Chapter 314| This Historical Lie Is Officially Buried
Anneliese stood frozen, gazing at the sea of suffering before her.
It wasn’t just the lifeless bodies scattered across the ruins, but the severely wounded. Muffled groans echoed from beneath the rubble. Trembling hands clutched at bleeding torsos, desperately waiting for medical aid that might never arrive.
The girl took a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then released it slowly. Haaah...
VWUUUM!
In that exact fraction of a second, a colossal shockwave of Aura erupted from her body.
Absolute Aura—a spiritual pressure that was pure, dense, and utterly dominating. It was the absolute power of a sovereign leader who wasn’t asking for a favor, but issuing an indisputable decree.
The air across the entire Southern Gate instantly grew heavy and suffocating.
Even Rhiza, Aella, and Berthold—three Arcanum Masters who had just fought to the brink of death—felt the hairs on the back of their necks stand up. The pressure squeezed their lungs not to harm them, but to hammer one definitive message into everyone’s brain: No one is allowed to move without my permission.
"Evacuate all casualties. Right now," Anneliese commanded sharply. Her voice, amplified by the waves of her Aura, pierced through every corner of the ruins. "Paladins. Heretic Order forces. Trapped civilians. Everyone. You will work together to save them, or you will answer directly to me."
Gladius—who still stood tall with thick blood dripping from his temple—offered a faint smirk. Heh. He glanced down at Hexalia. "You hear the Grand Lady’s orders? Looks like we’re doing community service with these holy dogs."
Hexalia didn’t reply to the sarcasm. Riiip! The girl was already kneeling beside a young Paladin whose legs were crushed under a boulder, forcefully tearing the hem of her own cloak to improvise a tourniquet.
On the other flank, Bastion finally allowed the dying embers of his golden shield to fade completely. The giant staggered weakly—nearly kissing the asphalt—but caught himself on one knee. He dragged his heavy legs toward a mound of rubble. Heave! He began lifting massive marble blocks with his bare hands, searching for buried survivors.
Tap. Arcelia vaulted down from the tower roof. Without uttering a single word, the sniper supported the back of an elderly monk pinned beneath a wooden beam.
Seeing this, Rhiza retracted all of her thorny roots back into the earth. She looked at Hexalia, offering a microscopic nod that required no translation. The two nature manipulators then moved shoulder-to-shoulder, coordinating their roots to clear the heavy debris.
Aella crossed her arms over her chest, blowing a lock of sweat-drenched blonde hair out of her face. "Tch. This is officially the most absurd sight of my entire life."
"You don’t need to complain to me," Berthold reprimanded mildly beside her. The old man had already turned his staff, limping forward to direct the bewildered remaining Paladins to construct makeshift stretchers.
The first hour crawled by slowly. Then the second. The third.
The sun finally dipped below the horizon, swallowed by the pitch-black night. Torches and emergency lanterns were lit by monks arriving from nearby shrines. The Southern Gate, which had been a theater of slaughter mere hours ago, had transformed into a colossal triage center. Paladins and Heretic rebels worked side by side—lifting stones, bandaging wounds, and sharing canteens of water. It was incredibly awkward, with minimal conversation, but their hands never stopped working.
Anneliese hadn’t moved an inch. She remained cemented in the exact same spot, overseeing every inch of the operation. Her hands, elegantly clasped over her stomach, didn’t tremble in the slightest.
Near midnight, when the majority of the agonizing groans had subsided and the scattered fires were finally extinguished, Anneliese turned around.
She walked past the lineup of Arcanum Masters waiting for instructions near the remnants of the gate.
"Rhiza. Aella. Berthold," Anneliese called out without looking back. "You three. Follow me to Magniora. Right now."
The three elite mages exchanged brief glances. Gulp. Not a single one dared to object.
Anneliese stepped forward into the night. And behind her, the three Arcanum Masters trailed obediently like shadow guards.
The audience chamber of the Magniora Tower hadn’t changed physically in the slightest.
The colossal round marble table. The velvet-lined high chairs. The stained-glass windows, now reflecting the pale glow of the moonlight. Yet, the atmosphere inside the room felt dozens of times more suffocating than before.
Anneliese stood imperiously at the head of the table. Lined up perfectly behind her were the elite Arcanum Masters—Selene, Berthold, Rhiza, and Aella.
Donar—the Wind Master who had just awoken from his critical state—sat slouched in a chair, his face as white as a sheet, but his eyes were sharp and attentive. Orion, his right shoulder bound in thick, blood-seeping bandages, stood rigidly with a clenched jaw. Even Pyrrhus was present—the man’s face was incredibly sour, small sparks popping erratically on his shoulders out of sheer anger, but he kept his mouth clamped shut.
On the opposite side of the table, the five Archbishops sat with agonizingly stiff posture. Their ancient faces were taut and pale.
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit corner of the room, Lobrecht stood calmly leaning near a window. Roland and Rianor observed from the opposite flank like a VVIP theater audience.
"This is my final decree," Anneliese opened the council. There were no formal greetings. No customary prayers. "I have seen the physical evidence. I have heard the testimonies myself. And... I have remembered everything—every historical disgrace we have kept tightly buried for centuries."
The first Archbishop immediately slammed the table and shot up from his seat. "Your Eminence! You cannot possibly—"
"Sit."
Just one word. But the same absolute Spiritual Aura that had paralyzed the battlefield at the Southern Gate now exploded, flooding the enclosed chamber. Thud! The stout Archbishop gasped for air, his knees suddenly turning to jelly as he collapsed heavily back into his chair.
"The history we have force-fed into the minds of our people regarding Demon’s Knowledge is a lie," Anneliese continued coldly, her eyes piercing the Archbishops one by one. "They were not demons of darkness. They were the shield that saved this world. And our predecessors—the founding ancestors we glorify from the pulpit every week—slaughtered them to the last man after they won the war."
"This... this is pure blasphemy against our holy scriptures!" The second Archbishop couldn’t hold back and erupted, pointing a trembling finger at Anneliese’s face. "The Lux Aeterna has recorded in golden ink that Demon’s Knowledge is—"
"The Lux Aeterna was written by the hands of the victors," Anneliese cut him off brutally. "And in this case, the victors were a cabal of genocidal murderers."
Silence instantly gagged the mouths of everyone in the room. The Archbishops were deathly pale, exchanging panicked glances as their breathing grew ragged.
"You may consider this a sacrilegious act. You are free to call me a traitor to the faith." Anneliese raised her chin proudly. "But get this one fact through your ancient skulls: I did not summon you to this room to ask for your permission. I summoned you to tell you what is going to happen."
The third Archbishop—the oldest man with snow-white hair—finally spoke, his voice raspy. "Then... what calamity are you about to unleash, Your Eminence?"
"I am going to reveal the truth. Openly. Before all the people in the Cathedral Plaza."
"M-Madness! The Arcanum Masters will never agree to this political suicide!" The first Archbishop rose again, his voice cracking with desperate threat. "They are the swords that guard our holy doctrine! They—"
"I agree with it."
A voice interrupted from behind Anneliese. Selene took a firm step forward. The beautiful face of the Ice Queen still bore traces of mental exhaustion, but her gaze was extraordinarily stable. "I have heard the truth."
The first Archbishop’s eyes bulged, nearly popping from their sockets. "Selene?! A-Are you out of your mind—"
"I am also in full agreement," Berthold chimed in, stepping sturdily beside Selene. The old man looked at the Archbishops with tired, yet resolute eyes. "Truth be told, I have suspected this rot for decades. Sadly, I was too much of a coward to speak up back then. But tonight... I have found my voice again."
Rhiza and Aella exchanged a glance. Both gave a firm nod.
"I support it as well," Rhiza said quietly. "I saw the recording with my own eyes. That was pure technology, not an illusion."
Aella let out a long sigh and shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, if Rhiza’s on board, I’ll just tag along."
Donar, slumping weakly in his chair, slowly raised his right hand with a small wince. "My brain is still too scrambled to process all of this. But... I trust you guys."
Orion stared intently at Lobrecht standing by the window for a long time. The earth giant let out a resigned grunt and lowered his gaze. "I... will not stand in the way of this decision."
One by one, the spears of the Church had turned around.
Now, every single pair of eyes in the room locked sharply onto one man. Pyrrhus. The Fire Arcanum Master still stood rigidly in the corner, his jaw clenched so hard it audibly ground. Small embers danced wildly between his clenched fingers.
"Pyrrhus?" Anneliese called out softly, breaking the silence.
Pyrrhus didn’t answer immediately. The man’s chest heaved as he suppressed his boiling rage. The pause felt agonizingly long, stretching for minutes. Then, in a voice forced down to a barely audible hiss, he answered.
"I do not agree with a single shred of this madness," Pyrrhus growled, glaring sharply at Anneliese. "But... you are the Holy Maiden. My supreme commander. I will not raise my sword against you."
That was more than enough.
The five Archbishops were now entirely, completely isolated. They had no fangs, no claws left to fight with. The first Archbishop looked around frantically, searching for a lifeline of support that had already vanished. The second squeezed his eyes shut, lamenting his fate. Meanwhile, the oldest Archbishop simply bowed his head in resignation, accepting their political apocalypse.
"I have no intention of razing the foundations of this Church to the ground," Anneliese said, closing the tribunal. "Nor do I intend to burn away the faith you hold dear. But this lie... this fabricated history that has pointlessly sacrificed millions of lives... ends now."
A few days later.
Dawn slowly broke, painting the sky over the Capital of Luminara with numb gradients of pale orange.
The Cathedral Plaza—the very place where Dom and Naya had risked their lives holding the line against Pyrrhus and Orion’s fiery wrath—had now transformed into an ocean of humanity.
Tens of thousands of the Capital’s citizens crammed together, filling every square meter of the open space. People climbed onto the balconies of surrounding apartments, sat atop kiosk roofs, and hung from the fences. Merchants abandoned their stalls. Monks descended from their shrines to mingle in the streets.
Atop the marble podium on the Cathedral terrace, Anneliese stood with impeccable grace. Her white silk gown fluttered gently, parting the morning breeze. Her long silver hair glowed brilliantly, catching the very first rays of the rising sun.
Standing in strict military formation directly behind her was the absolute might of Luminara. The Arcanum Masters. Selene. Berthold. Rhiza. Aella. Donar. Orion. Even Pyrrhus—though his face looked as sour as a spoiled lemon, he still planted his feet firmly on the stage.
The unified presence of the Masters sent a psychological message far more potent than any spoken oration.
And what made the public’s eyes bulge even wider... standing tall on the left flank of the podium, clad in his faded brown cloak, was Lobrecht.
For the first time in his decades-long history as a fugitive, the former Shadow Arcanum Master stood openly in a public space. Not to be executed as a rebel. Not to be condemned as a heretic. But standing as an equal, living witness.
Below the podium, blending into the massive sea of people, were Roland and Rianor. Roland had his arms casually crossed over his chest, his eyes scanning the perimeter. Rianor, his left arm bound tightly in a sling, leaned quietly against a streetlamp, idly twirling a pencil over his logbook.
Anneliese stepped forward, touching the edge of the podium.
Instantly, the tens of thousands of mouths that had been buzzing noisily... went dead silent. A mass hush claimed the plaza.
"My beloved people of Luminara," Anneliese’s voice boomed, amplified by broadcasting magic. "I stand on this podium this morning... not to celebrate a false victory. Nor to declare a new war on any nation. I have summoned you here... to strip bare a bloody truth that has been buried in the dark for far too long."
The girl took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the morning air.
"For thousands of years, our ears have been force-fed the fairytale that the advanced machines we see are the physical manifestation of Demon’s Knowledge. That they are demonic incarnations that must be purged from the face of the earth. That our holy ancestors—the founders of the Church whose names you glorify in every prayer—descended to save this civilization from their filthy grasp."
Anneliese paused, her eyes sweeping over the confused, captivated faces of her people.
"I stand here to declare... that every single one of those dogmas is a lie."
BZZZZZ!!
The crowd erupted into uncontrollable chaos. Hundreds of gasps of disbelief, shouts of protest, panicked whispers, and expressions of sheer shock slammed into the plaza like a tidal wave.
Anneliese raised her palm once more. Slowly, the storm of voices subsided.
"I have seen the evidence with my own two eyes." Anneliese pointed her index finger straight toward Rianor’s position below the podium. "The envoys from the North have brought with them a recording—a historical witness that can never be refuted by any argument."
The Holy Maiden gave a hand signal.
Down below, Rianor carved a faint smirk. He pressed a button on the crystal projector, the radius of which he had already modified.
Beep. VWUUUM!
A colossal pillar of blue light split the sky above the plaza. High above the heads of tens of thousands of horrified citizens, the obsolete recording was projected massively into the air.
The raspy message from Orion. The rows of scientists assembling steel. The legions of giant mechas shredding through a sea of anomalous demons. And then... the scene cut to the filthy betrayal. The scientists being butchered without mercy. The volunteers of Project Legion being burned alive. The screams of women and children fleeing for their lives, running far toward the northern pole.
Tens of thousands of citizens held their breath. Several housewives covered their mouths to suppress their nausea. Grown men looked down, unable to bear watching the cowardly massacre.
In the very front row, an old war veteran—a man missing an arm from fighting the Heretic Order forces in the past—wept silently, his chest heaving with grief.
Anneliese waited until the very last second of the tragic recording faded into the air. Then, she resumed her speech.
"I am not forcing you to discard your sincere faith in the Goddess. I am not telling you to burn the symbols of the Church," Anneliese said, her tone now trembling, heavy with emotion. "But starting from this sunrise... this historical lie is officially buried. Project Legion was our true vanguard of heroes. And all of us here... regardless of how holy the robes we wear... we are all heirs to the greatest sin of betrayal in the history of human civilization."
Absolute silence. It stretched on. Suffocatingly heavy.
Then, from somewhere deep within the ocean of people, a voice broke the quiet.
"I believe it."
The voice belonged to a young man—judging by his robes, an intermediate student at the Luminous Academy. His face still held the innocence of youth, but his eyes were sharp and courageous.
A second later, another raspy voice echoed. "I... I believe it too."
A middle-aged woman, a baker dressed in incredibly simple clothes, nodded vigorously, streams of tears washing her wrinkled cheeks.
And then, the domino effect detonated. Like ripples spreading rapidly across the surface of a lake.
"I believe it!"
"By the Goddess, we believe it!"
"Me too!!"
Naturally, the reaction wasn’t one hundred percent absolute. There were still hundreds of heads frozen in shock. There were conservative elders glaring cynically with doubt. There were nobles who spat on the ground and walked away, their faces flushed with rage.
But the majority... the absolute, overwhelming majority of the sea of masses below... chose to shout their belief.
Witnessing the triumph of civilization, Anneliese closed her eyes, exhaling a breath of profound relief.
Behind her, Lobrecht carved a thin, yet incredibly meaningful smile. Below the podium, Roland lightly punched his brother’s shoulder with a lopsided grin.
And far away, in a quiet, secluded corner on the outskirts of the plaza, sheltered beneath the shadow of a marble pillar... Adul sat cross-legged, hugging his radio. A wide grin stretched across his soot-stained face.
With fingers still trembling from residual exhaustion, the boy pressed the transmission button on his comms box.
Click. A mana-powered emergency signal pierced through the clouds, rocketing far to the north. Carrying their final message toward Northreach. Toward their home.
"Main objective complete. Please... send extraction."