Interlude 25: Day of Wrath

Humming a tune, Berlos von Sharp climbed a mound with a broad smile on his face. It was not particularly high, but it still gave him a comfortable vantage point from which to observe the battlefield before him.

How many wars had the chronicler taken part in? Even he could not answer that question. However, he could be certain of one thing—this battle would surely rank among his top three in terms of sheer satisfaction.

"Come on," Berlos murmured. "Time to work."

He took paper and pen from the satchel he carried, gazing intently into the distance without the slightest concern for the lightning racing overhead or the raging flames beside him.

He raised his right hand, narrowed his left eye, and aimed the pencil at the swaying manor, calculating its proportions. Then he lowered his head and swiftly sketched a rough image onto the page.

The drawing was crude, and his artistic skill was clearly nothing exceptional. Even so, it did not diminish its vivid horror in the slightest.

The chronicler lifted the parchment notebook, held it a little farther away, and studied it carefully for a moment. What he saw made him sigh.

"This definitely can't be published. What would happen if people saw this?"

"What?" a voice came from behind him. "You've been dead all these years, and you still want to keep publishing books?"

The chronicler froze briefly, then turned around with a beaming smile. "Jago Sevatarion!"

"Ah, ah, ah—" Sevatarion used one finger to deflect the chronicler's enthusiastic handshake, his expression inscrutable. "—Don't be in such a hurry to catch up, old man. The battle isn't over yet."

As if to refute him, an incomparable tremor suddenly swept across heaven and earth. The surface of this filthy garden split apart, and a colossal temple of