Magical Girl's Knight Brother

Chapter 707 The Old Ones and Nightmares

The stench of blood and desecration had not completely dissipated, but the suffocating madness and despair of the front lines of the river basin had faded. The dark red sky still hung low, but it had lost some of its eerie oppressive feeling and gained more of the heaviness of surviving a catastrophe.

The battlefield resembled a massive, brutally stitched wound. Amidst the ruins, the Black City Legion, clad in dark armor, moved like boulder, silently and efficiently clearing the rubble and collecting the remains of both sides. Heavy footsteps, the sharp scraping of metal against stone, and the occasional brief command... replaced the deafening fighting and maniacal laughter of the previous battle.

"There are still survivors here."

"Watch out, that crossbeam is unstable."

"The purification rune array has been activated, and the pollution concentration in the seventh district has decreased."

The cult flag that once belonged to the Blood Church was brutally torn down and thrown into the bonfire burning with holy flames, emitting a sizzling sound and a final, mournful cry of negative energy.

"No...no! The glory of the Lord...uh!" A cult leader who was trying to slip away through the collapsed tunnel was pierced through the calf by a golden starlight as fast as lightning before he could finish speaking.

Katie landed lightly on a broken support pillar, her black skirt fluttering slightly in the wind of the ruins. Her usually sweet doll-like face now held only a cold and murderous expression. The golden longbow in her hand remained drawn, the bowstring still vibrating slightly.

"Glory?" Katie's voice was clear, yet carried an undeniable sense of judgment.

"Your Lord can't even crawl out of his own cradle, and has given you this pitiful amount of power..." She looked at the cult leader, writhing in agony on the ground, the last vestige of his dark red, filthy light completely fading away. "...How many are left now?"

Having lost the power connection to the pleasurable crawling thing, these fanatics were like venomous snakes with their spines removed, left only with futile struggles. Several [crew members] immediately pounced on them and firmly locked them in specially made anti-magic shackles.

However, the scars of war go far beyond physical ruins and fallen enemies.

In the few relatively intact buildings and temporary tents, a different kind of silent pain permeated the air.

Those survivors who were corrupted by pleasure, who once raised their knives against their compatriots, or who were forced to witness their loved ones descend into madness, may have regained clarity in their eyes at this moment, but behind that clarity lies an unfathomable abyss of bewilderment, terror, and self-loathing.

A young soldier huddled in a corner, clutching his blood-stained helmet, his body trembling uncontrollably, unconsciously repeating incoherently, "It wasn't me...it wasn't me..." His fingers dug deep into the flesh of his arm.

A woman dressed in fine but disheveled clothes stared blankly at her bloodstained hands, on which she may have once worn rings that symbolized her status, now only congealed scabs remained. Tears streamed silently down her face, but she was oblivious to them.

The child's cries came intermittently from deeper inside the tent, hoarse and trembling with fear.

This is a spiritual wasteland, a wound that is difficult to heal after being brutally trampled by the will of an evil god. The return of reason often means facing more clearly the bloody sins and pains that are covered up by madness. Such wounds cannot be easily healed by the purification of holy light or the healing of potions.

On this scorched earth, where both the material and spiritual worlds have collapsed, a figure stands like a pillar of strength.

Desk, the vice commander of the Black City Legion, stood ramrod straight, his heavy dark crystal armor covered with dents and scratches from battle. His gaze swept over the entire reconstruction site like a hawk's. He was surrounded by several adjutants and a hastily assembled group of former administrative personnel from the Riverfront, who were not yet completely destroyed.

"Three more temporary medical stations will be set up, prioritizing the treatment of the seriously wounded and those suffering from mental breakdowns." Desk's voice was hoarse but powerful as he quickly marked the locations on the map. "Lord Wolf Rider has purified the water, but it still needs to be boiled and some alchemical potion added to ensure its safety as drinking water."

"The defense perimeter extends to the old city boundary, with patrols rotating in three shifts to guard against remaining cult members or mutated wild animals."

"Register all survivors and assign tasks according to their skills. Those with crafts skills should rebuild houses, those who know herbal medicine should assist with medical care, and the strong should clear the rubble... Get them moving, only labor can make them temporarily forget their pain."

With the old power structure collapsing completely due to the rampant spread of cults and the flight of nobles, the Black City Legion, with its strong organization, discipline, and newly established prestige as saviors, rightfully took over temporary jurisdiction over the river front.

A temporary management committee for the river front, led by the legion and incorporating some local personnel, was quickly established and began the arduous task of rebuilding order and maintaining the fragile vitality of this ravaged land.

The soldiers planted the Black City flag, adorned with a silver wolf's head and a sword emblem, at the highest point of the former governor's mansion (now only half of the gatehouse remains), the flag fluttering in the gunpowder-scented wind.

Desk glanced at Tang Zijun, who was talking with Scáthach, Alex, and others in the distance, and sighed softly. He then whispered to his adjutant beside him, "Send word back to Black City and request Commander Xiao to allocate double the supplies, especially food, medicine, and building materials. Also, have the Minister of Internal Affairs begin screening the list."

The adjutant understood immediately. "Sir, you mean...—."

Desk's gaze swept over the survivors who were working numbly in the ruins, their eyes vacant, and then looked at the civilians who were still relatively healthy and whose eyes still held a glimmer of hope for survival.

"The river front is ruined... but the people are still here."

"Black City needs manpower, craftsmen, soldiers, and farmers to cultivate the new area..."

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"Reconstruction requires labor, and they..." He paused, his voice low but carrying a cold pragmatism. "...need a new home and a job that allows them to survive and rediscover meaning."

The adjutant nodded solemnly. "Understood, I will take care of it immediately."

The flag of Black City fluttered over the ruins.

The commands of the legionary soldiers, the numb sounds of the survivors toiling away, and the suppressed groans of the wounded intertwined to form the somber symphony of postwar reconstruction.

Beneath this symphony, deep within Black City, far from the hustle and bustle of the reconstruction zone and the cries of the wounded, atop a relatively intact ancient clock tower, the wind, carrying smoke and the smell of the sea, swept past broken window frames, emitting a mournful sound.

Tang Zijun leaned against the cold stone wall, her brows furrowed. Scáthach leaned against the broken stone pillar opposite her, her scarlet eyes like solidified blood diamonds, reflecting the murky sky. Alex's massive dragon body was coiled in a corner of the clock tower platform, her molten gold vertical pupils warily scanning the outline of the city below. Qin Nan sat next to Tang Zijun, hugging her knees. Little Grey perched on her shoulder, its blue feathers occasionally trembling uneasily. Tang Cao wiped her icy crystal rapier, her movements somewhat absentminded.

At the heart of the matter remains the threat hanging like the Sword of Damocles over our heads—the Great Old Ones.

"We've won this battle, for now..." Tang Zijun's voice was low. "But it's like cleaning a festering wound; the pus and blood have temporarily drained away, but the infection is still spreading."

"Quantity unknown, form unknown, nature of power unknown..." Scáthach's cold voice continued, each word like an ice bead striking a stone slab. "The only thing that can be confirmed is that every Great Old One possesses the potential to drag this fragile dream world into eternal madness and nothingness."

Her gaze swept over the belt around Tang Zijun's waist, its dark blue chaotic core resembling an eye of an abyss in the dim light. "Just as you said, even if you solve one, or even two, in such an unbelievable way, their 'birth' is endless."

Qin Nan hugged her knees tightly, her bangs obscuring half her face, her voice filled with suppressed anxiety and agitation. "And the situation will only get worse. The Void Realm is the final barrier built by the gods, the last barrier separating us from the true source of the universe and from the erosion of the external void. Now that it's shattered, it's like the roof of a house has been torn off. Those ancient rulers who are still lurking on the edge of the dream world or in the deeper dark side of the universe will swarm in one after another like sharks smelling blood. The frequency and intensity of their arrival will only increase, becoming more and more terrifying."

She took a deep breath. "What's even more terrifying is that thing that tore the void apart!"

"Nightmare" will not let this opportunity pass. Having destroyed the gods' front line, its next step will undoubtedly be to utterly shatter the dream world, this last cradle, and then extend its tentacles into reality.

The top of the clock tower was deathly silent.

The sound of the wind seemed to have disappeared, leaving only the heavy breathing of the crowd and the faint sound of horns in the distance.

The threat of the Great Old Ones is like a surging undercurrent, while nightmares are the gaping maw of the abyss lurking beneath it, ready to devour everything at any moment.

Just then, Tang Cao, who hadn't said much, tilted her head, her icy blue eyes sparkling with innocent light, and proposed a seemingly reasonable idea.

"Well, since they're all so terrifying and coming all at once, can't we just let them fight each other?" She brandished her rapier, making a shooing motion. "Like, using one tiger to devour another, letting the Great Old Ones deal with the Nightmares, or letting the Nightmares deal with the Great Old Ones. Wouldn't that save us a lot of trouble?"

This somewhat childish strategy subtly eased the tense atmosphere, and Qin Nan subconsciously looked up, a glimmer of unrealistic hope flashing in her eyes.

However, Scáthach slowly shook her head.

"Impossible, little girl." Her voice was like shattering ice, carrying the cruel truth of insight. "The gods tried to deduce this idea countless times long ago, even resorting to dangerous temptations and trials."

Her purple pupils turned to Tangcao, then slowly swept over the crowd, finally settling on the void.

"The result was the same, without exception."

"The Great Old Ones are oblivious to the existence of Nightmares, even as the power of Nightmares brushes past the edges of their domains, even as the minions of Nightmares and their kin live side-by-side in the void. There has never been any conflict, hostility, or even the slightest mutual concern between them."

"And vice versa." Scáthach's gaze seemed to capture that invisible boundary. The claws of "Nightmare," powerful enough to tear apart galaxies, never actively reached into any of the filthy lairs of the Great Old Ones. Between them, there existed a strange, absolute non-interference.

"Why?" Qin Nan couldn't help but ask in a trembling voice.

This completely defies common sense; how could two ultimate beings, both filled with the desire for destruction, possibly coexist peacefully?

Scáthach's gaze returned to the crowd. Instead of answering Qin Nan's question directly, she posed an even more chilling conjecture.

"The last wise man of the gods once proposed a hypothesis... perhaps we have misunderstood the 'order' and the 'essence.'"

"The Great Old Ones, these are tumors formed from the accumulation, distortion, and aggregation of endless negative energy from the dream world."

She paused, seemingly considering the most precise and despairing words, before finally uttering the conclusion that was enough to overturn all understanding.

"They may not be the enemies of nightmares."

"They are more like..."

"...part of the nightmare."

Qin Nan suddenly covered her mouth, staring at Scáthach in disbelief. Tang Cao also froze, turning to look at Tang Zijun.

Tang Zijun narrowed her eyes slightly. "You mean, nightmares are actually a kind of negative energy? They are also special beings similar to the Great Old Ones?"

Since learning of the existence of nightmares, Tang Zijun has never actually encountered them, so he has never known what these things are. But Scáthach's words at this moment made his heart beat faster.

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