Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 326 - 325: The Oblivion Association’s Lair

Underground palace, the path to the deepest level.

The endless staircase seems to lead to the abyssal hell, the ancient, deep black stone walls appear to seal the world’s primal malice. Rows of magic crystal lamps are embedded along the descending staircase, yet their bright glow seems powerless against the darkness entrenched in this passage. The light cast by the magic crystals can only illuminate a small fraction of the walls and steps; the spaces beyond the reach of the light remain eternally intimidating and dark.

A sound of vines and roots rubbing against each other echoes between the stairs and corridor. Beltira walks unhurriedly along this passage leading to the Flesh Abyss, faint whispers of madness reverberating in her mind. Her silhouette moves forward in the feeble glow of the magic crystals, while the darkness continuously closes in behind her.

The staircase to the deepest part of the palace consists of multiple tiers. After each long descent, there’s a gentler corridor, providing a buffer for the downward-trekking stairs, allowing travelers to take a rest and relieve the maddening psychological pressure. But Beltira knows full well that the best way to safely traverse this staircase is not to linger anywhere.

Every such gentle corridor has two stone doors, and passing through such a ”pair” of stone doors subjects the traveler to deeper influences, increasing the maddening whispers and the terror of being consumed by darkness. Every minute spent on this path brings one closer to madness and death.

An exceptionally heavy, ancient stone door appears before Beltira. The surface of this door is inscribed with twisted flesh, plants, and a mysterious starry sky that does not belong to this era—this is the final barrier to the ”secret chamber.”

In front of the stone door, two tall figures bow slightly in silence to greet Beltira.

They are formidable creatures—although human traits still linger on them, they can no longer be described as ”human.” Their heads are covered with growths, swollen and malformed, their eyes and ears having severely degenerated into snaking, wormlike appendages. Their limbs are more robust than a human’s and are wrapped in layers of bandages to prevent the uncontrolled flesh from separating from their bodies—they are the ”guardians” of the underground ruins.

These guardians cannot speak, see, or hear, and even their modes of thinking and perception have mutated into non-human states.

Before becoming guardians, they were the most fanatical and loyal members of the Oblivion Association. They paid unimaginable human costs, even mutating into this chilling state, just to keep watch over the deepest secrets of this underground palace for long periods—because ordinary human guards would not survive long in this passage.

Thinking about the Archbishop who has stayed in the ”secret chamber” for seven hundred years, even Beltira can’t help but shudder briefly. She nods to the guardians and then walks forward solemnly.

The heavy, ancient stone door of unknown construction opens automatically before Beltira, revealing a small hall with three forks.

The middle fork leads to the true ”Flesh Abyss,” the left leads to the ”Sacrificial Grounds,” and the right leads to the secret chamber where the Archbishop resides.

Beltira proceeds forward, and at the moment she crosses the threshold, countless mad whispers suddenly intensify, echoing in her mind as if to devour her. The priestess can’t help but frown, then walks toward the Archbishop’s secret chamber amid the entangling whispers of madness.

The ”guardians” standing before the secret chamber remain silent, greeting Beltira with a bow and assisting in opening the chamber door.

The instant she steps into the secret chamber, all the mad whispers vanish, and the chaotic psychological pressure that had weighed upon her dissipates. Beltira breathes a sigh of relief, knowing this is the power of the Archbishop.

The secret chamber is small, with only stone tables and chairs for furniture, devoid of any redundant decorations. The awe-inspiring Archbishop is in the center of the chamber, sitting behind a stone desk, browsing a thick, ancient tome.

Beltira can’t help but glance at the book, and a powerful mental draw immediately captures her, but before being completely controlled by the endlessly unreadable ”Ultimate Tome,” she forcibly diverts her gaze and bows respectfully to the black-robed, indistinctly featured Archbishop behind the desk: ”Archbishop.”

The Archbishop’s voice emerges from beneath the hood, mixed with hoarse sounds: ”I heard your actions were exposed, and you were injured?”

”...Yes,” Beltira hesitates for less than a second but admits honestly, ”I was careless.”

”No matter, it’s a trivial matter,” the Archbishop says lightly, seemingly indifferent to this failure, ”Soon we won’t need to hide, the elves won’t pose much trouble. More importantly, how is the progress on the matter I instructed you to investigate?”

”The Eternal Sleepers call Gawain the ’Outland Wanderer.’ They seem to have received some intelligence, based on which they conclude that the revival of Gawain Cecil is actually a facade. They believe some external ’evil spirit’ or ’unnamable entity’ has possessed that body.”

”Outland Wanderer...” the Archbishop murmurs, then casually brushes a hand over the ”Ultimate Tome,” which emits a buzzing sound. The pages flip rapidly and halt at a specific page.

The Archbishop glances at the page and shakes his head slightly: ”The Ultimate Tome has no information on Outland Wanderers.”

Beltira cautiously says: ”Then... is this intelligence false?”

”It might also be something beyond mortal comprehension, involving divine secrets,” the Archbishop said, closing the Ultimate Tome with an indifferent tone. ”You know that Gawain Cecil couldn’t possibly have resurrected.”

”Yes,” Beltira slightly bowed her head. ”Then what actions should we take regarding Gawain Cecil?”

The Archbishop opened the Ultimate Tome once more and gently brushed his hand across the pages. This time, the pages of the tome turned at a more frenzied speed and stopped at a certain page after a few seconds.

”The answer of the Ultimate Tome remains the same,” the Archbishop said blandly. ”Do not engage, do not interfere, keep your distance.”

”Understood.”

The Archbishop nodded slightly, his low voice emerging from beneath his hood: ”Have our arrangements in Anzu and Typhon been initiated?”

”Following your orders, the war will come amidst a false peace.”

The Archbishop was silent for a long time and then let out a slight sigh: ”...This is the price mortals must pay to break free from fate.”

”There is one matter of concern, Archbishop,” Beltira suddenly spoke, ”The recent activities of the Holy Light Church have become increasingly aggressive. Under the guise of suppressing heterodoxies, they’ve begun to suppress other religions in various places and have been massively recruiting shallow believers and new converts—their numbers have doubled in a short period.”

”Shallow believers...trying to rely on numbers...” the Archbishop murmured to himself and finally shook his head. ”A path to self-destruction... If they continue to develop like this, sooner or later, they will be devoured by the Holy Light they believe in. All their efforts now are merely weaving a noose for themselves.”

”But if they do succeed, the God of Holy Light might become an invincible existence...”

”Other religions will not sit idly by. The stronger the power of the Holy Light, the stronger the resistance it will face,” the Archbishop shook his head slightly, ”No matter what, now is not the time for us to intervene.”

”Understood.”

Several minutes later, Beltira left the lowest level of the underground ruins, passing through the deep corridors filled with mad murmurs and dark terrors. Leaving all hallucinations and illusions behind, the female archbishop let out a slight breath.

Looking at the brightly lit corridor of the ruins before her, she whispered to herself, ”Even the Ultimate Tome cannot provide answers for the ’Outland Wanderer’...”

In St. Soniel, in front of the Cecil Residence at 4 Crown Street, visitors came one after another.

Since the Cecil Clan fell to the bottom overnight, a whole century has passed, and this is the second time the residence has become so lively again.

The last time was when Duke Gawain Cecil returned to the royal capital.

The multiple recruitment notices sent by Santis indeed produced results. Even though people still had doubts about the Dark Mountain Range, many came with the mindset to explore the situation—most respondents to the recruitment could only meet and register with the contacts left by Santis in the Craftsmen Association and Scholars Association. To be eligible to visit 4 Crown Street, one needed at least to be a formal member of the Royal Mage Association or have a recommendation letter from a notable figure.

Yet, even with such a ”filter,” 4 Crown Street hosted dozens of visitors during the day.

There are reasons for the high number of respondents—half a year ago, when Gawain first issued the recruitment notices in the royal capital, the southern borders’ development was merely a paper plan. Aside from a development plan, people saw no guarantees or prospects, naturally leading to a lack of responses. But now, after more than half a year, the pioneer team on the southern borders has firmly established its footing, effectively dispelling most of the negative rumors about the Dark Mountain Range. At this time, Santis, a member of the Royal Mage Association, came with the Duke’s orders, leading an ostentatious team, and conducted formal public recruitment in the royal capital, which naturally changed the situation.

At least this time, the scholars, mages, and craftsmen in the royal capital could see some tangible guarantees.

Those who have achieved something and are not worried about survival might not be swayed, but among those already destitute and just looking to make a living, some would be tempted.

Among all those who responded to the recruitment, the largest number was of rune craftsmen and mechanists registering with the Craftsmen Association, followed by distressed scholars and clerks registering with the Scholars Association. Mages were the fewest, and among them, quite a few were only maintaining a wait-and-see attitude.

”Witch” Giply stood in the first-floor living room of the residence, smiling as she received the visitors dressed in mage robes or short gowns, and subtly observed the slight changes in each person’s expression.