise his voice, but his low tone cut clearly through the whistling wind and the faint sounds of battle in the distance.

“The Ministry of Internal Affairs.”

Those four words, like four heavy lead weights, crashed into the hearts of every noble present.

HISS—

A collective sharp intake of breath was heard.

The color drained from everyone’s faces in an instant, their pupils contracting sharply.

The Ministry of Internal Affairs! The Empire’s Shadow blade! The deepest nightmare of the nobility!

Their name was taboo. Their appearance signified the arrival of the Empire’s most core will!

There wasn’t a single noble who didn’t fear the Ministry of Internal Affairs.

After all, who among them hadn’t done something that violated the laws of the Empire?

On a normal day, it was one thing to keep such matters to themselves, but at a sensitive time like this, if they were caught by the Ministry of Internal Affairs, they could forget about enjoying their noble glory. Even surviving would be a luxury!

Paris ignored the nobles’ instantly pale faces and their almost-frozen terror. He abruptly drew his sword, the blade flashing a blinding cold light under the gloomy sky. His voice boomed like rolling thunder at the silent city gate.

“Relay my orders! All reserve units! Immediately block all main roads and intersections leading to Red Crying Castle! Establish a quarantine zone!”

“Disperse the crowds! If you meet resistance… you are authorized to use non-lethal force to subdue them! Bind them with ropes and hold them under centralized guard!”

“Anyone who dares to charge the blockade and continues to approach Red Crying Castle, regardless of their identity… is to be killed on sight!”

“Execute immediately! Anyone who delays this operation will face a court-martial!”

After issuing these commands, his gaze drifted unconsciously toward the distant spire of the Sun Church.

The “reports” about Jon’s forceful entry into the city, which had even resulted in injuries to some nobles’ private soldiers, had of course already reached him.

Normally, no commander would tolerate such an uncontrollable force appearing on their battlefield, but…

Jon was an exception.

‘I hope that, just like in the past… you can bring about a different kind of change…’