The Sacred Flame Goes Out

Shien followed Ivan's almost frozen gaze and looked into the far east, deep into the Gray Fog.

In the distant, swirling Red Fog, a tiny, extremely faint Platinum Aura hung suspended, gradually dimming and being swallowed by the endless darkness, leaving only deathly silence.

The wind on the high platform suddenly became bone-chillingly cold.

Fabien's grip on the sword hilt tightened slowly, the Recorder's apple bobbed with difficulty, and he didn't even dare to blink.

When a Sacred Flame coordinate goes out, it means an entire territory vanishes from the wasteland, and thousands of lives, along with the Flame Seed and order they desperately protected, are lost.

And that horizon, now shrouded in darkness, stood there quietly, like a tombstone that had appeared out of nowhere in the wasteland.

Shien turned around and walked straight to the huge parchment map behind the tactical Sand Table.

In the dim firelight, guided by the direction where the Sacred Flame had gone out, his slender fingers glided across the rough parchment, finally pressing heavily on a coordinate circled in red clay.

His eyes narrowed slightly. The lord of that Long Night Fief was Kevin Disraeli, one of the lords who had come to the Eternal Night Wall with him.

The investiture ceremony in the Royal Capital's Holy Temple, and the distribution of supplies in the buffer zone, filled with probing and calculation, flashed through Shien's mind.

Kevin was one of the most calculating among the new lords, always carrying the impeccably groomed demeanor of an Inland nobleman.

Moreover, judging from the start alone, with the support of his family, his territory is obviously much more spacious than that of Blackpine Fief.

Yet, this territory, with its superior troop strength, abundant resources, and solid defenses, went out of service on the first night of the Blood Moon Season.

It went out too quickly.

Shien stared at the darkened coordinates on the map, his gaze gradually darkening.

Could someone so easily wipe out a territory like Kevin's? Is it Werewolf? Or...?

The wind swept in from above, making the small flags beside the Sand Table flutter in the breeze.

Shien withdrew his gaze, raised his hand, and drank the remaining, now-cold tea in one gulp.

A cold wind swept across the tower. He handed the empty cup back to the messenger beside him, his gaze returning to the Sand Table.

He cannot let his guard down; the Beast Tide that retreated tonight has only temporarily dissipated.

Something even more terrifying could pounce on this place at any moment.

A fierce wind swept through the ruins of the Shattered Stone Fief.

The air was filled with the smell of lime and burning flesh; inhaling it made my chest ache.

Kevin Disraeli leaned against the Permanent Sacred Flame Platform, his chest heaving violently as he gasped for breath, each breath tinged with blood and foam.

The Holy Silver helmet had long since disappeared, and the gold-threaded cloak was reduced to just a few tattered pieces, still hanging on the edge of the shoulder armor.

Half of his face was covered in mud and bits of flesh, and his right hand was gripping the cross sword tightly, his thumb and forefinger already cracked and blood flowing down the hilt.

Lying at his feet were all his Knight; a young squire lay on the edge of the Sacred Flame, his throat ripped open, his eyes still staring straight at him.

Although time was a bit tight, he clearly did his best to do everything perfectly.

High walls, Caltrops, Crossbowman, rotating shifts, reserves—even the city walls were infiltrated with more Holy Silver Powder than other places.

It was even a defense plan designed specifically for him by the general of Osteria; everyone said it was a standard territory that could withstand the Blood Moon Season.

Kevin let out a hoarse laugh, as if he'd choked on blood. "Why did this happen...?"

But no one answered.

The crowd Sacred Flame Altar is still tightening.

The Ghoul growled in their throats but did not pounce. Instead, they pressed forward layer by layer, trapping the last few dozen living people around the faint Sacred Flame, as orderly as soldiers awaiting orders.

The monster-like black wall suddenly split open from the middle.

Several massive, Third-Tier Ghoul Commander emerged from the mud, each carrying upside down the mangled, bloodied bodies of Knight, tortured beyond recognition.

The corpses had swollen bellies, their skin gleaming, and were filled with foul blood and the poisonous miasma of the Blood Moon.

The next moment, several Third-Tier Ghoul simultaneously lowered their backs and slammed the dozens of swollen corpses hard against the base of the Sacred Flame Altar.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The corpses struck with perfect accuracy, landing entirely in the gears and Rune slots beneath the Sacred Flame base.

The flesh burst open on the spot, and the filthy blood mixed with bone fragments splashed into the brass interlocking joint, jamming the still-running gears.

The shadow poison and the Holy Light collided head-on, immediately creating a series of ear-piercing screams.

"Crack! Bang! Buzz!"

The sounds of metal breaking and Rune overload exploding almost simultaneously.

The White-Gold Sacred Flame suddenly leaped, its tongue of fire violently recoiled, and the entire base trembled violently.

The Sacred Flame, which should have lasted until dawn, gradually dimmed and finally went out completely.

The moment the last flicker of flame dissipated, darkness crashed down.

The last breath the surviving Knight held on shattered instantly.

The scream had barely escaped his throat when the Ghoul waiting all around suddenly pounced on him, engulfing him like a black tide.

The sounds of armor clashing, bones breaking, and short, piercing screams lasted only a few breaths before being completely torn apart by the night.

A Third-Tier Ghoul Commander stepped out from the encirclement.

The rusty greatsword in its hand, still covered in bits of flesh and blood, swung up with a foul gust of wind, cleanly piercing Kevin's chest.

A muffled thud.

This young nobleman, who had maintained his aristocratic dignity his entire life and considered himself infallible, was lifted high off the ground.

Hot blood flowed down the sword and through his armor, while more gushed from his mouth.

In the final seconds of his life, Kevin's eyes bulged out, filled with absurdity and resentment.

He saw the Ghoul Legion below slowly retreat, their ranks still maintaining their complete hierarchy.

The Church's scriptures repeatedly emphasize that Magic Creature are driven only by hunger, bloodlust, and chaos.

But these things in front of us can smash down load-bearing walls at specific points, consume firepower in layers, and block the base of the Sacred Flame with poisoned corpses. They are clearly like an attacking army that has emerged from the Gray Fog.

Kevin's head finally slumped down limply.

The lifeless corpse was quickly and roughly dragged into the dark swamp by the Magic Creature, and a series of gnawing sounds immediately erupted all around.

But deep within the darkness, an even taller figure remained motionless.

It was a Ghoul Commander clad in tattered heavy armor, leaning on a slender silver longsword, silently observing everything.

Once the sounds of gnawing around it gradually subsided, it slowly raised the Silver Sword in its hand and pointed it eastward.

The surrounding Third-Tier Ghoul Commander immediately lowered their heads, their throats emitting muffled responses.

The churning Blood Mist receded, and the tall figure leaning on his sword retreated into the darkness, leaving only a scene of devastation and a completely dead territory, chilling in the wind.