Chapter 1273 - 1195: Dragon Soul
That night, on the outskirts of the ry Court Barracks.
The former exposition motorcycle park, gradually returned to its usual quiet after the exposition ended.
Except on weekends when local residents visit, it seldom sees outside tourists.
Compared to the bustling central park of the ry Court Barracks, this place is rather desolate.
Yet in this deserted park, there is a military presence guarding it, mainly for the exhibits in the park museum.
According to the Holy Council’s arrangement, these exhibits stay in the ry Court Barracks for half a year, and the remaining time they are displayed annually in two counties.
They’re placed here to be transported to Rapids City next.
However, this perfectly provides a venue for vampires and the dreamless soothsayers.
The fluorite lamps’ light scatters into dim amber spots through the mist, illuminating the soldiers arrayed outside the warehouse.
The summoned soldiers are clad in light steel breastplates, their armor reflecting a hard, cold sheen, with the barrels of their clockwork rifles slanted towards the night sky.
In the shadows to their side stand three witches dressed in black robes.
They all wear crowns, belonging to the Cheka’s Special Affairs Bureau, specializing in extraordinary incidents.
Thus selected, all are witches with high individual combat power, mainly to prevent any unforeseen incidents.
After all, when it involves a giant dragon and necromancy, it’s hard not to suspect something bad might happen.
The warehouse’s iron gate was newly replaced with thick cast iron, and the hinges are greased with slime-refined lubricant.
As Ithululhus and several dwarves pushed open the door, a gust carrying dust, old wood, and a fishy smell hit them.
Looking up, he could see the giant dragon’s head resting quietly on a platform at the warehouse’s center.
The dark cyan scales were dust-laden, and the eye sockets gaped emptily at those entering.
Beside the skull, in a glass display case, lay the Thorn Crown and other renowned Holy Relics like the Holy Cabinet.
An elder of the Sorrido Clan stood beside the dragon’s head, clearly having waited a long time.
Hearing a light sound from behind, he turned, seeing Ithululhus approaching, cradling a bronze ritual instrument.
This was a young vampire in his early twenties, a member of his younger generation, somewhat more open-minded within the Sorrido Clan.
"Elder, the instruments for speaking with the corpse are all prepared." Ithululhus’s voice was respectful, "Karen from the Dreamless Hermitage said the ceremony can start in fifteen minutes."
Sorrido nodded, raising a hand to pat Ithululhus’s shoulder: "Do you know why our Sorrido Clan has survived until now?"
"Why? Because we’re traitors to our enemies, so we have value?"
"Nonsense, don’t listen to those old elders. They’re all useless."
"Then what is it?"
"A century ago, during the civil unrest within the Royal Court, we refused to side with the southern clans and nearly perished in the volcanic ash of No Light City.
Later, we could only survive by moving east and finally sought refuge with the Holy Alliance, only accepted thanks to Her Majesty Hilov’s face.
His Majesty Horn allowing us to partake in the dragon head analysis isn’t because we’re important, but because in the entire Holy Alliance, only our Sorrido Clan still knows the magic of conversing with corpses."
The elder’s gaze swept over the soldiers outside the warehouse, his tone grew heavier: "In the Holy Alliance, we’re like sparrows under the eaves, able to seek shelter from the rain, but must not forget our position.
Today’s ceremony must go without any mistakes if we, Sorrido, wish to survive, we must let His Majesty see our value.
You must know, the Holy Alliance even tolerates witches, let alone vampires?
Anyway, compared to the Holy Alliance, I don’t want to return to the cold, dark Royal Court unless we’re a priestly family."
"I understand, elder." Ithululhus was no fool, naturally grasping the underlying meaning, "I won’t disgrace the clan, nor betray Her Majesty Hilov and His Majesty Horn’s trust."
Sorrido looked at his young face, nodding with satisfaction: "Go."
Ithululhus responded, turning to head towards the ceremonial formation at the warehouse center.
There stood three priests of the Dreamless Hermitage, clad in hardened white linen robes.
The collars embroidered with silver dream motifs, each holding a whale bone magic staff crowned with a crystal ball.
The leading priest, Karen, lifted the ritual box, and upon opening, a scent with the essence of humus soil wafted out.
It was the scent of necromantic incense, capable of soothing restless souls.
"We appreciate the help of our Sorrido friends." Karen’s voice was gentle.
Nodding, Ithululhus stepped aside, joining five other clan members to form a semicircle, simultaneously raising their arms.
They slit their wrists, the pale red blood trickling slowly into a bronze basin beneath the dragon’s head.
Raising the whale bone staff, Karen began chanting an incomprehensible incantation: "Eye of the Dreamless, memory of the deceased..."
The other priests followed, and the three staffs’ crystal balls glowed with white light.
"Now!" Ithululhus loudly reminded, then commenced casting the spell.
The chant of necromancy echoed, the blood in the basin began boiling, tiny bubbles emerging.
The dragon’s head scales suddenly shimmered with a cyan light, the dark cyan hue seeped from the scales, painting the warehouse an eerie blue.
All too abruptly, the air’s dragon scale fishy smell intensified, as though a beast dormant for millennia was gradually awakening.
Sweat rolled down Karen Priest’s temples, yet he dared not move.
The vampires’ expressions were even paler, but they too dared not make a false move, fearing to disrupt this casting.
However, their wish was destined to fall through.
In an unnoticed corner, the Thorn Crown in the glass cabinet unexpectedly shifted.
First, the large emerald on its top, the size of a pigeon’s egg, emitted a faint sound and detached from its golden base.
Soon after, other gems and ornaments dislodged one after another, some rolling to the cabinet edges, others wedged in the base crevices.
In moments, the crown was left with only the bare golden thorn ring.
The intertwined thorn patterns suddenly heated up, and golden ripples emerged on the golden surface.
Like a wind-tousled water surface, golden ripples spread across the cabinet edge, extending towards the dragon’s head.
"What’s going on?" Caught sight of the golden ripples at the corner of his eye, Karen abruptly halted his chant, panic-stricken.
The golden ripples soon brushed the dragon’s head scales, and a cyan light instantly surged, a beam of light shot skyward.
The dragon’s eye sockets suddenly began emitting pale white mist, these were fragments of the giant dragon’s consciousness, tenfold stronger than during prior corpse conversations.
Like a living cloud, it drifted upwards along the light beam.
According to plan, the mist should have entered Karen’s crystal ball, entering his dreamscape.
But the mist was suddenly drawn by some invisible force, racing towards the warehouse dome, then burst open with a "bang."
Countless tiny white threads fell, scattering to every corner of the warehouse.
Karen’s face turned ghostly white: "No good! The consciousness fragments are out of control! They didn’t enter my dreamscape!"
Frightened, he raised his staff, attempting to capture those threads.
But the threads were too fine, like dandelions in the wind, turning to nothingness upon touching the white light.
"It’s not right, it hasn’t exploded, the main body is still there! Quickly divine, find out whose dream it has entered!"
The neighboring priest swiftly pulled out divining beast bone cards, laying them on the ground.
Karen crouched down, his eyes rolled back in white.
The beast bone cards trembled slightly, glowing red, but before the red light could stabilize, a sudden "crack" sounded as the cards shattered.
Karen clutched his chest, blood oozing from his mouth and nose.
"Priest! Are you alright?" Ithululhus hurried over, supporting the faltering Karen.
Karen’s breath was rapid, his face as pale as paper, pointing towards the center of the ry Court Barracks.
That was the site of the Holy Seat Mansion, His Majesty Horn’s residence.
His voice was so hoarse it was nearly inaudible: "It... it didn’t enter an ordinary person’s consciousness..."
The Sorrido elder quickly stepped forward, supporting Karen’s other arm, feeling the priest’s body tremble: "Karen Priest, speak clearly! Whose dream did it enter?"
Karen coughed up blood, eyes full of despair.
He raised his hand, pointing to the ry Court shrouded in night mist, squeezing each word from his throat: "Why... why did it choose His Majesty? It entered His Majesty’s dreamscape!"
The warehouse instantly fell deathly silent.
The Sorrido elder’s face turned as ghostly as Karen’s.
He turned back towards the dragon’s eye sockets where the mist continued to drift, his vision blacking out.
This is really completely screwed.