novelraw Chapter 262 : Turncoat: You’re Here to Stir Up Trouble, Aren’t You
Chapter 262 : Turncoat: You’re Here to Stir Up Trouble, Aren’t You
Chapter 262: Turncoat: You’re Here to Stir Up Trouble, Aren’t You
As soon as those words were spoken, countless gazes at the bronze long table turned toward the Patriarch of the Iron Cross, tinged with faint astonishment.
After all, everyone understood the principle that “the bird that sticks its head out gets shot.”
Although at present the various cults and hidden forces had temporarily united because of Shiltina… anyone could see this was nothing more than a temporary alliance formed out of common interest, doomed not to last.
Even if the plan to hunt Shiltina during the Coronation Ritual truly succeeded and the Granwell Empire consequently splintered apart—in the ensuing chaos, when it came time to reap faith and seize followers, these sects would inevitably become competitors once again.
Under such circumstances, for someone to foolishly jump out and sacrifice themselves, paving the way for others—was that not absurd?
Faced with the doubtful and even mocking gazes around him, as though watching a fool, the Patriarch of the Iron Cross could only feign ignorance.
Of course, he himself had intended to develop quietly and not act rashly… but just moments ago, his own Lord had suddenly descended with an oracle, naming him directly to be the first to enact the Descent. He could only bite the bullet and speak up.
“Very good. It seems the Lord of Twilight has also recognized the terror of that newborn Holy Sword Wielder.”
“Even if it comes at a tremendous cost, she must be killed before she has the chance to grow.”
An angel of the Gravekeepers slowly spoke.
The Lord of Twilight—that was the honorific of that Evil God of Deep Blue Port.
Although the Threshold of Seraphim’s link with the Present World was now nearly severed, as an ancient hidden organization passed down since the Age of Gods, the Gravekeepers naturally knew the Evil God of Deep Blue Port’s origins.
In the earliest days of the Age of Gods, the Evil God’s true mythic form had been a world-devouring serpent, capable of swallowing subdimensions.
Because of its racial trait, its power would be greatly amplified during the fleeting moment between night and day’s transition. Hence, it had also been called the “Serpent of Dawn and Dusk.”
Back when Rast had been trapped in Deep Blue Port, it was precisely for this reason that, in every time loop, that Evil God’s Descent would occur at six-thirty in the evening.
“However, our sect’s stronghold within the Imperial Capital has already been completely uprooted, leaving no remaining eyes.”
“And during the Coronation Ritual, the capital will certainly be under martial law. To usher in large numbers of believers and then perform the Lord’s birth ritual would be exceedingly difficult…”
The Patriarch of the Iron Cross had barely finished speaking when—
“The issue of martial law in the capital—I can resolve it.”
“However, the specific ritual of birth, and the vessel to contain the power of faith, must be executed by me.”
Atop the bronze long table, an aged and hoarse voice rang out.
“Additionally—”
The owner of that aged voice turned to look at the head seat of the table.
“After this matter concludes, I will no longer have any place in the Order’s factions within the Empire or even across the entire Western Continent.”
“When that time comes, do not forget what you promised…”
“Of course.”
The angel of the Gravekeepers seemed to have already established secret contact with this person long ago, responding without hesitation.
“This shall be your final trial to join the Gravekeepers.”
“Once accomplished, you shall become one of us, with the right to carve your own Soul Imprint upon the Eternal Night Stele.”
“At that time, even if your lifespan is exhausted, even if you perish utterly… as long as a single imprint remains upon the Stele, you can return from the River of History.”
“That will be a gift called ‘Eternity,’ a gulf separating us from those base lives of fleeting years.”
There was a trace of mockery in the angel’s words.
“Be it the Shoreguards, or those strong ones who rose across past eras, unwilling to compromise for the sake of some illusory ideals… before Eternity, they were nothing more than ants resisting in vain—pitiful, laughable.”
“For hundreds of years, even until the next era… all will return to dust, buried beneath the sands of history.”
“In the coming age, no one will remember their struggles of the past, nor the heroic but futile blaze of their sacrifices.”
“But we Gravekeepers will still reign above the River of Time, watching calmly as civilizations shift, as dynasties rise and fall.”
“Although not long ago, we lost a companion who was about to ascend as an angel… you should also know well that, as the price, with the shattering of the Fool’s Library—”
“The Shoreguards have truly become history, never to exist again.”
The Gravekeeper angel paused briefly.
“As for the Granwell Empire, and that newborn Holy Sword Wielder, Shiltina…”
“Since she refused to accept our goodwill, what awaits her naturally can only be annihilation.”
“Just like the countless strong ones in past eras who sought to defy the Order of the World, to defy Fate—yet in the end were mercilessly crushed beneath the wheels of history’s tide.”
Upon hearing this, that aged voice fell silent for a moment.
“These truths—I understand well.”
“Were it not so, I would not be here, seeking to join the Gravekeepers.”
He turned his gaze once more to the Patriarch of the Iron Cross:
“After this gathering, transmit the specific ritual requirements, the materials, and the vessel for the Descent to me through the Gravekeepers’ channels.”
…
Atop the bronze long table, the discussions continued for a long while before finally dispersing.
Meanwhile, Rast had anchored a wisp of his spirit within the Evil God sculpture of Deep Blue Port, eavesdropping word for word without missing a syllable.
Only when this secret meeting led by the Gravekeepers concluded did Rast withdraw his main consciousness from that tenuous link between the Nightworld and the Present World, leaving behind only a thread of spiritual power within the Evil God sculpture, serving as a listening device.
He stepped out from the washroom and sat down upon the sofa in his living room within the newly rebuilt Town of Canaan.
Then, with practiced ease, he retrieved tea leaves from the cupboard and skillfully brewed himself a cup.
“Seems there really is a turncoat within the Granwell Empire.”
Rast recalled the aged voice that had spoken last during that meeting.
“To be able to bypass the martial law of the capital and even orchestrate the progression of an Evil God’s Descent… even within the Empire, his position must be exceedingly high. A turncoat of the highest rank.”
“Moreover, it seems he has already passed the Gravekeepers’ trial, preparing to betray the Empire after success and formally join their ranks.”
Rast also remembered the Sixth Era’s Historical Echoes long ago, when he too had once played the part of a turncoat, and how the Bounty Legend Noah had described such matters when inviting him.
“To directly become a full member of the Gravekeepers, and leave one’s Soul Imprint upon the Eternal Night Stele… in terms of rank alone, that means he must at least be a true Legendary powerhouse.”
“Only those who had truly walked their own legendary path were worthy of earning the Gravekeepers’ respect, even to the point of being the ones they actively invited.”
“Although legendary powerhouses lived extraordinarily long lives—given Granwell Empire’s legacy, it was not strange that predecessors from decades or even over a century ago still survived…—a turncoat of legendary rank would necessarily hold great power and status within the Empire.”
“If this matter was not handled properly, it would surely cause considerable turmoil.”
“Of course, this was actually nothing I needed to worry about.”
Rast lifted the ceramic cup and took a small sip of tea, letting the brewed leaves’ flavor ripple across his tongue, carrying a faint bitterness.
Although he had an engagement with Shiltina, the wedding two years ago had ultimately not been completed; they had not formally married. Strictly speaking, Rast still counted as a student of Starfall University, not as a person of the Granwell Empire.
Rast did not know much about those powerhouses who had been active within the Empire decades or over a century ago and had been promoted to legendary rank; he had no way to start hunting for an internal traitor.
But that had never been his task in the first place.
Through Rast’s deliberate intervention, Ophelia’s mechanical doll had successfully infiltrated the secret meeting organized by the Gravekeepers.
The speech given by that suspected legendary turncoat within the Empire had been recorded by Ophelia in full detail.
Given Rast’s understanding of Shiltina’s younger sister—the Second Imperial Princess—he was not worried at all that, once he gained the informational advantage, Ophelia would be unable to deal with such an internal traitor.
In terms of rank, Ophelia might still be some distance from becoming a legend, but in terms of scheming and manipulating hearts and minds, Rast did not think Ophelia would lose out in the slightest.
“Moreover—”
Rast drank another small mouthful of tea.
In his mind surfaced the memory of that meeting at Hailan Manor with Shiltina and Ophelia’s father, Emperor Allen.
“Such a large one, and of legendary rank as a turncoat…”
“Could it be that my convenient father-in-law had actually already noticed him long ago, but deliberately left him untouched, planning to use him as future bait?”
Although Rast had only once met Emperor Allen at Hailan Manor two years ago, from that single encounter he would not have been surprised at all if Allen really had played a long game like that.
In a sense, Rast felt somewhat of a kinship with that convenient father-in-law… Compared to utter uncertainty—waiting passively for an enemy to come—both preferred keeping an opponent’s movements under their own control, finding ways to lure them into a trap and then catching them all at once.
For example, earlier when the Patriarch of the Iron Cross had volunteered to be the first to charge forward and be the vanguard for the Descent, that had been because Rast himself had forged a false oracle from the Deep Blue Port Evil God and proactively issued the instruction.
A joke—he was not afraid of those people coming; he was instead afraid they would not come.
If those Gravekeepers who hid behind the curtain of history, and those cultists who could contact the gods on the Threshold of Seraphim, were truly determined to conceal themselves and remain hidden no matter how high the outside floodwaters rose—always acting like skulking turtles…
Then neither the present-day Rast nor Shiltina, even if she had ascended to angelhood, would be able to completely annihilate them; many would inevitably slip through the net and become potential future hazards.
But if the other side was willing to expose themselves willingly, the situation became entirely different.
Not just the Gravekeepers and the cultists were scheming to extinguish Shiltina at the Coronation Ritual…
Although he had never communicated with her directly on this, Rast knew that Shiltina at this moment surely shared his goal: in this battle, to wipe out those hidden hazards that lurked in the dark.
After this battle, many things would be rewritten.
Just as in the Sixth Era, when that battle of the Fractured Coastline had decided the trajectory of civilization and broken the conflict between the Shoreguards and the Gravekeepers.
With that thought, Rast emptied the last of the tea in his ceramic cup in a single swallow.
Outside the wooden cottage’s window, night had grown deep.
The whole Town of Canaan lay wrapped in tranquil darkness; thin moonlight poured like mercury, quiet and soft.
Just as on the countless past occasions when Rast had returned to Canaan, once he came back to this town and to this familiar wooden cottage, he could soothe his wounds and find his spirit calmed again.
However, at that moment Rast felt his spiritual energy stir again.
Using that divinity as a medium, a faint summons had once more come from over the Western Continent.
Clearly, it was the legendary turncoat hiding within the Imperial Capital who was inquiring of Rast about the precise needs of the Descent ritual.
…
Western Continent, Granwell Empire, outer districts of the Imperial Capital.
Inside an abandoned civilian house in a slum of the commoners’ quarter.
A figure entirely shrouded in black robes, tall and gaunt, moved through the derelict rooms, arranging ritual implements.
Bottles and jars of liquids, remains of unknown creatures, gleaming magical gems…
And a strange, uncanny runic circle.
“Most exalted, great Lord of Twilight, Serpent of Dawn and Dusk—”
“In accordance with the pact made by those devoted to you, I beseech you to grant the blessing of the Descent, bestow upon us the sacred relic for our coming, and announce the preparations required for the Descent ritual.”
A phantom prayer rose.
At the next moment, the inscribed runic array suddenly shone with a faint white light.
Within that faint white luminescence, a bronze sculpture slowly manifested. The sculpture bore iron-colored cross patterns and exuded a powerful, uncanny aura.
There was no doubt—this was indeed the sacred relic for the Descent.
Immediately thereafter, lines of pale-gold text appeared in the void before the robed figure.
The robed man slowly lifted his eyes and read—
“1. Finely chop one thousand catties of lean pork into mince; make sure not a speck of fat remained on top.”
“2. Finely chop one thousand catties of fatty meat into mince; make sure not a speck of lean remained on top.”
“3. Finely chop one thousand catties of golden soft cartilage into mince; make sure not a speck of meat remained on top.”
“4. Finely chop one thousand catties of cooked watermelon into mince; ensure not a trace of rawness remained.”
“5. Finely chop one thousand catties of raw melons and eggs…”