July 2, 1399, 10:00 AM.
Larson Great Rift Valley.
This was a natural landscape in the western part of Rhine City, a remnant left behind after the Lande River had changed its course thousands of years ago.
For tens of thousands of years, virtually no one had settled in this area, leaving behind very few humanoid corpses. That was precisely why the Church of Suffering had chosen this location.
Both ends of the rift valley were guarded by heavily armed regular troops of the Rhine army. Hundreds of regular soldiers were equipped with standard-issue steam rifles and high-pressure gas cylinders, capable of holding their own even in direct confrontation against ghouls. Meanwhile, near the execution site, over thirty official knights from the knight orders of the Four Major Churches formed a defensive perimeter to guard against any rogue ghouls slipping in to disrupt the plan.
Guided personally by Mrs. Nightingale, the party of four passed through layer upon layer of checkpoints and entered the heavily fortified valley camp.
As soon as they approached the camp, the tight security caused the atmosphere to turn abruptly solemn. Even with Mrs. Nightingale leading them—and despite several guards having seen them before during the attack on the princess at the Church of Suffering—the guards still cautiously verified the identities of all four individuals one by one before letting them through.
“We have already artificially induced two instances of loss of control here, and humanoid corpses were sparse in this area to begin with. By now, nearly all of them have crawled out of their own accord and been cleared away by us,” Mrs. Nightingale explained, still wearing her kindly expression. “The current environment guarantees basic safety, so there is no need to worry.”
Lynch pointed at the surrounding guards who never let go of their weapons, and at the elite border troops armed with live ammunition several kilometers away. “This is what you call ‘basic safety’?”
“That is precisely why I said ‘basic.’ The world of mystery is fraught with uncertainty; no one knows whether tomorrow or an unexpected accident will arrive first. Although you can see right across this place at a glance, who knows if rogue ghouls are still lurking somewhere? To ensure nothing goes awry with our plan, it is best to exercise an abundance of caution. Come along, young ones. What happens next rests on your shoulders.”
At the center of the camp stood a newly built secret chamber. Its thick walls measured a full meter across, constructed from sturdy masonry and cement strong enough to withstand continuous bombardment from warship artillery. Dense patterns were engraved across the walls, and the dark red veins covering the structure exuded an eerie aura, gleaming with an ominous luster beneath the sunlight.
“That isn't human blood. It is the blood of dark-seekers.”
A raspy, aged voice sounded from behind. Turning around, they saw Mr. Gulman, President of the Arcane Research Society, stepping out from an adjacent barrack. A man well into his seventies, he was still full of vigor, dressed today in a purple robe and a wide-brimmed pointed hat, looking every bit like a wizard from fairy tales.
“Dark-seekers are a species of bat, a type of mysterious creature that lives exclusively in environments dense with mysterious filth. Their blood naturally absorbs ambient filth rapidly. When paired with these absorption runes, they can drastically reduce the concentration of filth radiating outward, preventing it from excessively affecting the guards stationed outside. After all, we must stand guard here for three days. None of us particularly want to die, nor do we have much interest in turning into monsters.”
“What a coincidence—neither do we.” Having mingled during the ball the night before last, Lynch felt a bit more familiarity toward the old gentleman. Tipping his hat in greeting, he said, “Mrs. Nightingale asked you to come assist as well, I see. Thank you for your trouble.”
“It is only right to do my part to keep this world running properly. It pales in comparison to what you young people are offering,” the old man said with an embarrassed smile. “Besides, I have my own selfish motives. I want to obtain firsthand materials.”
“Oh?”
“The Third Age is known as the Dark Age. If the Savage Age of the Second Age was an era when humanity first lost divine protection and confronted mystery in mere mortal flesh, plunging into a brutal, chaotic, and lawless era, then the Third Age was when people had adapted to surviving amidst the depredations of mystery and evil gods—even actively assimilating with them. In that era, mysterious creatures ran rampant across the world, cultists walked openly in public, and cruel, bloody sacrifices to evil gods could be seen everywhere, even serving as official state rituals in some nations. That era was steeped in madness and darkness, which is why it is called the Dark Age.”
During their prior briefing, the four had already heard a brief overview, yet they still listened intently now, not daring to miss a single word. No veteran in the world of mystery treated information lightly; those who had were already dead. Sometimes, a single word could save a life, and overlooking it was simply courting death.
“So, what is your selfish motive?”
“In the Dark Age, people had not yet developed the power of the soul and were at a disadvantage against mystery, but they were not entirely defenseless.” The old man spread his hand. A ball of fire coalesced in his palm, then twisted and morphed into the slender silhouette of a woman dancing gracefully upon his hand. “Back then, the techniques humanity used to combat mystery were arcana. Arcanists were the backbone of resistance against mystery.”
Understanding dawned on Lynch; only now did he realize the origins of arcana such as Flash.
“In that era, there were also stubborn stones who were completely insulated from arcana, though they were few. Most people could easily grasp one or two arcana.”
Beside them, an unnamed lady officer offered a smile as rigid as stone.
“However, becoming an arcanist skilled enough to manipulate arcana with mastery was exceedingly difficult.”
Lynch raised an eyebrow and asked reflexively, “How difficult?”
“Well... even adding all four of you together wouldn't be enough.”
Lynch rolled his eyes, too lazy to bicker with an old man who had no tact.
“In any case, that era was brimming with the traces of arcana. Symbols, texts, books, poetry—arcana could be hidden within any piece of information, and these are arcana that have been lost over thousands of years. Once you go inside, if you discover any unusual information, record it...”
“Bring that stuff back for you to study? Now that's going to be difficult. Our mission is already so arduous and fraught with peril. If we have to spend energy paying extra attention to unrelated matters...”
Lynch put on an utterly troubled expression, yet his thumb and index finger were rapidly rubbing together, even bringing them to his lips to mimic licking his fingers to count bills.
“You little brat.” In the old man's palm, the flame dancer flipped Lynch the middle finger. “Fine, fine, stop counting. If we yield any research results from whatever information you bring back, we'll share them with you for free.”
“Counting what? I just thought the weather was too dry and my hands were feeling a bit rough.”
Now you're talking. Last time, some old geezer freeloaded a whole bunch of knowledge from me, and I cursed him every night before going to sleep for over twenty days. Only then did Lynch lower his hand, putting on an expression of righteous indignation.
“Isn't doing our part for the cause of arcane research the bounden duty of us youth? Look at you, being so overly courteous and bringing up compensation! How embarrassing. But since you insisted on offering, we'll reluctantly accept. Don't do this next time... Wait, stop, I was wrong! That thing is hot—don't let her come any closer!”
From that day on, Lynch learned a valuable lesson: asking for trouble with a smart mouth gets you burned.
After effortlessly shooting the breeze with the prominent figures of this world, the four stepped into the symbol-engraved building, accompanied by the two seniors.
Inside was a chamber of several dozen square meters, its walls likewise covered with runes. The interior was nearly bare except for a table standing right in the center, above which a plain-looking silver ring hovered in midair.
【Sven's Blessing, disaster grade mystery relic.】
“We induced the loss of control two hours ago, and it has now stabilized in an uncontrolled state.”
Mrs. Nightingale took out four small pouches and handed one to each of the four. Inside each pouch were five seeds of the human-faced fruit.
“I won't waste words on further advice. Good luck, children. May the year 684 of the Third Age, the month of May, welcome you.”
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