Whispers in the Holy City's Hidden Chamber, an Audience Beneath the Blood Moon
Deep within the inner city of the Holy City, in a long, narrow stone chamber.
A detailed map of the Tear Knight Defense Line was spread out on the long table. The map was originally covered with densely packed golden nails representing the territory.
At that moment, the nails were being pulled out one by one and fell into the silver plate beside them.
The gold nails in the silver dish had piled up into a small heap, and when the firelight shone on them, they seemed to emit a cold light.
No one spoke in the stone chamber; only the dry sound of pages turning and the crisp sound of gold nails falling into a silver dish could be heard.
The first to speak was an old man sitting slightly to the left of the head of the table. His black robe was perfectly straight, even the cuffs were pressed flat.
" Of the Defense Zone under the Tear Knight Defense Line, three have already been shut down this season. The remaining Defense Zone still appear to be lit up, but they are basically hollowed out. There are very few that are truly intact left."
After saying that, he raised his hand and tossed a gold nail he had just pulled from the drawing into the silver plate. "A little faster than expected."
None of the people at the table responded, and their expressions remained unchanged.
It was as if the deaths of so many people on the defensive line were within the scope of their pre-calculation.
The middle-aged man sitting on the other side reached out and turned a page of the battle report.
He wore a silver-rimmed ring, was impeccably dressed, had deep-set brow bones, and his eyes bore the shadows of long-term insomnia.
The unfolded battle report was filled with the dead and the extinguished Sacred Flame, but to him it was like looking at an account book that was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.
"Seventy percent of the Holy Silver reserves have been depleted, the shortage of Sacred Flame Grease is widening, and what's more troublesome is the lack of engineers, the shortage of repair teams, and the death of too many junior officers."
He didn't read out the number of dead, but everyone understood the extent of the tragedy.
The woman at the end of the table, whose face was half-hidden in the candlelight, kept tapping the tabletop lightly with her fingertips.
Only then did she stop, adding casually, "It seems I can't hold on much longer."
After those words, the stone chamber fell silent for a moment.
The middle-aged man turned another page, then suddenly stopped.
His voice finally picked up a hint of emotion. "The Graymist Defense Zone —it's still lit up."
The woman finally raised her eyes.
The young man, who had been sitting at the farthest point and hidden in the shadows, also shifted his gaze from the edge of the candlelight for the first time.
The Graymist Defense Zone should have been the ugliest place to collapse.
According to their initial assessment, 90% of the strongholds there should have been wiped out during this Blood Moon.
The result was that instead of being completely wiped out, they actually managed to hold back several sections of the surrounding perimeter that should have rotted away along with it.
The woman leaned back in her chair and whispered, "Castian does have some skill; he managed to hold this breach together."
The middle-aged man calmly corrected, "We held up one section, but only one. The entire Tear Knight Defense Line still bled."
No one objected.
The tall, thin old man twirled a gold nail halfway between his fingers before slowly placing it back on the table.
He looked at the long, unfurled map, his voice growing increasingly hoarse.
"Nobody wants to do this, but without reform—we can no longer afford such a long line of defense."
He paused, his gaze slowly sweeping across the darkening borders.
"If things continue as before, the next Blood Moon will cause not just a few Defense Zone to collapse, but several defensive lines."
The stone chamber became quieter.
The young man sitting furthest away finally spoke up, "Only after experiencing pain will those stubborn people understand our good intentions. This is an inevitable path for all reforms."
As soon as those words were spoken, the air in the entire stone chamber seemed to suddenly become heavier.
Deep within the Gray Fog, the ruins of an abandoned ancient Chapel stand amidst rubble and broken walls.
The Blood Moon had begun to recede, and the deepest crimson hue on the horizon had faded somewhat, but this place remained deathly cold.
The wind of the Long Night blew through the broken arched windows and collapsed corridors, carrying dust and a lingering, scarlet smell of embers.
The Silver-Sword Ghoul Commander dragged his battered body up the stone steps in front of the Chapel.
It was badly injured; half of its body was almost pierced through, and its chest, abdomen, and back were riddled with holes left by crossbow bolts, the edges of which were charred and cracked from being burned with Holy Silver.
Black blood trickled down the gaps in the armor plates, leaving a broken trail on the stone steps.
Even so, it never let go of the broken Cross Silver Sword in its right hand, holding it upside down in its palm.
The broken edge was jagged, and the remaining sacred power on the spine of the sword was still slowly burning its palm, emitting a soft "hissing" sound.
Black smoke slowly rose from its palm, but it didn't even glance at it.
There were no lights in the Chapel.
In the depths of darkness, a faint crimson light first appeared.
Then the scent in the air changed; a decadent floral fragrance, a heavy smell of rust, and the aroma of Holy Silver gradually wafted out.
A figure slowly descended from the shadows above.
That was a Blood Clan.
He had the face of someone in their early twenties, with smooth blond hair, pale skin, and features so perfectly proportioned that they were almost uncanny. But it was precisely because of this perfection that his face exuded an eerie quality.
He wore a Black Hunting Attire, impeccably tailored, with even the cuffs perfectly fitted. The edges of the suit were inlaid with tiny Holy Silver particles that gleamed coldly in the crimson glow.
The Silver Sword Commander walked to the center of the ruins and knelt down heavily.
His knee slammed into the gravel with a dull thud.
It offered no explanation, but simply lowered its head, its posture extremely humble, like a defeated officer returning to plead guilty.
A hoarse, low voice rolled from the Silver Sword Commander's throat, broken like a broken bellows.
"The Legion is wiped out." It paused, its brow furrowing even lower. "I have botched the task given to me by my lord. Please punish me."
The Chapel fell silent for a moment.
But the expected anger did not subside.
The Blood Clan stood before it, looked down at it for a moment, and then chuckled softly, as if looking at a pet.
"You've done very well." His voice was soft, gentle to the point of being almost refined. "There's no need to win this time."
After he finished speaking, he raised his hand, and a drop of thick, scarlet Sourceblood slowly peeled from his pale fingertip and fell onto the forehead of the Silver Sword Commander.
The moment the blood droplet fell, the strange phenomenon began.
The charred marks shuddered violently at first, and then the deeper, darker flesh rolled and writhed outwards like madmen, gradually merging the previously unhealable cracks back together.
The shattered muscle fibers were forcibly pulled back into place, the broken bone fragments rubbed against each other and came together, Shadow Battle Aura continuously condensed on its body surface, becoming even more solid than before.
The Silver Sword Commander let out a low gasp, clearly sensing that the drop of Sourceblood had not only healed its injuries but also pushed its power and rank up once again.
The atmosphere fell silent for a moment.
The Blood Clan's gaze shifted downwards, landing on its right hand, which it hadn't loosened its grip on, or more precisely, on the broken Cross Silver Sword.
He looked at her for a long time before bending down slightly, his tone so gentle it was almost intimate.
"How about I have this sword?"
The air suddenly froze.
The Silver Sword Commander paused briefly in his movements.
But in the next instant, the pressure of rank and the instinct to obey subsided again.
It immediately lowered its head even further, picked up the broken Cross Silver Sword with both hands, and respectfully handed it over.
The Blood Clan looked at the sword presented to him, then suddenly laughed, "Just kidding."
He didn't take it; instead, he gently pushed the Silver Sword Commander's hand, along with the sword, back to him.
He then turned around and walked to the outermost broken wall of the Chapel ruins.
He gazed at the distant, Holy Light -shimmering Eternal Night Wall, a slight smile still lingering on his lips.
"Humans always think they've won by surviving one Blood Moon. This season, I've just stirred things up. A slow, methodical hunt is much more interesting."
After saying that, he didn't turn back, but slowly walked into the darkness deeper into the ruins, his footsteps so light they were almost inaudible.
"Recover well, next time will be even more exciting." The last words came from the darkness.
The abandoned Chapel fell silent once more.
In the center of the ruins, the Silver-Sword Ghoul Commander remained kneeling.
It lowered its head and gripped the broken Cross Silver Sword tightly in its hand again.