Chapter 33: The Eve of the Final Battle
Year 837 of the Falling Stars Era, March 23rd, Western Mountains, darkness descends.
Starting from the first wisp of gloom emerging on the western horizon, thick layers of clouds spread from west to east. The light of the setting sun was swallowed by ink-black clouds, leaving only a faint afterglow that dyed half the sky a deep purple. Magical beasts lurking around the Black Forest of the Western Mountains seemed to sense something terrifying; they raised their heads to look at the sky, only to find it crisscrossed with lightning and churning with dark clouds.
Following the clouds came the wind. Moisture carried by ocean currents from the Western Sea swept toward the mountains and forests at a speed of twenty meters per second. Blocked by the towering peaks in the west, it condensed into massive cumulonimbus clouds. With a sudden clap of thunder, countless huge raindrops fell like hailstones. A torrential downpour, with unparalleled force, scoured and washed away everything in the world.
This was the unique "Rainy Season" of the Western Mountains in spring. During this season, even magical beasts retreat to their lairs, waiting for the storm to end—let alone humans, who are far more fragile. Unless absolutely necessary, even adventurer parties in the wild would find a place to camp, lest they get lost in the dark, cold rain.
It was a season of grandeur and gloom. Because of the downpour, countless mountain paths and canyons that had long been dry began to flow with streams. As time passed, many mountain streams swelled, eventually turning into roaring rivers. Between the forests, countless patches of seemingly ordinary cracked earth rapidly absorbed water, swelled, and turned into muddy wetlands and swamps. Various wetland monsters and insects, dormant in the soil for half a year, began to awaken from their slumber.
The Western Mountains in the rainy season and the dry season were two completely different worlds. At this time, even dragons dared not casually venture into the forests and gorges. No one knew how many strange creatures would awaken during this season, nor what terrifying abilities they possessed. A wealthy magnate had offered a bounty for specimens of magical beasts unique to the rainy season, but even with a high price of one hundred and fifty thousand Elire gold coins, it remained unclaimed year after year.
Yet, in this wondrous yet fearsome season, on this land familiar yet utterly unknown to the people of the Western Mountains, a figure carrying a sword walked through the downpour.
It was a man wearing an ordinary hooded robe, carrying what seemed to be a standard-issue iron sword on his back. He walked through the rain, but his clothes were not wet in the slightest. It wasn't that the rain was repelled by some force; rather, the raindrops passed through him—countless huge raindrops pierced through the man's body as if through an illusion. Yet he was no phantom; with every step, he left clearly visible footprints on the ground.
A contradiction of extremes occurred within him, yet it was strangely harmonious, as if this was how it should be.
The man walked on. All the monsters along the way seemed to sense something extremely terrifying; their expressions changed drastically, and they fled in panic. Even Gold-rank great monsters and Ultimate-rank monster kings did not hesitate for a moment. They were familiar with this man's aura, for decades ago, he had slain their ancestors and elders with a single sword. Throughout the Western Mountains, sword scars and bloodstains left by his battles against cultists and monsters could still be found.
Arriving at the center of the Black Forest, the man removed his hood, revealing his true face—he was very tall, over two meters, making an ordinary strong man look like a youth beside him. Yet his build was lean, and his handsome, weathered face was as sharp as if carved by a knife, appearing overly stern. His blue eyes deepened this impression. He had long, light purple hair tied into a ponytail at the back of his head. The man drew the seemingly ordinary iron sword from his back and stood casually on the ground.
The bearer of the Mistletoe Sword, the Master of Mistilteinn, the Holy Sword Bearer, the Sword Saint of the Western Mountains, Lamort Ternan stood amidst the pouring rain. Though he remained motionless, all beasts and monsters within a hundred miles began to flee in panic—the Sword Saint paid them no mind. He looked up at the gloomy sky.
"I am ready."
Lamort said this, seemingly to himself, but then a small, pale white light screen appeared beside him, revealing the stern face of the Pope of the Seven Gods, Igor: "I entrust this to you, Ternan. The Western Mountains were once the center of the world, and the Western Mountains Seal is the main core of the ancient gods' seal. Only you can handle it."
"No need to worry. As a human, this is my duty."
Nodding, the Sword Saint replied calmly. Then, gazing at the still-dark sky, he murmured to himself, "It's coming."
And in the next instant, a wisp of pure white light pierced the gloomy sky, cutting through the thick black clouds like a blade. It fell from the rain like a pure white ladder ascending to heaven—but then, more lights emerged one after another. White beams, like swords, stabbed down from the sky into the earth. In just a few seconds, the once dark and gloomy Western Mountains were bathed in light, countless rays seemingly from heaven shining into the mortal world.
No, not seemingly—for they were indeed light from the Celestial Realm, light from the gods.
Holy Sword Bearer Lamort Ternan watched the thousands of beams of divine light falling like swords from the edge of the sky. A faint, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his stern face. In his pale blue eyes, he could see the edge of the world slowly bulging. The space at the boundary of the Mycroft World was twisting, as if some colossal entity was slowly approaching from the void, about to merge into this world. Countless rays of light shot out from the bulging spatial cracks, illuminating the rain-soaked land.
It was a world—Boundless Heaven. Driven by the Great Magic Tide, the lands of the gods that once hung around the Mycroft World were slowly merging into the main material world. It should have been a cataclysmic collision that would overturn the entire ecosystem, but under the coordination of the gods in the Era of Falling Stars, it was peacefully integrating into the world.
Watching this scene, the Sword Saint slowly raised his sword. In his hand, the ordinary black iron sword was burning. Amidst the blazing white flames, a "thing" that was difficult to describe in words, and one might not even know if it was a sword, appeared between heaven and earth.
It was a phantom, a shadow with only a plane. No matter from what angle one looked at it, it was a barely perceptible line, seemingly without any thickness. This line could be observed only because it was glowing—a sharp, incomparable sword light that illuminated most of the Black Forest. Lamort held this "sword," took a deep breath, and the sword light passed through his body without casting any shadow. The Sword Saint wielded a blade sharp to the point of having no thickness, then reversed his grip and thrust it into the earth.
Instantly, blazing white light patterns emerged on the dark brown ground. They pierced through soil and rock layers, through the crust and magma, passed through the mantle, and reached the deepest part of the earth—a colossal "cocoon" like a molten ball.
The cocoon was vibrating. It was like the world's heart, driving the pulse of magma. Layers of black qi surfaced on this heart, with visible curses and chaotic energy spreading. Corrupted runes appeared one after another in the surrounding sea of magma.
At that moment, it was emitting waves. Streams of information, imperceptible to mortals but clear to the strong, were being sent out, spreading endlessly into the void. But just then, a blazing white light pierced the earth, dispelling the endless curses and black qi.
With Sword Saint Lamort Ternan as the source, a beam of light descended to the earth's core and rose to the heavens—no, that was wrong, Lord Radcliffe."
Beside Joshua, the old Pope noticed the warrior's muttering. He shook his head and said, "This is not a battle... This is a war."
At this, Joshua chuckled. He nodded and said with great agreement, "You are absolutely right."
Turning his head, the warrior surveyed the myriad realms. Every world shone with clearly visible starlight. And at that moment, five stars were moving. This meant that five Transcendent beings, each nearly equivalent to the strongest in their respective worlds, were now approaching the Mycroft World.
The warrior spread his arms toward the void, as if welcoming them.
This is war.
It has already arrived.