Chapter 521: Burning Cold Wind
The wind howled like a blade through the night—icy, sharp, and relentless. The Anzeta Great Wasteland always knew such cold, desolate nights… but tonight was different.
Artillery fire streaked across the inky sky, weaving a dazzling, blinding net through the heavens. The earth below was bathed in a harsh, unnatural light, as if day had stolen back its dominion. The darkness, once a cloak of silence, now revealed the twisted, snarling visages of demons.
Boom!
Boom! Boom!
The barrage never ceased. Not a single pause. Not even a drop in intensity.
This was the raw might of the Ember Empire.
The battle had raged for an entire day. Yet the Imperial Wall’s defenders hadn’t even touched their reserve of shells. Ammunition kept flowing from the north in an unbroken stream.
Amid the tide of demons, grotesque grins flashed—twisted, fanged, and monstrous. These were shadow-walkers: towering, bat-winged horrors whose forms were barely discernible beneath swirling darkness. Only their teeth and claws remained solid—everything else dissolved into the night, merging with the shadows like ink in water.
They were Shadow Demons—hunters of the abyss.
It was said that when a soul consumed by envy was dragged into the Bottomless Abyss, it fractured, split, and recombined with other spirits until only a hollow shell of pure malice remained—no body, no form, only hunger and spite. That was the Shadow Demon.
They darted through the darkness, slipping between the earth and the veil of night, evading the thunderous blasts of artillery with eerie ease. They glided low over the ground, brushing past minefields—landmines that would never trigger beneath them. In just a few breaths, they reached the base of the Imperial Wall.
“Aaaah—”
“Khehehe… you cannot stop the Abyss.”
Shadows writhed across the earth like living smoke. The low, rasping laughter of the demons echoed through the fortress, chilling the bones of all who heard it.
In truth, they were searching. Not for destruction—no, they were hunting for possession.
Demons’ possession was a common rumor, often used to explain madness or violence. Most of the time, it was merely madness—hallucinations, psychosis. But when the war came, the Shadow Demons used their power to possess enemy soldiers, generals, sowing doubt, suspicion, and paranoia among their own ranks.
Deep within the Underground Bastion, Adroville stared at the shifting shadows. His face hardened instantly. “Shadow Demons!” he snapped. “We must locate their traces—immediately! If we don’t, the consequences will be catastrophic!”
But even as he spoke, the air around the Imperial Wall shifted. On the faces of several soldiers, faint, unnatural grins flickered—subtle, almost imperceptible. A thin veil of dark mist curled from their pores.
Dolo’s eyes narrowed. He remained calm, but his voice carried a hint of disbelief. “Shadow Demons?”
Adroville closed his eyes. One spell after another—scrying, divination, sensing—flew from his lips. When he opened them again, his silver irises pulsed with starlight.
“They are the union of Abyss and Shadow Essence—body and spirit fused,” he said gravely. “They move through shadows, possess mortals… nearly impossible to defeat unless—”
“Shiiiiin—!”
A blinding light erupted from the sky.
A new sun rose in the heavens—a radiant, divine disk that flooded hundreds of meters in every direction with pure, holy light.
“No—!”
“Aaaaahhh—!”
“Damned mortals! How can you possess such power?!”
The soldiers possessed by the demons writhed on the ground, twisting in agony. Black smoke coiled from their bodies. Shadows writhed and shrieked in distorted, tortured voices. Then—like ash in the wind—they were consumed, reduced to nothing by the light.
Only the empty, dazed bodies of the possessed remained.
“Legendary-Level Light Cleric,” Adroville whispered, finally completing his earlier sentence.
A woman stepped from the light—clad in white robes trimmed with gold, a scepter in hand. She bowed slightly toward Dolo, a gesture of respect.
She was Ingrid—the former Honorary Bishop of the Amannata Church, and now the Empire’s court priest.
“Your intervention is most welcome, Lady Ingrid,” Dolo said, returning the bow. A grotesque smile stretched across his face—his fangs glinting in the light.
“You are too kind,” she replied, her voice gentle, her eyes glowing faintly. “It is my duty. The destruction of demons is the very purpose of my order.”
Dolo placed a hand over his chest. “Of course. For the Empire.”
Adroville stared, wide-eyed, utterly stunned. A Legendary-Level Light Cleric… in the service of the Ember Empire?
He knew the truth: such beings were nearly always pure, lawful good—unwilling to serve any power with an expansionist, aggressive nature.
Ingrid noticed him then. “You must be the esteemed Guardian’s Scale,” she said. “A champion who has long fought the demons.”
Adroville inclined his head. “You flatter me, Lady.”
Then, slowly, she turned. Her eyes closed. Her body lifted, floating gently above the ground. The scepter settled across her chest, held in midair.
When she opened her eyes again, her irises burned with gold-red flame.
She gazed out at the endless tide of demons. At the relentless artillery. At the war that had already lasted a day.
And in her heart, a storm of memories stirred.
“Empire…”
Years ago, she had been forced—by the Emperor’s threat to her life force—into a pact. Three decades of service, bound by blood and fear.
In those years, she had watched the Empire grow. She had seen the new life it brought to the people. She had seen the light—and the darkness that followed.
She had mourned the people of Fadalan, lost in the brutal war to the south.
Now, she was uncertain.
What was right?
The three so-called heirs of the Sacred Bloodline—driven only by greed and pride, plunging nations into ruin. And yet… this so-called “Dragon Emperor” had brought peace to the Anzeta people. Order. Security. Food. Shelter.
Perhaps… the Empire’s leadership of Fadalan was the true path.
It didn’t matter. The choice of what was right might be unclear.
But the wrong—the demons, the Abyssal invasion—was undeniable.
Why waste time questioning the path when the battle was already here?
She exhaled.
“Huff…”
And with that, she cast aside doubt. Her focus sharpened. Her purpose crystallized.
She raised her hand. The scepter rose with her, piercing the sky. Light poured forth—boundless, radiant, like a second sun rising over the earth.
“Boom—”
The energy coalesced. From the ground, a golden wall rose—majestic, radiant, a fortress of light. It shattered the shadows, revealing every demon, every creeping wraith.
Even those that tried to slip through the darkness, to cross the wall—burned instantly, screaming in agony, cursing the light with their final breaths.
[Wall of Light]
“Not for the Empire,” she said, floating high above the battlefield, her gaze cold and unyielding.
“Not for me.
But for this world.”
(End of Chapter)
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