Shadow of the Evil God

"My own affairs?" she asked back. "There's nothing much to say about my own affairs. I'm a mage, how could my soul be corroded like yours, becoming more and more twisted and distorted day by day? I know the path I'm going to take. You should hurry up and move forward. Don't lose everything by moving too slowly."

"I'm already on my way." He said it a little perfunctorily.

"You're not ashamed to say you're leaving?" Phils grabbed his neck and shook him back and forth. "If I'm not watching you, you'll forget about this!"

"You'd better hold on tight first, don't fall down suddenly." Cesar said, noticing that the dog was looking at the night sky. "What are you looking at, dog?"

"The White Nightmares just flew over," said the Faceless One. "Their encounter with the cursed two-headed snake is a sign of destruction... Based on your life...

Considering the danger, Master, we'd better escape from the city through the underground river at the bottom of the mine."

The sentence was brief, but Cesar had guessed what Count Thane was planning. Faced with the threat of losing his ancestral home, the owner planned to burn the front yard along with the looters.

Destroy it? It really wasn't a good idea. He thought, although it could preserve the city lord's position and resist the grassland people's attack, the lower city of Noien itself...

......

"I told you the structures of these houses are vulnerable," Musali said to those around him. "The situation in Lower Neuen forces them to build these houses for civilians out of brick and wood. As long as they aren't treated as indestructible obstacles, the so-called street fighting will be just a rigid illusion. First, give them the illusion of a tough fight, then tear down the walls, collapse the buildings, and turn the complex alleys into bare depressions. The situation will immediately reverse."

The old sword dancer nodded in greeting and continued on their way. Shortly after entering Lower Noyen and stepping onto the main thoroughfare, they encountered stiff resistance. Many desperate battles erupted in the narrow alleys. This proved that the soldiers of the outer city had already prepared for a breach, and that they were using the complex terrain of the alleys to slow them down.

Yet Mussari was not unprepared. When the garrison commander considered the complex alleyways of Lower Neuen an advantageous position, he had already considered it further. Advantageous terrain is first and foremost difficult to breach and overcome, and only then can it be called advantageous. However, placing brick and wood structures there would be like placing an old-fashioned city wall in front of a siege cannon.

As long as it is completely destroyed, all benefits will disappear.

As the walls collapsed, the people fled like frightened sheep, shouting "demons" at the sword dancers leading them. Some of them didn't flee because they were trapped beneath the rubble, moaning and begging. As the troops pouring into the city pushed deeper into the city, the pressure on Musali was further relieved.

Although many people still died, the outcome of this matter was irreversible. Musali didn't care about the exact number of deaths. He only knew that the current casualties were acceptable and not more important than the opportunity the Sasule people had gained.

The preparation and organization of this war were complex, but the core purpose was simple: to open a passage between the two sides of the Sanctuary Abyss. The Sasule people could no longer dwell on the past. No matter how many people died, there were only two outcomes: one that would affect the future functioning of the entire tribe, and the other that would not.

Musali raised his head in thought, then froze. Why was the two-headed snake making more and more noise?

......

At the edge of the gap in the crumbling city wall, Ajeh looked at everything in the night sky in disbelief. For a moment, she even thought she was dreaming - dreaming in Sfra's ancient and terrifying dream.

A dark cloud, swirling with blizzard energy, slowly swirled above Sfrah's head, cascading down from the sky in a funnel-like motion, stretching over a hundred meters to the ground. It looked like it was made of lead, dark and heavy. It surged, writhed, and expanded in a way she had seen countless times in her dreams, each wisp of black cloud creating a dizzying, twisting pattern. From her perspective, the cascading cloud seemed within reach, as if it would engulf her in a heartbeat.

But the others didn't realize what was happening. The Sassulai warriors continued to pour into the walls of Lower Noien, sending a steady stream of soldiers into the city before disappearing on the other side. What most made Ajehe realize the strangeness of the situation were those few pale, withered ghostly figures.

The nightmare from many ages ago had come true. This was the evil creature she had only seen in Sfera's dreams, and it was also the messenger from another world that drove the two-headed snake into madness.

But why were the White Nightmares here? She wanted to question someone, but she didn't know who else to ask. Several White Nightmares soared through the night sky, opening what could only be described as hollow black maws toward the two-headed snake and emitting long, shrieking cries that were barely audible in the blizzard.

Yet, it was this howling that further distorted the vision surrounding Sfrahra. A blood-red moon, as vast as a millstone, suddenly melted and disintegrated, as if the sky had been lacerated. Crimson blood oozed along the surface of reality, flowing to the ground, seeping through the snow and transforming it into a viscous pool of gore. A vast, funnel-shaped cloud rolled and swirled, like liquefied black basalt, shrouding it in terror. The White Nightmare's howl elicited a response from the two-headed serpent, a deafening roar like the rumble of an earthquake.

A large section of the city wall was swallowed by this vision and gradually melted, turning into a black viscous fluid that flowed into and out of the city, flooding the snowy wasteland and streets.

Her twin sister burst into laughter. "Did you ever dream that this would happen in real life?"

Ajehe let out a long sigh. She had been trying to suppress her thoughts as she approached Sfrah and dealt with the White Nightmares that had appeared from nowhere, but then she saw a figure shrouded in a strange aura. They climbed the rooftops of buildings, clambering along the melting, flowing walls, and approached her. They looked like a short musketeer, a young girl, but they walked as if they were walking on flat ground. An inexplicable smile graced her unusually pale face, as if she were enjoying the view. Her light-blonde braid swayed back and forth.

She was a little confused and wanted to ask a few questions, but she saw another figure holding the girl's hand and climbing up the gap in the wall.

The man staggered and slipped, carrying a vague figure behind him. She saw the beast's claw.

What?

"You have to guess what

"Yes?" Her twin sister's laughter turned playful.

Ajiehe ignored her and stood at the edge of the city wall, blocking the man's way.

Chapter 78: The Edge of Madness

Not only did someone pull her up, Ajiehe glanced to the side and found that it was Monuk and his warriors.

"Leave the assassination target to us," Monuk said. "Please hurry to Sfora, Princess. The shaman says evil is approaching from the sky. Be sure not to let the snake go mad."

She was no princess, just as her father was no king of the Kuna. Iskrig was merely an old man whose soul could no longer hold more memories. Sadly, she was the only one who could see into his fading spirit and not be mesmerized by his extraordinary beauty; no one else, her brother or her mother, could escape his fatal attraction.

"Be careful of that guy," Ajeh said. "There's evil in him too."

......

Musali wiped the blood from his forehead into his eyes, but he didn't care about the hair clinging to his face. The tribe's warriors had already entered the dog pit of Lower Noien, advancing towards the streets closer to Upper Noien. Along the way, they encountered many remnants of the enemy, forcing them to delay their advance. Otherwise, they would have completely occupied the city.

It was clear that a brilliant officer was directing the remaining soldiers who still wanted to resist in a street fight. Fortunately, the soldiers were merely temporary conscripts, with limited combat capabilities, and couldn't hold them back for long. If the battle dragged on any longer, the enemy would collapse and flee. After all, the Franks regarded the sword dancers, descended from the remnants of the Kuna people, as demons covered in curses. The more exaggerated their performance, the more fear they displayed.

The battle here was going smoothly, but looking back, there was a serious problem on the damaged wall. Sfrah crawled forward uncontrollably, raising its serpentine body to gaze down at the ground. The night sky tore a huge wound above its head, and the pus and blood that flowed out corroded the people and buildings on the surface. Funnel-shaped black clouds swirled above its head, hanging in the sky like a whirlpool in the sea.

Musali had to work hard to suppress his inner uneasiness as he watched the cursed creature run over a large area of ​​the street, turning it into a pool of black blood.

Can Ajiehe pacify this evil creature?

Not everyone could fully perceive the vision in the sky. At least to ordinary people, it was just a two-headed giant snake crawling across the edge of the city, crumbling buildings and withering the flesh and blood of living things in its path. However, he had been trained and could clearly sense the cracks in the real world and the visions that arose from them.

Because of this, Musali was able to conceal the truth, preventing the tribal warriors from fleeing in panic. Since traveling to the Kasar Empire and meeting their Grand Master, he had never witnessed a world wound of this magnitude.

So fragile.

In the current situation, the only option was to advance deeper into the city before Ajeh appeased Sfrah to avoid being overwhelmed by the disaster. He looked up at the sea of ​​clouds in the blizzard and saw waterfalls of blood pouring down from the sky, flooding the destroyed alleys and city.

Musali sensed something still hanging in the air, like a faint morning mist, stirring a strange, inexplicable emotion within him. He scanned the faces of the tribal warriors, seeing a thirst for blood. He knew this thirst was unnatural, but he didn't care. The Sasulai were known for their martial spirit, and allowing them to unleash their thirst was acceptable. However, this might intensify enemy resistance in the lower city, so he needed to be fully prepared.

"Burn this house!" Chiefs from other tribes roared, "Kill all the men, women, and children, and rip out their intestines! These people will pay the price for their resistance!"

Musali frowned and turned to his colleagues, "Don't do meaningless things, Urte. We need to speed up and not waste time on a few civilians."

Unexpected opposition permeated the air, and Chief Urt stared at him with wide eyes—a gesture that was quite obvious. "My son is dead, Musali. That woman stabbed him with the dagger she hid in her bosom. What do you want me to do? Just forget about it so I can move on a few steps faster?"

Musali considered his tone, forming his words, wondering whether to disown this man or his son, who was more trouble than good. "We've already discussed the tactics," he said, deciding to keep his words low. "Quickly seize all key points in the city. Once the occupation of Noyen is complete, we'll completely encircle Upper Noyen. You can handle your affairs as you wish."

But Urt remained unmoved. "You're telling me about tactics at a time like this, aren't you, Musali? How long do you think it will take me to burn down this house and kill the people here? Will I wait until spring planting or summer migration? I don't want to argue with you now, Musali, but he's my most beloved son. It's not your place to tell me what to do."

Musali was surprised, not because of this man's reaction, but because he realized that he was not worried about those inexplicable emotions because he believed that the tribal warriors would become more brave and advance faster after forgetting their fear.

However, there is another side to the matter. This abnormal emotion can make people throw away the established tactics and do something that is not necessary.

Delaying time on things that should be focused on.

As Urt said, this incident may not take long, but as time goes by, it will gradually delay the pace of the Sasule people. Every Noyen civilian who is inspired by the desire to resist and kill will grab him.

until all were caught up in the approaching vision.

Sacrificing so many Franks from Lower Noien just to put the Sassulai people who broke into the city to death?

Thinking of this, Musali suddenly felt that everything had a different meaning: the evil creature that suddenly lost control, the sudden rise of bloodthirst, and even the idiot who ran to kidnap other people's wives and daughters and then was stabbed to death, all of this constituted a sinister conspiracy that wanted to trap them.

Even more worrying was the fact that Urt had stirred the hearts of the people around him, and more and more of them were infected, wasting their time in looting and slaughtering. Blade-pierced corpses kept falling from windows, and a large amount of tattered clothing and broken furniture was everywhere. Many of the looters were even killed by armed resistance, just as Urt's son had been killed. Then, more people like Urt clamored for punishment against the Franks.

But the question was, Lower Noien was already a poor place. What was the point of indulging in plunder here? Noien's wealth was concentrated just beyond the inner city walls. Why not start plundering after the inner city was captured? Musali tried to ask, but received no response. His intense emotions drove them deeper and deeper into the trap, like a pack of mad beasts, unconcerned with the consequences and only wanting to unleash their murderous intent.

That's fine, but only if they don't have an imminent crisis.

......

Cesare once again confirmed that the Sassoules had received a request from the Domini royal family and intended to put him to death.

He had just watched the slaughter unfold in the maze of streets, but now it was his turn. And since a while ago, the streets had shifted from a scene of flight to a scene of close combat. The dead lay everywhere, and it seemed he was no exception. In the darkness, the sword dancers and their warriors pursued him relentlessly, forcing him to run, searching for a path to the evil creature amidst the burning ruins and the corpses strewn across the ground.

The animal bone in his arms kept stimulating him, and the closer he got to the giant snake, the more excited he seemed to become. What did this mean? Did it mean that in a certain era in the past, beings like him were actually on the same side as it? Group '699949*36'1999

Suddenly, a long arrow shot towards him with incredible force and speed, piercing his right shoulder and causing him to lose his balance and stumble forward several times.

For some reason, the blades attacking from behind always ignored Firth's presence, yet each strike was fatal—as if she didn't even exist. Perhaps it was some kind of spell, he couldn't explain. As for the dog, with the Faceless's abilities, it was obvious he wouldn't be vulnerable. Thanks to her running and firing into the darkness behind her, each shot killing a steppeman, they weren't just running away.

For old-fashioned muskets, this precise hit rate and efficient loading rate have violated the common sense of this era. However, Cesar feels that the large bows and arrows shot by sword dancers are even more outrageous, and can even make a hole in the wall.

At some point, Cesar passed the same street he had walked on before, when the porters had taken him and his dog through the streets and alleys in exchange for a few silver coins. Now, he saw two of them lying dead on the street, their bodies spread out on the ground, piled with other bodies, and the mixed body parts seemed to weave a bloody carpet on the street.

Of course, it wasn't his good eyesight that allowed him to spot them, but rather his ability to sense different bloody scents after being injured had reached an incredible level. As for the other three, if they were still alive, it would be fine. If they died somewhere else, then he would never know their whereabouts.

This was actually quite ordinary. Against the larger backdrop, past grudges merged like a drop of rain into the ocean, suddenly vanishing. There was no resentment or revenge, no repayment for forgiveness. It was simply the tragic deaths of several people already living miserable lives in a meaningless war. It wasn't even a deserved punishment, leaving a sense of immense absurdity and emptiness.

The animal bones in his arms reacted more strongly. He felt blood seeping out from them, soaking his body and supporting him in an inexplicable way. Where did this blood come from? He didn't understand, but perhaps it was related to the sky being torn apart by the two-headed snake, or the corpses scattered throughout the streets.

Although blood continued to flow from his wound, his steps became more nimble, his body more flexible. He could now easily dodge the arrow that had pierced his shoulder. He could now scale the high wall that once required the help of his dog as if it were flat ground. Was this a good thing? He wasn't sure, because a sudden impulse drove him to leap into the midst of a group of grassland warriors ahead.

He wanted blood. He felt himself twisting wrists, smashing faces, hanging the remains of corpses from his body and flinging them everywhere. He screamed words he couldn't even hear, and flung the fragrant, sweet-smelling blood all over the floor and walls. He pulled out a head with the spine from somewhere. Hanging from his mace was a chest that someone had smashed open, the heart inside still beating. His shadow seemed to melt, flowing in all directions, covering the blood on the ground.

What's going on here?

Chapter 79 Do you want to get your father’s legacy?

Cesar felt that the world was in chaos, filled with colorful colors and a foul smell of blood, as if someone had spilled paint on his head, and he was underwater, watching the paint spread and soaked every street under the water.

The roads, every building, and every corpse formed countless distorted outlines of light and shadow underwater. The corpses' arms stretched toward the sky, fingers bent and bent, flesh peeling off their arms, like desperate believers praying.

He continued to kill the charging soldiers until only he, the Faceless One, and a conscript whose face was burned were left standing. Then he realized that in such a vast battlefield, not a single person had retreated out of fear.

The dying, critically injured writhed and thrashed beneath his feet, screaming incomprehensible words, like a drunken man losing consciousness, insulting and cursing those standing even as he neared death, feeling no pain or fear. He felt as if everything was smeared with blood, both the real world and the people's minds. The scene was grotesque and terrifying to the extreme, yet more people rushed towards him from the distant street.

From afar, the bare-chested sword dancer shouted something in the language of the Sasule people to Cesar. Though he'd never heard it before, he felt it meant "evil spirit." Under a blood-red, gloomy sky, more steppe people appeared out of thin air, bursting forth from the raging snowstorm and gathering around them. The conscript with the burned face seemed to be affected by the emotion and roared, only to be immediately struck by a massive arrow and thrown to the ground, where he lay in a pool of blood.

Who is this person?

The corpse's burned face felt familiar to Cesar. Perhaps because his consciousness was becoming increasingly hazy, his memory was also somewhat confused, and many things seemed to be shrouded in fog, making them unclear. However, he soon discovered that a ghostly blood-colored trace emerged from the corpse, resonating strangely with the beast's claws.

This man was the last body to fall on the street. It seemed that everyone nearby was dead except Cesar, and something that had been planned for a long time had happened.

Before he could react, the ghosts merged into his shadow flowing across the ground.

Cesar's body swayed. He felt as if a membrane had suddenly shattered. He found that his vision had instantly expanded, and everything in his field of vision became extremely close, as if he had opened a dense network of eyes in mid-air, hiding in countless invisible cracks and spying in all directions.

The vision from each eye was extremely clear, as if enough eyeballs, enough to cover an entire street, were pressed against the surface of an object to gaze at it, reminiscent of barnacles clinging to a turtle's shell. Everything in his field of vision became extremely dense, and after multiple fields of vision overlapped, it became even more complex and denser.

This density was excruciating, unbearable, and his mind was a blur. He wasn't just looking at others; he was also looking at himself. In his own vision, he had become a curled-up, stretched-out piece of human skin.

Fils clutched his shoulders, speaking incomprehensible words, but Cesar was powerless to respond. He staggered to avoid the arrows hurled at him, only to find his steps incredibly fast, as if he were gliding on his spreading shadow, retreating into the maze of buildings in a single step.

Things are getting weirder and weirder - is all this really inevitable?

He could have escaped through the mine tunnel, but why didn't he? Why did he fight alongside those already doomed to die? Out of friendship? There didn't seem to be any between them. Could that even be a moral imperative? Of course, perhaps he truly couldn't let go of many things about himself that made him human, thinking this would slow his descent into madness. But now it seemed that letting go ultimately made no difference.

Realizing this, Cesar felt his mind grow even more chaotic, the dense and complex visions becoming more aligned with his thoughts. Power surged through him, as if demanding he break free from his own skin and burst forth, commanding him to sacrifice the entire city on the altar of slaughter, satisfying his thirst for blood. Nothing could restrain him, and nothing should. The meaning of his existence...

"Be careful of the shaman!" Fils shouted.

By the time he heard these words, it was too late. Golden light outlined the bloody contours of the entire street, piercing from the ground and walls in the blink of an eye. The invisible and intangible rays pierced through tangible objects, drawing an unstoppable trajectory that converged on him. Straighter than a ruler, more dazzling than the scorching sun, illusory yet deadly.

Cesar retreated, only to be stopped by the narrow alleyway he had just entered. Beams of light pierced his limbs and lodged within him, causing no physical damage, but leaving him with a sense of slowed thinking and restrained physical restraint, unable to move. His hearing was filled with thunderous shrieks, and his vision was filled with a vast golden light, as if the midday sun were blazing around his body.

The thunderous shrieks grew louder, oppressing his consciousness and senses. Rows of fierce steppe warriors appeared at both ends of the alley. They toppled buildings, smashed down doors, tore down walls, and rained deadly arrows upon him. Cesar felt as if they had transformed into a tidal wave, their spears and swords gathering into a massive wave powerful enough to drown everything.

Suddenly, there was a sound of inconspicuous gunfire, and the shining golden light broke, like a bubble suddenly bursting, disappearing into the bloody slaughterhouse with interlaced light and shadow. But the sword dancer who had been chasing him all the way was approaching. His eyes were extremely clear, without joy or sorrow, and he was not affected by the surrounding atmosphere.

The arrows lodged in Cesar's flesh were being pushed outward, falling from his body one by one to the ground.

"Do we have such a big grudge?" Cesar asked in the local dialect of Neuen.

ask him.

"Maybe not in the past, but it is very necessary now." Sword dancers have higher status than other grassland people and know more than tribal members who only understand the Sasule language.

"Because of what?"

"Because of your sinful identity."

"Who doesn't have sin?" Cesar felt Fils muttering a spell, and the remaining golden light in his body was being expelled. "Isn't this city your sin?" he asked.

"It's not the same thing."

"Why not? If sin is not proved by actions and consequences, how can it be proved by things that have not yet happened?"

The sword dancer frowned. "You are a wise man."

"Then can you have a little respect for the wise?"

"Your assassins have no respect for our shamans... and, why not look at your appearance now?"

Cesar knew, of course, that Gouzi had killed their shaman. This shaman lacked a soul, as most people would understand it, and was immune to any spell that didn't directly harm reality. He also knew what he looked like now. His body was covered in lacerations, constantly spewing blood mist, like narrow chasms connecting to another cursed world.

Before he could react, a sword suddenly slashed down on his head, too fast to parry. This sword dancer was even more adept than Cesar at finding openings, or rather, sneak attacks, taking advantage of a moment of distraction to kill him with a single blow. Cesar retreated swiftly, his body leaving a trail of bloody, pungent mist in his wake, but the kick that followed still sent him flying through the air, smashing through the dirt wall and rolling over and over.

The kick nearly ruptured his abdomen, the pain so intense that he felt his internal organs rot in a ball. Though Firth knelt beside him, grasping his arm and pulling it upward, chanting spells to infuse his body with strength, he still couldn't rise. His body's healing speed couldn't keep up with the sword dancer's approaching steps. As soon as he raised an arm, the man's massive, tattooed frame loomed over them both.

When he swung his sword, the tattoos all over this guy's body glowed.

Just as Cesar thought he was about to be killed, a glass bottle suddenly smashed towards him. As the sword dancer blocked it with his sword, it exploded, sending a cloud of choking fire and smoke covering the entire room. An alchemical bomb? He subconsciously thought, then realized that this place was a dog pit, and it must be the illegal storage of local gangs.

He shook his dizzy head, pulled Firth's arm and tried to stand up, then saw a figure holding an axe and leaping towards the sword dancer. He didn't know who the figure was, because he couldn't distinguish the smell in the smoke at all, he just knew it was the residents hiding here.

But he also knew that charging the sword dancer rashly would be a recipe for death. The next moment, he was kicked and sent flying, crashing into a beam a few meters away. He collapsed to the ground, vomiting blood streaked with viscera. Steppe warriors were pouring into the breach.

"I feel deeply sorry for the fool who tried to rescue you." The sword dancer glanced at the half-dead figure lying in the corner of the room, "But the biggest problem is that we can't tell who is the one who bears the sin."