Chapter 336
Chapter 336
Chapter 336
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 336 – How Could Lan Qi Possibly Be the Governor of the Empire?
Southern Continent — The Kreyth EmpireSouth of the Noxus Mountains lies the dominant Kreyth Empire.
In the heart of the empire’s southern region stands its capital, Brilda, whose splendor and beauty rival any city along the mountains or the coast. Majestic classical-style buildings fill every corner of Brilda. The central memorial square is surrounded by white monuments and dark gray statues of heroes, creating a deeply artistic atmosphere.
Every spring, around March or April, the air fills with the scent of flowers and distant music as the climate turns warm and bright.
On the wide streets, the twilight glow casts a soft sheen, the fragrance of rose bushes drifts gently, and traveling minstrels play light tunes — like birds singing inside a warm aviary. Even at sunset, the city looks like a pure heavenly realm.
As night approached, the city hall lit up, and music drowned out the dry creak of the gold-decorated side door as it opened.
Through the lavish corridors, down stairways, until reaching an office deep in the basement.
Past a narrow passage unfriendly to the tall or heavily built, around several turns, descending three to four hundred steps, the sound finally died away — revealing a new space.
Deep beneath the Kreyth Empire lies a palace forgotten by time — a subterranean center of power. Here, only faint magical starlight pierced the heavy fog.
Stone-paved streets were flanked by ancient structures built from weathered rock. At the end, a dark castle stood, its obsidian walls glinting coldly.
A lone figure walked through the ancient city, approached the castle gate, passed the exquisitely carved corridor, and slowly pushed open the black iron doors into a grand council hall.
Inside, the hall was cold and dim, the dome’s candle flames replacing sunlight.
At the center, a long banquet table dominated the space. On either side stood thirteen high-backed chairs, each inlaid with crimson gemstone crests marking their owners.
Marquis Heritier sat on the seventh chair, fingers resting on her lap, eyes closed, silent as stone. The single candle was not enough to illuminate her figure, leaving only the beauty mark under her eye clearly visible.
“Why hasn’t she awakened yet?”
The newcomer removed a ceremonial military coat still scented with incense and glanced at Marquis Heritier’s face.
“There was a battle in the north of the Protos Empire that should never have happened.”
Marquis Heritier murmured, as if peering through a haze at something unseen.
“Major General Fanreku and the Bishop of Annihilation?”
The robust young man who entered leaned against the eighth high-backed chair opposite Heritier, a faint, arrogant smile curling his lips — the kind only an absolute powerhouse could wear.
He had long heard Marquis Heritier say that a critical turning point would soon appear in the northern continent’s turmoil —
If Major General Fanreku of the Protos Empire was slain by Bishop of Annihilation Askson, and no one in the empire discovered the truth, letting it be buried forever, this could mark the beginning of the empire’s eventual downfall.
But to him, upheaval in such “lesser” nations was nothing remarkable.
Even those so-called cardinals of the Church of Resurrection who were strong now would become dust within a mere hundred years — pitiful creatures on an entirely different plane from them.
The only thing worth noting was the hidden power that had guided Bishop Askson to kill Fanreku.
Marquis Somerset, having awakened from his long slumber, now found a world divided into northern and southern continents.
After they had caused the Blood Moon to reappear on the southern continent, their next step would eventually be to confront those troublesome beings in the north.
But both sides knew — at this moment, there was no need to expend great effort interfering with the distant continent. Their strength was better focused on what lay before them.
“Major General Fanreku should already have been killed by Askson. This battle was Bishop of Annihilation Askson… Supreme Bishop Sigrid… the Apostles were likely involved too… and in the end, it all ended in fire.”
Marquis Heritier’s voice was cold as she corrected.
“…”
Marquis Somerset fell silent.
“It felt like the Destruction Bishop Ivanos’ eighth-tier epic spell Great Cataclysm…”
Heritier’s final words carried uncertainty.
Ivanos had no reason to appear on the northern continent at this time.
If Ivanos left his stalemate with High Priest Loren of the Goddess of Fate Church, Loren could slip into central southern continent, infiltrate the Kingdom of Yaloran, and aid the Undead Sword Saint Juliana in destroying Bishop of Decay Famer — creating a new imbalance.
“You didn’t foresee any of this in your previous divinations?”
Marquis Somerset asked again.
Divination magic was prone to interference and discrepancies between visions and actual events.
Heritier’s foresight for the southern continent was far more accurate than for the north. The increased geographic distance consumed more magic, reducing accuracy, and the northern prophets’ interference caused further deviations.
If Heritier foresaw events before the prophets acted, their later actions could render her visions gravely inaccurate. If she foresaw them after, they were more likely to be accurate in the short term.
This battle should have been a major northern event, yet until it happened, Heritier had seen not a single shadow of it in her predictions.
This made Somerset wonder if the prophets had grown stronger — strong enough to even blind Heritier’s sight.
Heritier remained thoughtful for a long time. Slowly, she raised her head, her crimson eyes glimmering faintly in the dark.
“No matter. Whatever happens in the north cannot affect Duke Rashal.”
Neither her nor the prophets’ divinations could touch beings of the ninth tier — they stood beyond the domain of divination.
As long as Duke Rashal, the Third Progenitor, was present, the blood clan had nothing to fear from the northern continent’s prophets reaching their hands into the south.
“Soon, we will reclaim the land that belongs to us — this is only the first step.”
Heritier’s voice echoed through every corner, cold and powerful, like a proclamation to her soon-to-return progenitor kin of the irreversible conclusion to come.
Northern Continent — Protos EmpireImperial Capital Helrom — Imperial Permafrost Prison, Lowest Level
Prisoners in this layer were strapped into straitjackets, their limbs and even their heads fixed in sealing barriers. A mask clamped tightly below their eyes, leaving only thin slits to breathe through.
A demon’s eye opened.
Not even the barrier could conceal the terrifying magical pressure emanating from him. His long, narrow eyes held unfathomable mist.
He looked north — then slowly closed his eyes again.
Several thousand kilometers north of Helrom, Protos Empire — Snowfields
The once silver-white snowfield had turned pitch black. Ice layers had vaporized in the blast, lakes evaporated, leaving only barren riverbeds. Snowmelt cascaded down the mountains as white waterfalls, washing over scorched earth.
The once-glorious City of Bandera had vanished without a trace.
Its tall towers, bustling markets, grand temples — all reduced to ash. Though the explosion had long ended, dust and smoke still blotted out the sky, leaving only a dim yellow glow.
On the ground, fire spread like molten lava, heat waves distorting the air. Near the city’s former gates lay a colossal crater, its depth unmeasurable, smoke choking the air.
Only the wind mourned — as if grieving, as if the tortured souls trapped here were finally freed.
At the blast’s epicenter, the soil still glowed faintly red. Suddenly, a column of black smoke rose, twisting like a hand grasping at the last breath of this dead land.
From it crawled a black-robed figure — his robe tattered, revealing his wounds, its once-pitch fabric now the color of ash and smoke. Only the intricate magical sigils still faintly glimmered. Behind the veil of smoke, his eyes shone faintly.
The once-imposing Bishop of Annihilation now appeared weakened, his deep eyes bloodshot.
Beside him, the scorching heat persisted. At the moment of the blast, they had barely survived by exhausting their most powerful shields and life-saving cards.
Even so, both were gravely wounded.
The black-robed man coughed violently, trying to steady his breathing, while Askson pressed his hands together, chanting an uncommon spell as faint light halos surrounded him, healing his wounds.
They stood tens of meters apart — a silent, mutual understanding.
Perhaps, if they pushed now, they could still catch the Holy Son of the Ba'tian, but in their current condition, pursuit risked death.
What unsettled them was that the Holy Son had endured the blast using a seventh-tier large-scale wind spell.
This mysterious figure held more secrets than they had imagined — perhaps even a hidden seventh-tier entity.
And a single seventh-tier was enough to kill them now.
“Askson, I’m leaving.”
The black-robed man’s voice was hoarse.
He no longer wished to travel with Askson.
Though neither was certain who would win in a duel, they were still in the Protos Empire’s territory, and the Abyssal Black Worm was damaged. Repairing it would require a top-tier card master and much time. He had no reason to stay.
That wolf-like summoned beast was too dangerous — it could seal other summons and detonate them together.
“A month from now, don’t forget your first promise.”
Askson still laughed coldly, staring at the black-robed man’s retreating back.
“Relax. Everything remains within the path set by the prophet. It’s nothing serious — as long as you can finish the cleanup.”
The black-robed man replied, then paused, turning back.
“Do you know the Holy Son’s true identity? I can confirm he isn’t from Duke Berenhard’s house.”
He had never heard of such a sealing mage in the Protos Empire.
Someone with this level of sealing magic should not have been so completely hidden — especially since a few months ago, the Church of Resurrection was still considered a hunted cult.
But what troubled him most wasn’t letting Supreme Bishop Sigrid escape — it was that he hadn’t even seen the Holy Son’s true face.
“It doesn’t matter who he is. Sigrid is no longer a threat. His power cannot be unleashed in the great cities near the empire’s center.”
Askson shook his head. Compared to the Apostles, he was far more eager to know the Holy Son’s identity.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let him leave the northern blockade zone.”
Askson’s expression grew cold.
The entire north remained under the control of his Annihilation Branch.
Although it was unlikely the Holy Son held any prominent identity or connections within the empire — their Church’s rules were strict —
everything depended on whether Askson could bring Sigrid back to the imperial capital. Only then could any further variables arise.