Chapter 280
Chapter 280
Chapter 280
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 280 — Lan Qi Thinks the Demon King’s Army Is Just So-So
“……”
Lan Qi felt that this woman named Gloria did not seem like an enemy.
She wasn’t carrying strong hostility toward him; instead, her emotions were more complicated—perhaps jealousy, doubt, and unwillingness. It couldn’t really be called enmity.
Lan Qi quickly understood. This person should be a direct soldier secretly placed inside the Protos Royal Academy of Magic.
She was also one of the Ba'tian Branch.
His own authority was higher—just by using the [Proof of Saint – Ba'tian], he could subtly sense anyone carrying the [Proof of Resurrection – Ba'tian].
But she seemed a little unhappy.
Lan Qi could only give a helpless smile and offer friendliness.
His emerald-green eyes were naturally flawless, and his expression carried a faint sorrow and concern.
“……!?”
That made Gloria clench her fists, veins bulging across the back of her hand.
In her eyes, Lan Qi’s expression right now seemed to be saying: If Sido favors me, then there’s nothing I can do about it.
Gloria forced down the throbbing vein on her forehead and turned her head away, refusing to meet Lan Qi’s gaze.
She really wanted to punch this smug green-tea man!!
He hadn’t even said a word, yet it felt even more insulting than if he had outright called her an idiot.
How could the Ba'tian Church possibly have chosen such a person!!
This bastard didn’t resemble the Ba'tian Branch’s people at all—he was far more like those from the Annihilation Branch. If, by some misfortune, he also turned out to be a Sealer, then he would be a powerful rival to the Annihilation Saint Son.
Gloria decided she wasn’t going to say anything more to this so-called Ba'tian Saint Son.
He was clearly favored, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Today, she had only followed him here to see what was so special about him!
As the two stopped talking, students gradually came into the classroom and sat down quietly, with very little conversation. The faint noises of books being placed on desks echoed softly in the room.
The history classroom was filled with the pale-white tones of winter morning light. Maps and timelines on the walls swayed gently in the breeze, vines and leaves outside the window stirred, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the glass.
Footsteps multiplied, and with them the shadows outside grew busier.
The classroom remained steeped in a cool silence.
Until the clock struck the hour—then all noise ceased, and students settled into quiet anticipation of the lecture.
At the door came the sound of steady, rapid footsteps.
The door opened slowly, and a figure appeared, outlined by the light.
A tall young man, about 1.85 meters in height, with ink-black mid-length hair that often obscured his eyes—eyes deep as the starry sky, carrying a trace of profound melancholy, as if concealing the mysteries of the universe. He wore a long black coat, exuding an air of freedom and ease.
His face was handsome but somewhat gaunt, a clear sign of severe sleep deprivation.
This was the lecturer of the class, Associate Professor Sido Arendale of the Protos Royal Academy’s history department.
“Alright, students. Although in most of my history courses I prefer an interactive exchange with you, for this class, Modern Imperial History, I would like to lecture straight through without being interrupted too often. Of course, if you have questions, you may raise them, but I may not always answer. Understood?”
Sido’s voice was not deep but rather light and casual.
For this upfront “slacking” declaration, the students gave no comment, only silence.
They all knew the reason why Associate Professor Sido had to say that.
The Protos Empire was now at the center of turbulent controversy, with Wilfort-ism sweeping the land—
First, they judge you as “ideologically incorrect,” then force you to prove otherwise. If your defense is unconvincing, they’d rather wrongly condemn than let you go.
This ideology was resisted by many, yet championed by many others.
And Modern Imperial History, being deeply entangled with the causes of the present empire’s situation, was an especially dangerous subject. Every time Sido lectured on holy wars, current events, or historical causation, some students would become agitated, erupting into heated quarrels that sometimes derailed the class entirely—and even began questioning Sido’s own political stance.
He had applied for a teaching assistant, but no suitable candidate had been found who dared to maintain discipline. After all, the academy had many students from powerful noble families, and anyone sensible would avoid offending them.
Sido placed a yellowed-covered book on the desk and switched on the arcane projector behind him.
At first, he said nothing—only played a recording.
Dusk deepened as heavy black clouds swallowed the vibrant sunset, casting a sinister shadow over the sky.
From afar, something slowly approached—what seemed like a bottomless black void was, upon closer inspection, countless figures clad in pitch-black heavy armor. But they were not human—each was a grotesque demon, bodies scarred, eyes burning with fanatical fire, savage as if they had crawled straight from hell.
When the army arrived, everything changed.
The sky was consumed by a dense crimson mist, like a demonic eye about to burst, glaring at the earth.
What had once been a peaceful town was now a slaughterhouse. Smoke and flames flickered through ruins, shattered corpses lay strewn under rubble, blood dried into dark stains, and the stench of blood choked the air worse than any rot.
The land was cursed, transformed into a hell where every breath carried suffocating fear until life itself was extinguished.
Mountains of corpses remained, faces twisted in pain, despair, and terror.
Phantom-like blood-red shades roamed the ruins like vengeful ghosts, dragging scraps of flesh, driven by ravenous hunger.
“This recording is not from a century ago. It was only a year ago. People suspect the Demon King’s Army’s special slaughter unit—the Ghosts—has returned.”
The projection flickered as Sido spoke calmly.
The north was gripped by panic.
Some even longed for the protection of the Annihilation Church, unwilling to face such cruel demons.
Other northern kingdoms refused to admit the demons came from their lands.
But even if they had come from the remote wastes of the Far North, they would still need to cross northern realms and establish a foothold.
More and more evidence pointed to problems within the Kingdom of Aether Tyran.
Reports revealed alarmingly high missing-person rates in border towns near that kingdom.
From the north’s fear, panic spread to the capital. Eventually, the Empire expelled the Church of the Goddess of Fate, which had deep ties with Aether Tyran, and welcomed the Resurrection Church instead. But this seemed not to be the Resurrection Church’s conspiracy—since northern bishops and branches were riddled with internal conflict, they could never have acted together. Even the empire’s own rulers struggled to reach consensus.
“As things stand, war between the Protos Empire and the Kingdom of Aether Tyran is inevitable. And the other northern kingdoms will not sit idly by if Aether Tyran is annexed. No matter what, this will be…”
Sido’s words trailed off, unfinished.
It would be a war with no winners.
Yet it was also the natural culmination of the Protos Empire’s century-long trajectory. War with other races was inevitable; if not this spark, then another would ignite it.
Perhaps many students had their own thoughts—questioning the causes, the validity of evidence like the recording, or whether hidden conspiracies lurked behind the conflict.
But anyone sensible would never voice such questions in public—for fear of being branded with a dangerously anti-war stance.
“……”
Lan Qi, sitting at the back, stared thoughtfully at the projection of the Demon King’s Army.
In the game’s main storyline—about a year later—the Northern Continent would indeed be plunged into a drawn-out war.
And the cause matched Sido’s explanation.
There was no discrepancy.
From Lan Qi’s perspective, the only inconsistency was one thing—
The number of provinces.
After arriving on the Northern Continent, Lan Qi had repeatedly confirmed: the Protos Empire currently had 17 provinces.
But a year later, the empire’s map showed only 15 provinces.
When Lan Qi compared maps, he discovered that two northern provinces had vanished without a trace.
Meaning that during this war, some unknown calamity would befall the north, erasing entire provinces.
To cause such destruction, an eighth-tier Shadow World failure was too weak, while a ninth-tier failure was too localized—it didn’t fit the scale.
“What’s with that look on your face?”
Gloria, the Ba'tian Church’s direct soldier, eyed Lan Qi with suspicion.
She noticed his usually gentle, harmless expression was now furrowed with a frown.
The mighty Ba'tian Saint Son—could he really be fazed by demons?
“I just feel like these guys aren’t demons at all.”
Lan Qi propped his chin on one hand, murmuring in confusion.
Compared to the Five of Ikerite, trained under the orthodox teachings of the Purgatory Corridor Academy, this unit fell short.
(End of Chapter)