Chapter 147: The Return of the Mourner (Combined)
Holy Calendar Year 1, Month of Harsh Winter, 31st Day.
The Royal Capital of Escarnia, Outer City.
“In three more hours, it will be time for the Founding Ceremony, as promised by the King.”
“Yes, from this day forward, the city beneath our feet will shed the old title bestowed by the Vile King Vortigern and be crowned with a new name—the Holy City ‘Camelot’.”
“My uncle, who serves as a reserve knight in the Knight of the Round Table, told me that the King, no, we should call him Your Majesty now.”
“It is said that His Majesty will name this new country the ‘Freista Empire’…”
Amidst the streets, the voices of the populace, laden with joy and excitement, could be heard.
The commoners still bore the look of relief after escaping the state of war.
After all, the campaign to defeat Vortigern and crush that vile king on his throne had only been a year ago.
This land had only just been liberated from hundreds of years of continuous war, and peace had only just arrived. The lands ravaged by Abyss Monsters, rebels, and bandits were still in a state of ruin and in need of rebuilding. Every surviving disaster victim still remembered the previous chaos, scars that only time could heal.
Yet, despite this, their faces still wore smiles of yearning.
Yearning and longing for the ideal new nation that the King had promised would be established.
“It’s just a shame that Lord Cain cannot see this—the ideal nation he hoped to build with his life—”
“Where there is no famine, no disaster victims, and everyone can live in peace and contentment.”
Someone whispered softly.
The jubilant crowd, excited about the imminent Founding Ceremony, momentarily fell subdued.
“Yes—”
Someone took out a black robe with red clouds and put it on, their eyes filled with remembrance and sadness.
“He had witnessed the darkest night, which is why he so yearned for that fervent light.”
At this moment,
Several years had passed since the battle in the Valley of Termination and the descent of the Heavenly Condemnation Spear, which had pierced the heavens.
However, the name of Cain and the Dawn Organization had not diminished in the slightest with his death.
Indeed, under the active promotion by the King of Knights and the allied forces, Cain and the concept of “the Dawn that Changes the World” had spread to every resident of Escarnia at an astonishing speed.
Even though resources were not yet abundant, many, whether nobles, knights, or even commoners, had acquired a Dawn Organization uniform and become supporters of the Dawn.
And Cain, as the founder, had long since ceased to be merely a historical figure who died in battle in the mouths of the people.
Under the constant remembrance, singing, and fermentation by the populace, he had become a symbol.
Even a faith.
“Huh?”
Suddenly, someone sighed and their gaze fell upon the side of the city gate.
It was a youth who appeared quite young, with black hair and black eyes, a slender and upright figure, wearing a simple trench coat.
Beside him was a maiden with similar black hair and a black dress, her eyes hazy, obscured by the night. Beneath her skirt were black stockings, and on her feet, a pair of sheepskin boots.
The two walked through the city gate and along the street, soon disappearing into the rushing crowd.
“What is it?”
“Nothing… nothing…”
The person turned back.
With the Holy City Camelot about to be built and the Empire’s Founding Ceremony about to commence, a large number of residents from outside the capital were traveling to the royal capital, either to relocate or to attend the ceremony. It was not entirely unusual.
What truly caught his attention were the hair colors of the two.
The mainstream hair colors in Escarnia were either brown or gold. Black-haired people were quite rare, only distributed in the northern regions and the Golden Plains.
Of course, this alone was not surprising… However, according to the information circulating among the Round Table and the Oathbound families—
Lord Cain, who usually wore the vortex mask, had black hair.
Even the youth’s physique bore some resemblance to the statue in the Hall of Heroes, and to the figure in the painting titled “Dawn,” drawn by Her Majesty the Empress herself, depicting the scene of Cain’s battle in the Valley of Termination, a silhouette with its back to all beings.
However, he quickly shook his head, dismissing the somewhat absurd thought.
“I saw a pair of siblings from minority ethnic groups… They must be travelers from the Northern Territory or the Golden Plains, coming to witness the Founding Ceremony.”
He answered casually, his gaze falling on the Robe of Dawn in his hand, and his feelings of remembrance and sadness surged forth once more.
No matter how similar their appearance and clothing were.
That was ultimately not Lord Cain.
Lord Cain was dead, died in the darkest night before the dawn.
He spoke with a heavy tone, uttering each word piously.
“Lord Cain, did you see it?”
“This prosperous era is as you wished.”
…
“I never expected passersby to mistake us for siblings; it’s truly an inversion of heaven and earth.”
Shaya walked through the familiar yet unfamiliar city streets, with Augustina beside him. The civilians’ chatter also drifted into his ears with the breeze.
Although a thousand years had passed, this was indeed Camelot.
Even though many buildings were different, the main streets and the division of districts were exactly as Shaya remembered.
This time, Shaya was not wearing a mask, but appearing with his true face… In this world, when he used the Cain persona, he always wore a mask, and no one knew his true appearance.
Shaya glanced at Augustina beside him, especially the black stockings beneath her black dress: “But don’t you think this attire is a bit out of place with your identity as the Queen of the Night?”
He realized that Augustina seemed to have the ability to switch freely between the mature “Queen of the Night” and the maiden-like “Princess Black Princess.”
And for some reason, Augustina seemed to prefer showing her maiden side to outsiders, making it impossible to tell that she was an old-timer who had lived since the Second Era.
And it was one thing for this Queen of the Night to like acting young, but even her clothing and fashion followed the latest trends, making her style seem out of place in the thousand-year-old city of Camelot.
Compared to other old ladies… wives he knew, whether Sylvia or Heiser, they were at least more traditional in their attire.
At the very least, Shaya had never imagined Sylvia or his Golden Elf Shī Jiang wearing black stockings.
He coughed lightly, forcibly channeling his mental energy to rein in his scattered thoughts.
He wondered if there would be a chance to turn fantasy into action… Well, Sylvia was one thing, but if he asked his teacher to wear black stockings, even the Flashback Pocket Watch might not save him.
“In your words, I am, after all, the biggest information broker on the entire Western Continent.”
Augustina lightly tapped her plain white finger in the air, and dark shadows gathered in mid-air, adding a small black top hat to herself.
“Investigating the latest fashion trends of the human race is naturally part of information gathering.”
“Human race?”
Shaya seized on the key point: “Speaking of which, before you became a True Ancestor, your original race wasn’t human, was it?”
“You’ve survived since the Second Era, so you must be an immortal race too, right?”
“My teacher once said that she and you are old acquaintances. Could it be that you are a High Elf like my teacher?”
He turned his head, trying to see the shape of Augustina’s ears among her black hair, but his vision was obscured by the faint night, making it difficult to see clearly.
“As a regular customer of our little shop, I believe Shaya, you should know the rules of our shop.”
Augustina chuckled.
“To probe the original race of a Throne… that’s a ‘Death Angel’ level transaction. And you’re asking for information about the leader of the Shadow Council, which requires an even higher level, reaching the ‘Prometheus level’.”
“So, have you decided how to pay the price? Information at the ‘Fire Thief’ level can only be traded with Holy Relics, or…”
Her eyes twinkled as she gazed at Shaya: “In exchange for yourself.”
“Can’t afford it, goodbye.”
Shaya directly shook his head.
What a joke. He hadn’t felt it when his rank was low, but now he clearly understood the value of the term “Holy Relic.”
Those were treasures that truly touched the Rule Domain, and even ordinary True Gods could not create them… Although there were unreliable items like the Chalice of Knowledge that lowered the value, he had deeply experienced the power of the Holy Sword and the Holy Spear.
Pure cheat.
Of course, Shaya also knew that this was Augustina’s way of indirectly refusing to answer his question. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have revealed so much about the secrets of the old era in Thousand City earlier without charging extra.
The two walked side by side in Camelot for a while longer.
Until the midday sun began to set slightly.
Dong—
A distant bell chimed, echoing from the Imperial Palace in the inner city outwards.
And with that tolling bell that resonated throughout the entire city, the entire outer city instantly erupted in excitement.
Then, countless surging crowds all rushed towards the inner city, in the direction of the Imperial Palace.
Everyone knew.
This was the announcement that the Founding Ceremony was about to begin.
…
Amidst the jostling, crowded throng.
Only Shaya and Augustina stood still.
The noisy, chaotic crowd passed by them, yet instinctively avoided contact as they neared.
Though in the same city, on the same street, they seemed to be in two completely separate worlds.
“Did you see it?”
Augustina’s crimson gold eyes looked down at the surging crowd beside her, her icy and indifferent voice reaching Shaya’s ears.
“Yes.”
Shaya simply nodded in silence.
He could feel the breathing and heartbeats of the commoners in Camelot.
But in his Astral Realm vision—
All he saw was an empty, lifeless city.
Only the moonlight of the Blood Moon under the night sky remained eternal in Camelot.
“They, these commoners, and everything in Camelot.”
“Are just, phantom remnants from the past within the Imaginary Realm, aren’t they?”
Shaya gently extended his hand, and a colorful butterfly lightly landed on his fingertip, flapped its wings, and then flew away again.
But Shaya merely closed his eyes.
That butterfly, like those commoners, were all real lives and real flesh and blood.
However, as beings from the Imaginary Realm, independent of space and time, they had all been stripped of their future.
Having lost their future, all possibilities, they merely existed as past phantoms within that realm, independent of time and space.
Manipulated by the crimson moon and the master of the Imaginary Realm, like puppets on strings, following their fated trajectories.
This was a dead city.
Countless souls, stripped of their destiny, endlessly repeated past phantoms in this eternal divine kingdom.
“The most tragic thing is themselves, isn’t it?”
Shaya’s gaze fell upon the smiling civilians.
“They are already dead, having become phantoms who have lost their destiny and future… yet they still believe they are alive, that they possess the power to decide their own lives.”
He gently closed his eyes.
When Shaya opened his eyes again, his attire had silently changed.
No longer the simple trench coat, but a black robe embroidered with red clouds.
A mask with a vortex pattern concealed Shaya’s handsome and softly featured face, leaving only the forehead protector engraved with scratches and a bamboo hat with wind chimes.
Occasionally, passing pedestrians cast curious glances at him, but didn’t linger for long.
With several years of fermentation, the vast majority of Camelot’s populace could be considered supporters of the Dawn Organization.
As for followers imitating Cain’s attire, there were naturally countless numbers.
However, one that could imitate the details to this extent was indeed rare.
Shaya simply spread his arms slightly, and within the eyes behind the vortex mask, the runes of the Alchemy Matrix spun faintly.
Undead metal was forged in the void.
Carrying that slender figure clad in a black robe with red clouds.
It ascended higher and higher into the sky.
“Then, Augustina.”
“Let’s begin.”
…
Camelot, Inner City.
The Hall of Thrones, at the highest point of the Imperial Palace.
A lonely figure stood in the Hall of Thrones, upon the pale silver seat.
She looked down upon the inner city square below, where the increasingly crowded and jubilant masses surged in from all directions.
Although this was a day for universal celebration, as the protagonist of the Founding Ceremony, her crimson eyes showed no trace of emotion, only extreme cold indifference.
After a long while, she turned her body slightly.
Then she looked towards the knights standing erect around the large round table below the throne.
“Speak, what do you wish to do?”
“Your Majesty! You once said you wanted to create an ideal nation where the people are self-reliant and there is no space for gods. For this, you even refused the invitation and support of the Dawn Church.”
“But what have you done now?”
A strong knight, clad in silver armor and radiant as the sun, abruptly stood up.
“The Seven Gods worshipped by the Dawn Church are at least true gods… Although they are gods, they still adhere to some form of order.”
“But Your Majesty is going to cooperate with an ancient god of the Abyss, even going so far as to turn Camelot into its divine kingdom and its citizens into believers of the Crimson Moon?”
Gawain paused, then spoke loudly again.
“Deny me! Tell me that all of this is my unfounded speculation and mere fancy!”
“That Merlin was bewitched by the Crimson Moon before his death, arranging this conspiracy to deceive us and divide the King and the Knights of the Round Table, making us kill each other! His sword wound was not from the Holy Sword, but fabricated by the Crimson Moon!”
“You actually didn’t intend to do this, and you don’t intend to cooperate with the ‘Crimson Moon’!”
He looked at the lonely figure on the throne with great anticipation.
However, what greeted Gawain was not a stern reprimand and denial.
Instead, it was cold, indifferent words devoid of life.
Silver hair fluttered, revealing the maiden’s exquisite face.
But from it, Gawain could not find a trace of the familiar and kind demeanor of when this maiden King disguised herself as a man, under the name Artorius.
“Lord Gawain, the information you gathered is not wrong.”
“Merlin did die by the Holy Sword.”
The indifferent voice echoed within the Hall of Thrones.
“The Dawn Gods could not give me what I desired, but the Crimson Moon could.”
“Time can fade everything.”
“At this moment, no matter how intense the grief for the deceased, after hundreds of years and the succession of dozens of generations, it will only be forgotten by the world, becoming a mere symbol in history textbooks.”
On the throne, the Empress’s gaze slightly lowered.
It fell upon the figure with its back to all beings in the grand painting within the Hall of Heroes next to the Imperial Palace.
“He once said— a person truly dies when the last person in the world who remembers them forgets them.”
“But I don’t want that. I don’t want him to be forgotten by the world. I want to witness with my own eyes the moment his heroic spirit returns.”
“If that is the goal, then only eternity is possible.”
“Using the power of the Crimson Moon and the Holy Sword, Camelot, the Holy City, will be permanently solidified in the Imaginary Realm, frozen in eternal immortality.”
“This is the choice I have made.”
The King’s cold words shattered Gawain’s last shred of fantasy.
“I understand, of course, that the path I have chosen is contrary to the tenets that you, as knights, uphold.”
“So, whether you continue to follow me, or leave, or band together here to defeat me, it is all up to you.”
“I’ll give you five minutes to consider.”
…
The five minutes passed in an instant.
Some Knights of the Round Table chose to follow and submit, perhaps out of loyalty to the king they served, or perhaps out of prudential submission after realizing the disparity in strength, or perhaps they never cared much for chivalric virtues from the start.
Thus, their spiritual power was branded with a crimson mark by the bloody moonlight, becoming part of the “eternity” within this eternal divine kingdom.
However, more Knights of the Round Table chose rebellion.
“Your Majesty, no!”
“Artorius!”
Gawain’s eyes turned crimson, and he let out a roar of grief.
“If Lord Cain… if Cain were still here! He would never want to see you do these things for him.”
“I guarantee, if Cain saw your current monstrous and unfamiliar appearance, he would hate you, even loathe you intensely!”
The moment he shouted this in anguish.
On the throne, Isadorella’s beautiful eyes rippled slightly.
But soon, the bloody moonlight submerged those ripples.
She simply looked silently at the subordinates and comrades below her, who had once fought alongside her, and were now drawing their swords against her.
Clang—
With a clear ring, the Holy Sword was drawn, its blade emitting a cold, icy glint.
Unlike the commoners who had become phantoms of the past, souls within the Crimson Moon’s divine kingdom who were unaware they were no longer alive, or the nobles and low-level transcendent beings.
Among the Knights of the Round Table, there were a considerable number of Legendary Experts.
Legendary Experts could perceive the River of Time to a certain extent. The movement of creating an Imaginary Realm would certainly be noticed by them.
Therefore, from the beginning, this battle.
This internal conflict among the Knights of the Round Table was inevitable.
In the Crimson Imaginary Realm, independent of history, this bloody and cruel battle had already been repeated countless times.
As for the outcome of the battle, it was self-evident.
Ordinary Legendary Experts, even with numerical superiority, how could they defeat a Throne who wielded the Holy Sword and received the blessing of an ancient god?
Moments later.
The last drop of blood splattered within the Hall of Thrones.
The bloody moonlight descended, swallowing all impurities, leaving no trace.
Among the Knights of the Round Table, those who chose to submit accepted the fate of being corrupted by the Crimson Moon, becoming part of the divine kingdom, becoming Blood Races.
As for those who refused, their existence was erased, reduced to souls and past phantoms within the Imaginary Realm, destined to act according to a predetermined course, having lost their destiny and future.
Clang—
The Holy Sword was sheathed.
Isadorella slowly turned and walked out of the Hall of Thrones.
Then, she walked towards the square where the countless citizens were gathered.
That was the Founding Ceremony.
It was also the beginning of so-called “eternity.”
This was also a part of the predetermined history of the Imaginary Realm, which had been rewritten and compiled countless times by her, the King of the Imaginary Realm, and was extremely familiar to Isadorella.
However, in the next moment.
Isadorella’s steps suddenly halted, and something unexpected, beyond her control, occurred.
Outside the enormous floor-to-ceiling window.
The boisterous jubilation disappeared, and she heard the exclamations of tens of thousands of citizens.
Then, Isadorella’s eyes narrowed slightly.
In her sight.
A figure in a black robe with red clouds, wearing a vortex mask.
Was slowly rising from afar.
The black robe embroidered with red clouds fluttered in the wind in mid-air.
The sound of wind chimes accompanied the shaking of the bamboo hat.
Finally, that slender figure with black hair froze a thousand meters away, at the same height as the Hall of Thrones at the highest point of the Holy City.
Looking down upon all beings.
