Chapter 313| In The Name Of The Goddess... The Bloodshed Ends Today
Her eyelids slowly fluttered open once more.
Haaah...
Anneliese let out a long, shuddering breath. It sounded fragile, as if she were drawing oxygen into her lungs for the very first time after decades of being drowned at the bottom of a deep oceanic trench.
Before her, Lobrecht still stood like a statue in the exact same spot. He hadn’t shifted a single millimeter since the Holy Maiden closed her eyes. His weathered face remained as calm as a mountain lake at dawn, a faint, trace of a smile lingering on his lips.
In the darker corner of the chamber, Roland and Rianor waited in silence.
Roland leaned against a pillar with his arms crossed, his gaze alert and scanning the room. Meanwhile, Rianor sat slumped in a wooden chair, his observation logbook splayed open on his lap.
Rustle. Anneliese straightened her posture. Her delicate fingers moved gracefully, wiping away the dry tear tracks clinging to the corners of her eyes.
Then, in a voice far more stable than before—far calmer than anything that had escaped her lips for the past decade—she shattered the silence.
"I... remember everything now, Lobrecht."
Lobrecht offered a slow, understanding nod.
"I remember with absolute clarity why the two of us recklessly started all of this. I remember the scorching heat of the fire that consumed our village." Anneliese’s voice trembled slightly, but her gaze hardened. "I remember the bodies of Kanzon, Biscotta, and Torta. I remember Pastor Aldus’s back, torn to pieces as he nearly died defending children who weren’t even his own flesh and blood."
Anneliese stared dead into his warm brown eyes. "And I finally remember... the reason why you chose to leave."
Lobrecht didn’t answer with words. He simply stood there, allowing the woman to pour out the bitter dregs of a past that had choked her throat for so long.
"I still believe in the sacred foundations of the Goddess’s teachings. I will never turn my back on my holy oath," Anneliese stated firmly, clenching her right fist over her heart. "But... you were right about one thing."
The silver-haired girl drew a sharp breath. "I can no longer lie to my own conscience. The history taught by the Church is a fabrication. And that rotten lie... must be acknowledged and corrected."
Roland and Rianor exchanged a microscopic glance from the shadows. Roland raised an eyebrow, while Rianor merely gave a quiet grunt. Both silently agreed not to disrupt this crucial breakthrough.
Lobrecht smiled—this time, wider and with profound relief. "That realization alone is more than enough, Anne."
"Don’t misunderstand. I am not doing this to justify the insane rebellion of your Heretic Order," Anneliese cut in quickly. Even so, the corners of her lips curled upward into a bitter, gentle smile. "I am doing this... because a Holy Maiden who is blind to the difference between truth and lies has absolutely no right to lead her people."
"Naturally. Highly understandable."
Anneliese turned gracefully, facing the colossal stained-glass windows in the eastern wing of the chamber.
From her high vantage point, she could gaze out over the bleeding skyline of the Capital. The twilight horizon was choked by the lingering, black smoke of battle. Faintly, the detonations of AoE spells and the dying screams from the Southern Gate still drifted up, penetrating the heavy glass—a grim symphony of death that had yet to reach its finale.
"I am heading down to the Southern Gate immediately." Anneliese threw a glance over her shoulder, meeting Lobrecht’s eyes. "This foolish war has claimed far too many lives already."
Roland took a step forward. "We will wait here until the perimeter is secure, Your Eminence."
Anneliese didn’t respond to the diplomat’s words. She began to walk away, stepping past them.
Tap... tap... tap... The rhythmic, resolute click of her heels against the marble floor sliced through the quiet tension of Magniora’s stone corridors.
But right before her hand touched the ornate double doors... a call halted her in her tracks.
"Anne."
Anneliese froze instantly. She held her breath, yet refused to turn around.
In the center of the vast hall, Lobrecht stood tall with his hands folded calmly behind his back. His voice was heavy, yet incredibly tender.
"I am... immensely proud of you."
Thump.
Anneliese’s shoulders shook—a microscopic, barely perceptible tremor. It was nearly invisible to the untrained eye, but Lobrecht’s veteran gaze caught it flawlessly. Roland’s gray eyes saw it. Even Rianor, from behind his spectacles, recognized the sudden surge of emotion.
Yet, Anneliese didn’t utter a single word in response.
The girl simply pushed the heavy oak doors open, stepping out into the shadows as she hurried down the dark, stone corridors of the Magniora Tower. She was off to halt the miniature apocalypse devouring her city.
Far below, the Southern Gate of the Capital had officially mutated into a living hell.
Thick, pitch-black smoke rolled and coiled from dozens of blazing fires. The pristine marble courtyards that had once gleamed with holy light were now drenched in sticky pools of human blood, mangled flesh, and the powdery residue of sulfur and magic. The metallic tang of copper blood mixed sharply with the stench of charred meat, poisoning every breath of the evening air.
Gladius still stood at the absolute front of the vanguard.
His chest heaved violently as he desperately hunted for oxygen. Hah... hah... Fresh blood poured from a grotesque laceration at his temple, carving a river down his face to his chin. But... both his fists, heavily enveloped in a blazing red Aura, remained firmly raised like solid steel before his chest. His crazed, demonic grin hadn’t faded in the slightest.
Opposite him, Berthold—the Light Arcanum Master—was in a wretched state. The white-haired elder panted heavily, his gold ceremonial robes torn and filthy in multiple places. His holy light pillars still flared to shield him, but their intensity had severely dimmed. He was visibly losing ground, yet he stubbornly refused to fall.
On the other flank of the warzone, the colossal tree roots of Hexalia and Rhiza remained locked in a savage embrace, violently crushing one another. CRACK! The earth between the two mages had been pulverized into a muddy, foul swamp littered with timber splinters and razor-sharp thorns.
Above the ruined watchtowers, Arcelia continued her acrobatic maneuvers. Bzzzt! She rolled to evade a stray static lightning bolt from Aella, occasionally retaliating with a green energy arrow that sliced silently through the thick smoke. Swish!
And in the absolute center of the rebel defensive line... Bastion was still anchored.
His massive golden Aura shield was riddled with a horrifying web of fractures, resembling glass on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. The veins on his giant neck bulged as he endured the crushing kinetic force of hundreds of Paladin blades. Yet his feet remained planted like mountain pillars. He wouldn’t yield a single inch.
Then, suddenly... at the absolute peak of the chaotic slaughter, a beam of light pierced through the heavy clouds.
It was a column of pure, incredibly gentle white light. It descended slowly, floating down like a swan’s feather, before landing smoothly atop the heap of smoking rubble that remained of the Southern Gate.
And from that blinding brilliance... a woman stepped out.
Her pristine white silk gown fluttered gently, defying the wind and dust of the battlefield. Her long silver hair cascaded beautifully in the warm breeze of war. Her face held no trace of battle-fury, nor the lingering fear of mortals. There was only absolute, divine majesty.
Holy Maiden Anneliese.
The girl stood tall, her pale lips parting. Her voice didn’t explode into a vulgar scream. Yet, every single syllable that left her throat was amplified by an incredibly dense pressure of mana.
"HALT."
Just one word. A singular, incredibly simple command.
Yet... VWUUUMMMM! The vibration of her voice raced like a lightning shockwave, sweeping across every corner of the Southern Gate like an invisible earthquake.
The effect was instantaneous. Warriors whose blades were already swinging mid-air froze rigidly in place. Church mages whose lips were actively chanting lethal spells stuttered, their concentration instantly shattered. Archers reflexively lowered their bows, their hands trembling unconsciously.
Gladius quickly looked up at the ruins. His crazed grin slowly withered away, replaced by an expression of profound, bone-deep relief. He lowered his crimson fists, his massive muscles going entirely limp. "Hah... our mission... is finally complete."
Berthold stared at the Holy Maiden with wide, weathered eyes. Yet, the old man didn’t utter a single word of protest. He bowed his head deeply in reverence, then stepped back in an orderly retreat. The holy light pillars surrounding him dimmed and flickered out, one by one.
On the left flank, Rhiza withdrew her thorny roots back into the earth. Her eyes locked onto Anneliese with a complex expression—a mix of tactical confusion and intense curiosity. Atop the shattered roofs, Aella snuffed the static electricity from her fingertips, crossing her arms as she opted to wait and see.
And Hexalia... the dark-green-haired girl of the Heretic Order finally collapsed onto her knees. Her tense shoulders slumped. Her red, exhausted eyes stared at the Holy Maiden for a fleeting second, before she looked up at the dusty, gray sky. "It’s over... my gods... it’s actually over..." she whispered, on the verge of tears.
Tap. Arcelia vaulted down, landing gracefully beside Bastion. Her Aura bow was already deactivated.
Beside her, Bastion slowly—incredibly slowly—lowered his colossal gold shield to the dirt. The residual energy within the cracked barrier faded into nothingness. The defensive giant let out a massive sigh, a faint smile gracing his face for the first time since this hellish battle began.
"Lay down your weapons. Everyone," Anneliese repeated. Her voice this time drifted down softly. Far more human, entirely devoid of the suffocating pressure of mana. "In the name of the Goddess... the bloodshed ends today."
Not a single commander objected. Not a single soldier dared to question her decree.
Only the clattering ring of clang... clang... clang echoed as hundreds of swords and spears were voluntarily dropped onto the bloody asphalt. For some reason, the sound of falling steel... felt infinitely louder and more resonant than any mana bomb detonation.
The war had stopped breathing.