Chapter 215

Chapter 215
## Chapter 215

### Jeron’s Ordeal (4)

Deep within the cavernous, majestic main chamber of the Immortal Fortress.

Amidst a suffocating chill radiating from rows of silent Death Knights standing at attention on either side, a spectral lady adorned in a dark gown delivered her account to the master seated upon the throne.

[…Per your directives, the plan to invade the continent is advancing without issue… The benefit of a surprise strike is somewhat diminished due to the prophetic visions of the Saint… Regardless, we managed to secure highly acceptable outcomes this time by striking while they were unready and overwhelming their positions with our sheer numbers…]

The translucent aristocrat, Banshee Queen Olivia, proceeded to itemize the fruits of their campaign.

More than a dozen raiding detachments, organized precisely under the decrees of the Immortal King, had launched coordinated assaults across various territories. Aside from a select few locations where the champion’s vanguard stepped in, nearly all of them had successfully fulfilled their primary mandates.

Granted, the greater portion of the rotting legion was ultimately eradicated by the defensive coalitions of the respective nations afterward. However, since the common grunts were deemed entirely expendable from the very beginning—with only a handful of officers carrying actual value—the losses amounted to nothing of consequence.

Vast reserves of the walking dead were always readily available in the lands enveloping the Immortal Fortress anyway.

[Hehehe— Splendidly executed, Olivia. For them to remain so utterly careless while facing my wrath. They must have mistaken me for a minor nuisance after I merely toyed with them for a brief period.]

Hans, perched upon his seat constructed from skeletal remains and craniums, let out a low chuckle as her debriefing came to an end.

He silently evaluated the massive legions of the dead congregating outside the walls and suppressed a flash of dissatisfaction.

‘Throwing the entire continent into absolute chaos would have been far more streamlined if I could deploy a greater number simultaneously. To think that a mere dozen spearheads is the absolute threshold, even after spending days in preparation.’

Inevitably, even with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of rotting corpses to act as fodder, the logistics of moving them to the targeted drop points presented a distinct bottleneck.

Transporting a massive theater of war across vast distances of the mainland was no simple feat.

‘It is a capability unique to someone of my station.’

Practitioners of the arcane were individuals who displayed their peak efficiency when operating from a heavily fortified, pre-established domain.

This principle naturally extended to the Immortal King, who stood unrivaled at the absolute peak of necromancy.

‘By utilizing the ambient necrotic energies saturating this territory as fuel, and employing the Immortal Fortress itself as the foundation for a sprawling runic network. Coupled with my practically bottomless reserves of malevolent essence… ’

Through these exact means, a spatial rift engineered for mass troop deployment had been successfully anchored within a wing of the stronghold.

Such a marvel was only attainable because the Immortal Fortress was configured as the ultimate structural spellwork known as the “Eternal Labyrinth,” an environment he commanded completely.

The singular limitation of this specific rift lay in its design as a strictly unidirectional transit point, engineered solely for outbound deployment.

Yet, that remained an inconsequential detail, given that only a meager number of officers required extraction, and they could easily accompany a few Liches on their return journey.

[Furthermore, I am actively looking into the matter you previously highlighted… though it brings me shame to admit that our agents are encountering severe resistance in drawing close to the primary figures governing the south… On a brighter note, we have managed to extract several pieces of intelligence regarding the eastern Obaifo Clan…]

He remained buried in contemplation while listening to the secondary updates Olivia provided.

The southern Calcos Tribal Federation had implemented a total media blackout and isolated itself from external affairs, as though desperately masking a deep secret.

Meanwhile, the eastern Obaifo Clan was aggressively infiltrating the political infrastructure of the Republic, mirroring the exact methodology previously observed in the Talia Kingdom.

‘It defies logic for all these factions to alter their behavior simultaneously.’

Adding to the complexity was the botched plot against the imperial princess’s life within the Empire, alongside the strange irregularities destabilizing the Enamel Continent that Harris was currently looking into.

The entire landscape was deeply unsettling.

‘Should I permit them to proceed unhindered, or is it wiser to purge them entirely? Which path yields the superior return?’

To be clear, he wasn’t tracking these developments out of mere anxiety over the disruptions they caused.

His singular objective at this juncture remained the extraction of an astronomical quantity of Karma through his active ‘continental invasion plan’.

‘Their actions will inevitably accelerate the destabilization of the mainland. In the immediate future, they will amplify the volume of Karma available for me to harvest… yet over a longer horizon, they risk introducing wild cards into Home Theater.’

Immortal King Hannibal Strauss, having weighed the scenarios thoroughly, cast a measured glance toward his alternate vessels before speaking aloud.

[It appears the situation demands my direct personal involvement.]

A solitary declaration that carried the heavy weight of an impending crisis.

—

The moment Staub brought down his jagged, claw-like blade,

‘Ah… is this where my journey ends?’

Oddly enough, Riley discovered that the terror of impending demise failed to grip her in that fleeting instant.

Instead, her heart swelled with profound sorrow for unfinished business and a heavy remorse for the bonds she was about to sever permanently.

‘Sister Seah will be utterly devastated.’

The thought of Isea, who had grown closer to her than anyone related by blood, sent a sharp pang of agony through her chest.
To vanish from the world in this manner, deprived of a proper farewell, let alone a chance to requite the kindness shown to her, was a bitter reality.

‘I can only pray she refrains from doing something self-destructive in the name of vengeance and safely manages to make her way back to Earth.’

The subsequent face that materialized in her mind belonged to Hesperon, a fellow transmigrator from Earth just like Isea.

Though their acquaintance spanned a brief duration, his memory forced its way to the forefront because his impact had been so profoundly undeniable right up until the catastrophe struck.

‘…He possessed the means to escape entirely on his own, so why did he choice to stay…?’

Through the rapidly tightening tether linking their spirits, she could dimly comprehend his emotional state as he stood against the subversives, invoking an array of miraculous artifacts.

He was desperately attempting to preserve her life, driven by an unyielding resolve.

‘Just abandon me and save yourself… ’

She had screamed those exact words internally a multitude of times, yet he persisted in his frantic defense, acting as if her silent pleas never reached him.

For a brief second, a flicker of optimism had sparked within her, but that hope was spent now.

*Whoosh—!*

The grotesque blade in Staub’s hand sliced downward through the air toward her throat.

Riley squeezed her eyes shut against the blow…

And purely by reflex, she latched onto a presence that suddenly manifested through her spiritual ‘connection’ with Hesperon.

*Cough—*

A heartbeat later, her eyes flew open as a profound sense of return washed over her. The very first sight to greet her vision was…

“Whew, that was a bit too close for comfort.”

…a smirk filled with unshakeable confidence, visible despite the crimson fluid marring his features.

And then…

And then…?

“Ah!”

Riley bolted awake, her eyes wide with shock.

She found herself staring at the familiar stonework of the ceiling she recognized instantly.

Yet, it carried a bizarre, foreign quality to her senses.

“…Could this be nothing more than a illusion…?”

She adjusted herself to a sitting position amidst the plush, delicate silk sheets, tracing a hand through her tresses.

Her radiant golden locks spilled over her shoulders, catching the early morning beams filtering through the glass panes.

“Ah.”

The memory retained its sharp, visceral clarity.

Then again, given that a mere day and a half had elapsed since the ordeal, such vividness was only to be expected.

She cast a fleeting look out toward the courtyard, then hurriedly dressed and made her exit.

Predictably, the treasonous strike leveled against her had thrown the entire domain of Jeron into absolute pandemonium.

When her form suddenly materialized at the palace’s external gates, drenched in crimson and cradled by an unrecognized male, the arriving sentries were thrown into total disarray by the unauthorized spatial transit.

Such utter turmoil was entirely justified; a blatant act of domestic terrorism had been executed within the heart of the capital, specifically targeting the primary heir to the throne who had already been designated behind closed doors as the Crown Princess.

Worse still, the mastermind behind the betrayal was none other than Staub, the Commander of the Imperial Guard, the very individual entrusted with the safety of the sovereign bloodline!

The entire Imperial Guard apparatus had been completely frozen due to the sweeping tribunal, dragging in the Imperial Inspection Department, the palace’s arcane sanctuary, and the Royal Knights who answered exclusively to the Emperor’s personal command.

Had it not been for the unending pressure from the Immortal Army’s offensives and the explicit assurance that Riley was unharmed, Isea would have undoubtedly unleashed devastation of her own.

As a consequence, Riley’s own itinerary for the day was completely monopolized by the fallout of the conspiracy.

Thus, the initial destination she sought upon leaving her chambers was…

“We greet Your Highness.”

“What was his condition throughout the evening?”

…the grand imperial medical wing where Hesperon had been admitted.

She kept her voice low, directing her inquiry to the chief medical authority standing beside her as she gazed upon the youth slumbering peacefully in the infirmary bed.

“His body endured several bouts of severe fever, but his constitution rallied rapidly, and his vitals have stabilized. His physical resilience is remarkably advanced for a practitioner of magic. In truth, an ordinary mage would have succumbed to the strain long before reaching our doors.”

This facility, nestled within the secure perimeters of the inner palace, stood as an opulent sanctuary housing the absolute finest healers the Empire could produce—the literal antithesis of the dark realm.

It boasted apothecaries capable of compounding nearly any cure known to man, chirurgeons possessing the precision to flawlessly knit severed flesh and bone, alchemists skilled in brewing advanced restorations and cultivating biological replacements, master-tier channelers dedicated entirely to recovery arts, and even an anointed prelate from the Holy Church of the Main God stationed permanently on site…

Its reputation was so stellar that rumors frequently equated its capabilities to the legendary wards of the Roselia Cathedral within the sacred territories…

“We have administered every possible treatment, ensuring his survival is guaranteed. Nevertheless, he must brace himself for enduring physical impairments.”

“…Impairments… to what degree…?”

Regrettably, even their peerless talents encountered insurmountable boundaries.

The chief physician provided his assessment to Riley’s trembling inquiry with a thoroughly professional, neutral delivery.

“The damage to his right eye is beyond our reach, as that organ was surrendered as an equivalent exchange for raw capability. It remains an anomaly how he even came into possession of such a restricted catalyst, considering the state monitors such items with absolute rigidity.”

Had the trauma been a standard physical laceration, they could have utilized restorative arts or successfully introduced a freshly cultivated organ…

However, when an organ is forfeited as the mandatory toll for a forbidden rite, conventional restoration is rendered useless.

“Regarding his right hand… achieving a comprehensive recovery presents an immense challenge due to deep degradation from a blight tied directly to the abyss. We possess the means to mitigate its virulence to a degree, so our recommended path is to confine the blight beneath a localized binding array to halt further degradation.”

He further clarified that the bound blight within his right limb carried a constant vulnerability to erupting anew should the patient push his spiritual pathways beyond their limits.

Hesperon, after all, was an arcane practitioner who had scarcely advanced past the rank of a Beginner, even when accounting for his artificially augmented parameters.

Yet he had engaged an entire contingent of elite knights and successfully incapacitated a master-level combatant; walking away without paying a steep toll was a statistical impossibility.

He wouldn’t even be drawing breath at this moment if not for the divine intervention of Heinrich’s sacred blessings.

“Alternatively, we could opt for surgical removal and replace the limb with an artificial transplant. Such a path requires an extended period of physical rehabilitation, and the inherent disruption to his channels means he would never channel his former output, but it stands as a viable route if his intention is to continue his career as a scholar of magic.”

It was a stark ultimatum: exist with a volatile curse anchored to his flesh while retaining his current thresholds, or accept a pristine but fundamentally weaker replacement limb to excise the threat permanently.

Riley stared down at the oblivious Hesperon, her vision clouding with emotion.

The choice did not belong to her.

The decision would have to wait until he regained consciousness to speak for himself…

Yet, fully aware of the staggering potential he possessed, she found herself entirely consumed by an intense wave of accountability.

“Forgive me if my prognosis appeared excessively bleak, Your Highness. I should note that we did manage to completely revitalize his eroded life essence and spiritual stamina, both of which were severely drained from the reckless deployment of corrupt artifacts. The process demanded a significant expenditure of our most restricted materials, but given that he preserved your life, such measures were deemed an absolute necessity.”

The chief physician offered these concluding details, but when Riley offered no verbal acknowledgment and simply kept her eyes locked onto Hesperon, the doctor fell silent. He offered a respectful, deep bow and quietly exited the room.

Operating with absolute clinical detachment in any scenario was his professional code, but he was far from devoid of basic empathy.

*Swoosh—*

The second the door clicked shut behind him,

She carefully extended her fingers, softly tracing the contours of his right arm, which was buried beneath layers of linen bandages inscribed with intricate sealing characters.

Slowly, her touch migrated upward, coming to rest near the bandage obscuring his ruined right eye.

“…I find myself deep in your debt once more.”

She hadn’t even begun to balance the scales of their previous encounter.

He maintained the freedom to secure his own safety, yet he threw himself into harm’s way using lethal instruments solely to ensure her survival.

He undoubtedly anticipated the repercussions of his choices.

‘…How incredibly reckless.’

Despite that, he never wavered for a single heartbeat before committing to that perilous course.

Acting as though ensuring her safety was a prize entirely worth the sacrifice, leaving him with a smile devoid of any sorrow.

Unbidden tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.

Riley quickly pulled her hand back and exhaled a ragged breath, fighting to regain mastery over her feelings.

She remained by his side for a few quiet moments longer before pivoting to leave the chamber behind.

“I shall return at a later hour.”

A mountain of responsibilities still demanded her attention.

The vulnerability on her features slowly morphed into steel as she crossed the threshold, and by the time her boots cleared the medical wing entirely, an icy, lethal pressure radiated from her person.

“…Give me the current status.”

“Our forces are actively tracking Sir Staub. Given the physical toll he sustained, his apprehension is deemed imminent.”

“Every single insurgent caught within the perimeter has been secured, and aggressive interrogations are underway to extract the identities of their collaborators.”

“We are currently compiling a comprehensive dossier on every individual who exhibited aberrant patterns of movement prior to the ambush. A full brief will be delivered before nightfall.”

Her personal retinue, materializing from the corridors like obedient reflections, offered their respective updates in rapid succession.

“Exhaustively. Leave no stone unturned, right down to the masterminds pulling the strings. Am I making myself clear?”

“Understood, Your Highness. The directive will be distributed across all branches immediately.”

“We shall spare no effort.”

The Iron-Blooded Princess, thoroughly provoked by the brazen strike against her life, unsheathed her talons to exact absolute retribution.

Mobilizing the entirety of her personal influence alongside the full weight of the Empire’s machinery.

—

The outer frontier of the Elven Kingdom situated upon the Enamel Continent.

Marking the fourth consecutive day of an arduous trek guided entirely by a vague, inexplicable premonition,

Harris finally crossed paths with the faction responsible for the disruption.

‘By the gods… what manner of creatures are those…?’

The entities moved upright on two limbs but possessed the distinct visages of apex predators—resembling beastmen at a glance, yet radiating an entirely foreign and predatory aura. They belonged to a demographic he had never once encountered throughout his travels.

Lycanthropes—the true werewolves—a breed relegated to the shadows of society much like the vampire lineages, evoking an inherent, visceral dread upon initial observation.

Yet as his gaze lingered on their forms, a secondary revelation commanded his focus, rendering the bizarre nature of the creatures almost invisible unless one stared directly at them.

It was precisely due to this anomalous cloaking effect that tracking them down had proven to be such an exhausting endeavor.

Had he not chosen to trust his instincts to pin down their general trajectory, discovering their location would have taken considerably longer.

Nevertheless, even that monumental revelation lost all relevance in the face of what lay before them.

‘Why in the world is a tear leading into the abyss manifesting in this region…?’

An insignificance when compared to the reality of a void-like aperture, consuming the very light around it, yawning wide across the terrain in front of the pack.