Chapter 171

Chapter 171: The Fork in History.

The figure was tall, even a bit taller than Inquisitor Vanna. The figure was thin, as if the black long coat wrapped only a withered strip of flesh. In this closed room he held a big umbrella, its lowered canopy hiding the intruder’s face. Yet with just one glance, the old priest could see profane, twisted Shadows clinging to that body.

“The Black Sun’s dregs?” The old man stared at the figure in shock, then roared in anger: “You dare step into this holy archive!”

The next second, a loud bang shattered the archive’s silence. The old priest had already drawn the large?caliber revolver at his waist. The bullet, blessed by divine blessing, roared out with fire and thunder. But perhaps the old man’s body was too slow. Before the shot rang out, the figure had already moved. Two blurry shadows sprang from the hem of his coat. The first shadow blocked the bullet in midair. The other crossed ten meters in an instant and lashed the old priest’s shoulder.

A harsh screech of metal scraping rang out as the old priest’s body flew sideways and slammed into a nearby shelf. The huge shelf shook violently, and countless books and files tumbled down.

The strange black figure with the umbrella took a step and walked toward where the old priest had fallen. A low, chaotic muttering came from within its body, sounding like foul flesh rolling and boiling in a pot.

Yet in the next second, a furious shout came from the pile of fallen books, and the old priest leaped out of it. A sharp steel sword had appeared in his hand at some point. The sword whistled through the air as it slashed swiftly toward the figure that had invaded the archive.

The intruder stopped abruptly. The Black Umbrella tilted slightly and blocked the fierce strike. Sparks burst from the clash between steel and the umbrella ribs. The old priest rolled as he landed, and his longsword did not pause. It arced in a tight circle and came slanting in from another angle, cutting toward the intruder’s side!

The longsword spun and swung, iron rang on iron, and the old man’s mechanical limbs let out a low, hoarse roar. After many years of silence, the Storm Swordsmanship he had honed for decades once again showed its might. Continuous spinning and sweeping slashes poured toward the profane enemy like waves that would not cease. Between each arc traced by the blade, faint phantom waves took shape layer by layer. Those phantom waves grew more solid and heavy, and at last began to carry the impact and force of real surf!

The Storm Goddess’s power filled the unending arc strikes. The heavy pressure of the waves poured into the specially forged steel sword. Every cut came down with the tang of sea wind, making the air and the floor around them tremble.

The intruder’s Black Umbrella was unnaturally hard and did not budge under more than a dozen slashes, but the figure holding it kept retreating. Under the piling impact of the waves, it was forced back step by step to the edge of a nearby shelf. Faint, irritated growls and whispers came from within its body, full of a charm that could unsettle the mind.

But the old priest had already sealed off all unnecessary senses and paid no attention at all to the noise the intruder made. He knew his attacks must not stop. Storm Swordsmanship required continuous pressure, like waves that could not break in the middle. And the “dregs” split off from the Sunspawn all carried power that could not be underestimated. If his suppression faltered for even a moment, the enemy would slip free of the fight in the very next second.

At the same time, the old priest’s heart was full of shock and doubt. How had this profane scrap slipped into the archive? This cathedral was saturated with the Goddess’s power. It held countless mechanisms and wards, with over a dozen layers of open and hidden guards from inside to out. Even the Sunspawn itself would be blocked if it came in person. How could they have failed to notice the intrusion of a single “dreg”?

“Could it be… that this dreg did not enter the cathedral through normal space and time?”

Just then, a sharp sound of something cutting through the air suddenly rang out. Every muscle in the old priest’s body tensed at once. As a seasoned warrior, he reacted instantly. His longsword did not stop, only shifted its angle a little, ready to meet the intruder’s sneak attack.

A sharp pain shot up from his side.

The unbroken flow of sword light stopped. The old priest stared in shock at the tentacle that had pierced his body. Blood slowly dripped from the hem of his ragged clothes. His brass prosthetic limb radiated scorching heat, and the heavily worn, rusted gears inside gave out one last burst of noise before grinding to a halt with a squeal.

Only after another second did the old priest realize what had happened—he had grown old.

He, and all the gears in his body, had grown old.

With a disgusting sound, the ugly tentacle slowly withdrew back into the intruder’s clothes. The inhuman thing slowly approached the old man, who was still using his longsword to support himself and barely remained standing. It lowered the Black Umbrella and revealed a “head” that kept swelling and shrinking, changing shape like a blooming flower of flesh. A hoarse voice came from its “pistil”.

It was Common Speech, barely recognizable:

“Go tell your god that this ugly age is over. The Sun will rise again from history…”

“History…” The old priest’s body trembled. He had not yet fallen, but he no longer had the strength to lift his sword. All at once, he understood: “You have corrupted history?!”

The intruder seemed to laugh. Though it was only a blooming flower of flesh, a hint of mockery still seemed to show in its trembling “petals” and crooked teeth: “On the day the great fire rose, everyone’s wishes were fulfilled.”

The old priest slowly lowered his head. Life quickly drained from his aged body. He seemed at last to give up his struggle in the mortal world and quietly wait for the final moment to come.

The intruder seemed rather bored by this outcome. It raised the umbrella again, ready to leave.

Yet in the very next second, a thunderous grinding of metal suddenly rang out. From the mechanical prosthetics that had completely stopped came once more the sound of gears turning and oil pumps building pressure. The intruder turned its head in shock and saw only a flash of sword light rushing toward it.

“Please bear witness!”

The old priest let out a roar. The steel sword slashed at the intruder’s body without the slightest hesitation. This time there was no Black Umbrella to block it, and no tentacle to interfere. The blade, carrying all of his remaining strength, sliced through the enemy almost like tearing a strip of cloth.

Caught off guard, the intruder was cut in two by a single stroke. The two halves of its body fell to the floor.

But in the very next second, each half of the severed body began to emit a sickening squirm of flesh. Countless tiny tendrils sprouted from within, spreading outward as they groped for each other and began to fuse back together.

The intruder slowly reshaped itself, and low, angry growls came from deep inside it.

But the old priest had already lowered his sword, and his body slowly toppled to the floor. With his cloudy eyes, he watched the intruder stand up again bit by bit, and a look of relief appeared on his face.

He knew that even his last strength could not kill this monster. Even as a dreg, it was still a dreg of the Sunspawn, far beyond what a dying, aged Guardian with only a steel sword could truly oppose. But at least, before his death, he had proved his loyalty to the Goddess.

The Storm had borne witness. It could end now.

The intruder stood up again. In its anger, tendrils thick with corruption spread from its body, and rows of sharp teeth jutted from the edges of those tendrils.

In the old priest’s sight, he saw flames rise up behind the intruder. Fire spread through the archive. The entire cathedral burned in a roaring blaze.

The statue of the Goddess collapsed in the distance with a crash.

A Pland completely consumed by flames appeared in his vision. A History Branch where a shard of the Sun had successfully descended and all of Pland’s Guardians had been wiped out unfolded before his eyes.

The old man’s consciousness sank slowly into this History Branch born of corruption. Yet suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something else.

A tuft of ghostly green fire was spreading discreetly through the blazing inferno, flowing along the seams between light and shadow, along the phantoms rising in the flames. The green flames split and flowed everywhere.

Behind a collapsed shelf nearby, a small tongue of green flame seemed to suddenly “catch a scent”. It sprang forward like a hound that had found its prey, pouncing on the intruder just as it was about to deliver the final blow.

The old priest watched all of this in a daze. His consciousness was already drifting between reality and illusion, and he could hardly tell whether what he saw belonged to the Mortal Realm or was only a hallucination. He saw the intruder suddenly wrapped in green flames. The body that held the power of the Sunspawn melted like wax. He heard its dying screams echo through the entire archive, filled with unbelievable madness and terror.

Then everything went quiet.

The sea of fire faded. The corrupted history withdrew for the moment back into the depths of the Veil. The archive, wedged between two History Branches, fell into dead silence. No one visited. No one came.

Only an old man who had died with his sword in hand lay quietly on the floor. His half?open eyes stared toward the distance. In one eye was the reflection of a Pland that had survived in peace. In the other was the reflection of the History Branch where the Sun had destroyed the world.

But he no longer belonged to either one. He had neither died in that great fire, nor survived it.

Cooling blood flowed from beneath the old priest’s body. As if guided by a powerful will, the blood crept quietly over the floor, gathering into a trail of footprints that slowly extended toward the nearby Administrator console…