Chapter 216
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 216
Chapter Title: Stunheim (1)
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Stunheim, located in the north of the Empire, was so far away that it took about ten days even by air carriage.
They had to dismount the carriage several times for camping, and right now Jun was staring blankly at the fire, lost in thought.
It wasn't anything special.
He was just reviewing his own magic as usual or pondering the path the mercenary corps should take moving forward.
Then, the unexpected struck.
"Hng..."
Maya, who had been sleeping peacefully on one side as always, let out a small groan.
It was too unsettling to dismiss as mere sleep talk, and when he glanced over, she was drenched in sweat in an unnaturally profuse way.
'What's going on?'
He wondered if he should wake Eleanor, but the answer came from an unlikely source.
-Master...
'Monghwan?'
Monghwan, who never initiated conversation, was speaking to Jun.
'What's wrong?'
-Master's friend... hurts...
'Hurts?'
What could this be?
There hadn't been any major battle, and just until dinner, Maya had devoured her usual massive meal.
As far as Jun could recall, nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
'And if there had been, Eleanor would've noticed first?'
As he found it strange, Monghwan spoke up again.
-Different... connected soul... in agony...
'Connected soul?'
What did that even mean?
Soul-related issues probably meant Eleanor...
-Master's friend... connected... soul... that one's... in danger...
'...!'
Only then did memories of Maya flood back to Jun.
More precisely, the storyline of the character Maya from the game.
'Is that event hitting now?'
In the game, Maya had indeed gone through something eerily similar.
'No way this is another butterfly effect from me?'
A curse slipped out in his mind.
Maya's condition was anything but trivial.
'No immediate crisis. But...'
What Maya was experiencing was best described as a 'precursor phenomenon' to some impending disaster.
The issue was that even recognizing the precursor offered no clear way to counter it.
'If it's tied to the Verdant Tribe, the only link is that parasite bastard from the Heavenly Origin Church. But hunting him down now? Impossible.'
Recalling the man in the dark crimson uniform, Jun clicked his tongue.
The guy was a monster—at least level 8 caliber, something Jun and his party could only challenge once they hit that mark themselves.
'Real talk: not feasible.'
They'd barely scraped level 6; level 8 was worlds away, irrelevant to the current crisis.
'Bottom line: can't stop it now. Least I can do is ease her pain.'
How?
As he mulled it over, Monghwan chimed in once more.
-Pain... I can lessen it...
'You have a way?'
-Yeah... lull it to sleep...
She was already asleep, but Jun held his tongue.
The dream spirit meant something deeper.
Sure enough, when Jun rested his Monghwan-clad hand on Maya's forehead, he felt the spirit's power flow.
Maya's tormented expression soon eased, and only then did Jun exhale softly.
'It's a piss-poor fix, like wetting your own feet in winter, but...'
At least he could dull her pain.
But the real trouble loomed. This was merely the harbinger.
The true calamity was on a whole other scale.
The Great Catastrophe.
The reason Maya held such narrative weight in the game—and the prelude to the horrors ahead.
Player response speed drastically forked the story, while signaling the Heavenly Origin Church's full mobilization.
'Even in-game, disaster timing and spots varied every run.'
Massive loss of life inevitable. And unstoppable.
'I get it logically, but damn, it chafes.'
Visions already crept in: screams of the masses, plunged into hellish pits of death.
'Guess the halcyon days are done.'
Jun's face twisted.
The northern city of Stunheim.
Buffeted year-round by biting cold winds, it boasted a teeming population worthy of being dubbed one of the Empire's five vital arteries.
Not quite rivaling the fallen Merdein of old, but as the gateway to the vast northern continent across the sea, it was only natural.
"Where... ah, there it is."
Before long, Jun and his companions reached the building housing the Atlas Adventure Corps.
"Pretty swanky digs."
Eleanor whistled at the sight.
Jun, standing beside her, replied.
"The Atlas Adventure Corps' patron is the head of the Ron Family—the north's undisputed hegemon. Makes sense they'd roll out the red carpet."
"Alright then, time to meet the client."
"Fired up, huh?"
"Damn right. A job linked to the God of Death?"
As someone tied to forgotten deities, her interest was a given.
"Haha... Color me intrigued too. The Atlas Adventure Corps, of all groups..."
Aiden, long fascinated by such outfits, had stars in his eyes—right as the door swung open from within.
"Long time, Jun. Saw you around this time last year, yeah?"
Ron Kailler.
The Atlas Adventure Corps' leader welcomed them with a warm smile.
"First off, thanks for taking the job without full details."
In Kailler's office on the building's third floor, Jun began their one-on-one briefing.
"No sweat. Word on the street is the Atlas Adventure Corps has been ultra-cautious about this gig."
Not just any client—the Ron Family, north's hegemon, who'd dangled the request for years.
Security was paramount.
"Appreciate that. Straight to it: the relic of the God of Death. That's our quarry—his holy artifact."
"Holy artifact, huh."
"What we tapped Maya for earlier? Pulling intel from ancient souls lingering in that god's temple."
Turns out, they'd wrung info from Maya, decoded the ancient tongue amid trial and error, and scored what they needed.
"And this? The map we pieced together from it."
"Hmm..."
She revealed a weathered parchment.
Handled with kid gloves lest it shred, shadowy smears undulated across it, tracing the local terrain.
"Current position marker?"
"Nope. Pins the holy artifact's spot."
"Pardon? But that's..."
Myriad peaks and sinuous paths threading between like veins—terrain Jun half-knew.
Stunheim's map, plain as day.
"Points to a cave in a nearby mountain."
"...This is weird. God of Death leads all traced to Blackout, right? So why surface-side outta nowhere...?"
"Beats me. Here's the kicker: we found this stele in that very cave."
'What are the odds...?'
Kailler brushed it off, but Jun—neck-deep in crises past—smelled more than coincidence.
Oblivious, she slid him a photo.
"Our corps snapped this. Artifact's likely inside."
"Gravestone...?"
Jun peered intently.
"Think you can make out the inscription?"
"Erk. No ancient script. Some oddballs sprinkled in, though."
"Rumors checked out—you read ancient tongues."
"Yeah, sorta. But issue?"
"Our experts say the stele's laced with soul vibe. Likely a mashup of ancient lingo and the tribe that worshipped that god."
Now it clicked why she'd summoned the whole corps, not just Maya.
Core gig: trek here, decode the stone's script alongside Maya.
"Heads-up: voicing these translations can backfire. Write 'em down first—some register as word-spirits."
"Got it. Fees?"
"Translation's a slog; can't monopolize Maya forever. Might drag to next season. We'll foot a fat bill."
"Hmm..."
No backing out now.
Not like it was indecipherable anyway...
'Maya's sensed Verdant Tribe ties to the Atlas crew for a while.'
With her rough patch lately, this bore investigating.
"If that's the deal, we're in."
"Love the decisiveness. Schedule drops soon. P.S. Current quarters are yours."
"Much obliged."
Jun's Stunheim savvy was zilch—no wandering planned.
As he rose, Kailler added,
"Guests inbound soonish; banquet planned. Fancy gracing us, Captain Jun?"
"Banquet... I'll see."
Post-Jun meet, Kailler gathered files and headed to the Ron Family's grand mansion—her big bro's haunt.
Servants bowed as ever en route to the office, where youthful Count Ron Camillo—barely thirties—greeted her.
"There you are. Heard the buzz: White Whale Mercenary Corps rolled in?"
"Yup. Ahead of schedule."
"Perfect timing. We wrapping our op soon?"
"Long haul, but clues are all here."
"Yeah... epic slog. Five years for our corps."
Ron Family.
North's hegemons by name, yet glory waning.
Culprit: the lost family seal.
Vanished with the last hegemon's death abroad.
That seal embodied northern supremacy.
Without it, sway over fellow lords gutted.
'Folks might scoff—one seal?—but...'
Camillo reminisced, shaking his head.
Seals screamed "family endures"—prime proof.
Especially this one, stamped on ancient blood-oath pacts.
Gone? Image nosedive.
'They've sniffed weakness; insolence brewing.'
War-ravaged east ghosted comms; inbound west's Alcartan talks stalled.
Northern factions grumbled louder.
'Seal's our fix.'
Enter God of Death's relic.
Ancients claimed it summoned souls from beyond, if briefly.
'Rouse Father; track the seal. Unravel his shady end.'
Father's death stank.
Hence, Ron Family leaned solely on in-house Atlas Adventure Corps for the relic hunt—till recent walls.
"Speaking of, White Whale Mercenary Corps. Trust level?"
Camillo probed; Kailler paused, then,
"As you know, bro, they've been cozying up to the Imperial Family steady."
"Aye."
"My private channels say the Palace is gearing for war."
"War...? This late?"
"Yup. No ordinary scrap."
Camillo leaned in sharp.
Bigger than feared.
Time to tune in.