Chương 23: Chapter 14 Part 2

"Precisely," Drelion said, his voice hard as iron.

"Which is exactly why I believe the remaining trolls scattered in the Zel'Mora forest must be systematically eliminated as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Even without their Great Warrior to coordinate them, they remain a highly volatile threat to the borderlands. And I would rather not give the cult another opportunity to round them up and use them as biological weapons against my people."

Eldora and Liora exchanged a long, weighted look, the silent communication of veterans who had fought side-by-side for years. The sheer scale of the cult's ambition, and the unfathomable power of the wandering master who had accidentally thwarted them, demanded an immediate, overwhelming military response. After a moment, Eldora nodded, his silver eyes cold and resolute.

"We will assist you," the Lord Commander declared, his voice echoing off the stone of the battlements.

"Three hundred of my knights, plus whatever auxiliary forces you can gather from Theloca's garrison. Anyone with considerable combat experience who is willing to join the line. We will move into the forest in three days." Drelion inclined his head, profound relief washing over him.

"Thank you, Lord Commander. Your assistance will not be forgotten by this city." As the two imperial knights turned and prepared to leave the wall, Eldora paused at the top of the stone stairs, glancing back toward the glassy, vitrified crater one last time.

"One more thing, Marquess," Eldora said, his voice dropping to a cautious, almost wary register.

"This Ming Xuan Ji. If she truly possesses the unfathomable power you describe... the kingdom will absolutely want to know more about her. One way or another. And after what you have just told us about the cult… her role in stopping their apocalyptic ritual makes her even more significant to the Crown." Drelion met his gaze steadily, suppressing a sigh.

"I am certain they will."

The joint military operation into the dense, primordial depths of the Zel'Mora forest was launched exactly three days later. It was an overwhelming show of force. Three hundred heavily armored knights of the Silver Wing formed the vanguard. They were supported by one hundred and fifty hardened adventurers and local guild mages from Theloca, who had eagerly volunteered after hearing the Marquess's generous pay and the promise of claiming rare alchemical materials from the cull.

Bringing up the rear were fifty imperial priests and logistical support personnel. Five hundred in total. An elite, highly coordinated strike force by any reasonable military standard. The purging battle in the Zel'Mora forest lasted four grueling, bloody days. It was not easy. Even without the terrifying Great Troll Warrior leading them, the remaining trolls fought with a desperate, cornered ferocity.

They used the dense, suffocating terrain of the ancient woods and their innate knowledge of the forest to launch brutal ambushes, cutting off isolated groups and forcefully dragging the imperial knights into chaotic, close-quarters combat among the massive tree roots. Several times, the shield wall nearly broke under the immense, crushing pressure.

The trolls were vastly stronger and infinitely more resilient than normal monsters, and the lingering residue of the cult's blood magic seemed to compel them to fight with a kind of mindless, rabid rage, making them completely ignore mortal injuries that should have felled them instantly. But the Silver Wing did not break.

They fought with cold, mechanical discipline and precise, unyielding coordination, perfectly supported by the local Thelocan mages who knew the forest's treacherous dangers, and the imperial priests who continuously channeled restorative magic to keep the wounded alive long enough to reach safety. Mana potions and healing magic flowed freely throughout the four-day battle.

The trolls, for all their individual, monstrous strength, simply could not match the coordinated, relentless might of a professional army backed by proper imperial logistics and heavy magical artillery. By the twilight of the fourth day, the last known troll horde in the sector had been systematically destroyed. Casualties on the human side were significantly higher than Drelion had hoped: thirteen dead and over a hundred heavily wounded.

But it was still far lower than it would have been if the Great Troll Warrior had still been alive to shatter their formations. The constant presence of the priests and the sheer abundance of high-grade potions had made a massive difference in keeping the death toll manageable. When the exhausted, bloodied strike force finally returned to Theloca, the citizens lined the cobblestone streets in somber, respectful silence as the bodies of the thirteen fallen were carried through the main gates.

There was deep grief, yes, but there was also an overwhelming, profound relief. The horrific threat that had loomed over their homes for weeks was finally, permanently gone. And with the return of the surviving soldiers and adventurers, a new story began to spread through the surrounding city like a roaring wildfire. Stories of the ethereal woman in black and crimson who had single-handedly destroyed the colossal creature that had nearly doomed Theloca.

Stories of a powerful, walking natural disaster who had appeared from nowhere, ended a nightmare in a single devastating strike, and then vanished into the night like a ghost before anyone could properly thank her. By the time the Silver Wing packed their camp and prepared to return to the capital, the name Ming Xuan Ji was being spoken with hushed reverence in every tavern, barracks, and market square in Theloca. The savior of the city. The woman who had turned the tide of an impossible war with her bare hands.

Lord Commander Eldora Veyne sat atop his armored warhorse at the gates of Vael Manor on the brisk morning of their departure, his vice-captain, Liora, at his side. Drelion had come out to the courtyard to see them off personally.

"You have our profound thanks, Marquess," Eldora said, saluting Drelion.

"Both for your unwavering cooperation during our stay, and for the highly classified information you provided regarding the cult's involvement. It changes the fundamental nature of our report to the Crown significantly." Drelion inclined his head in respect.

"I only hope it proves useful in preventing future incidents of this catastrophic nature." Eldora gripped his reins, glancing back over his pauldron toward the city one last time, his scarred expression deeply thoughtful.

"We will report everything we witnessed here to His Majesty," Eldora promised grimly.

"Including the existence and the terrifying physical capabilities of this Ming Xuan Ji, and the confirmed involvement of the Blood God Cult. The capital will want to know everything about both. Unchecked power like that does not go unnoticed for long by the royal court, and neither does a theological threat like the cult." Drelion did not ask what the kingdom explicitly intended to do with that volatile information. He already had his own suspicions.

As the Silver Wing marched out of Theloca, the rhythmic thud of three hundred armored warhorses shaking the earth, Drelion stood on the repaired section of the eastern wall and watched them go. The massive, glittering crater left behind by Ming Xuan Ji's single palm strike was still highly visible in the distance, a permanent, vitrified scar on the lush landscape. It was a chilling reminder of what had almost happened to his people, and exactly who had stopped it.

He thought of the beautiful, enigmatic young woman who had saved his domain and then quietly, intentionally removed herself from the political consequences. Wherever she was now, he truly hoped she understood the geopolitical weight of what she had done. Because the ripples from her single strike were only just beginning to spread across the continent.

Far, far away from the sunlit, rebuilding streets of Theloca, in a dimly lit, suffocatingly damp chamber deep beneath the earth, Thorne stood motionless before a crude parchment map of the eastern border regions. His leather-clad hands were clenched so tightly into fists at his sides that his joints popped, and his breathing was significantly heavier, more ragged than usual. The catastrophic news had arrived that morning through one of the cult's hidden, magically bound messengers.

Theloca had not only survived the siege, it was actively thriving. The citizens who had fled the border were returning to their homes in droves. Arrogant adventurers and local hunters were openly organizing lucrative, guild-sponsored expeditions into Zel'Mora to clear out the remaining, scattered trolls, and the bounties being offered were high enough to tempt even elite, experienced Dungeon Delvers from other regions.

Worse still, the Imperial Silver Wing Knight Order had arrived from the capital and actively participated in the purge. Three hundred elite imperial knights working flawlessly alongside local militia forces. The military operation had been a total, sweeping success. Everything had gone wrong. Ten years. Ten years of incredibly careful, painstaking planning in the dark.

Ten years of nurturing the Great Troll Warrior in total secret, meticulously feeding it the exact right combination of corrupted mana and highly volatile alchemical enhancements. Ten years of preparing the underground ritual sites and carving the massive, intricate sacrificial arrays that would have allowed them to harvest ten thousand souls in a single, glorious night.

All of that blood, all of that effort, had been explicitly meant to culminate in the destruction of Theloca, acting as the catalyst for the completion of the grand summoning ritual for the Blood God's physical incarnation. Instead, the city still stood. The grand ritual had violently failed before it could even properly begin. And the girl, the flawless, irreplaceable Heavenly Killing Star vessel they had spent so long preparing, was gone. Thorne's jaw tightened until his back teeth ached.

He had deeply underestimated the variables of the world. That woman. Ming Xuan Ji. The murmur of the people called her a savior. A wandering, unknown master of terrifying power who had appeared at the perfect, impossible moment and shattered their grand design in a single, effortless strike. Some of the more superstitious, foolish peasants in the region were already calling her a divine intervention sent by the heavens to protect the Zareth Kingdom. Thorne knew better. She was an obstacle.

A powerful, highly unpredictable obstacle that had appeared from nowhere and ruined everything he had spent a decade building in the shadows. And now, exclusively because of her interference, the Kingdom's full military and investigative attention was turning toward the cult in ways they had desperately hoped to avoid for several more years. He could not afford to fail again.

The shadowed, fanatical leadership of the Blood God Cult, the High Priests who ruled from the Abyss, would not tolerate another setback of this magnitude. If he returned to the central hideout now without tangible results, his position, and very likely his life, would be forfeit. But if he could somehow track down and deliver the girl, the perfect vessel bearing the Heavenly Killing Star constitution, then perhaps he could still salvage something from this monumental disaster.

The constitution was still infinitely valuable. He needed to move. And he needed help to do it. Thorne turned away from the crude map, tearing it from the wall, and walked deeper into the underground complex. His heavy footsteps echoed ominously against the cold, damp stone walls. He would return to the sacrificial site one last time. There might still be traces of the struggle, residual magical energy from the failed ritual, perhaps some arcane clue as to where the girl had been taken or exactly who had taken her.

Anything that could point him in the right direction. Three days later, he stood at the hidden entrance of the exact same cave where the ritual had taken place. Or rather, where it was supposed to have taken place. Thorne stepped through the threshold, holding a glowing mana-torch aloft. He stopped dead in his tracks, the breath freezing in his lungs. The chamber was not merely empty. It was the site of absolute, localized cataclysm.

The heavy, ton-weight stone doors that had sealed the bunker had been violently, aggressively blown inward, reduced to thousands of jagged, pulverized shards of shrapnel that had embedded themselves deep into the cavern walls. The intricate, painstakingly carved blood runes on the floor had not been meticulously smoothed over; the stone itself had been violently shattered by a concussive shockwave of such immense force that the bedrock was spider-webbed with cracks.

Worse than the physical devastation was the ambient temperature. The air did not smell of damp earth and cold stone. It was freezing, biting cold. A thick, unmelting layer of pristine white frost coated the shattered rocks, radiating an abyssal, terrifying signature of pure Yin Qi. It was a cold that seemed to physically bite at Thorne's soul, warning him to turn back. Thorne walked slowly toward the center of the devastated room. Near the ruined altar, he found a small, pathetic pile of gray, foul-smelling ash.

Buried in the dust was a single, shredded scrap of black cloth. It was all that remained of Thorus. Thorne stood in the center of the frozen, shattered chamber, staring at the pile of ash. For a long time, he did not move. He had come here dozens of times over the past ten years. He had known every crack in the walls, every shadow cast by the torchlight. This was the right place. He was certain of it. And yet… a single person had done this.

Someone had come here, bypassed the psychological wards, and blown the heavy stone doors apart with pure, unadulterated physical force. They had not meticulously dismantled the spell matrix; they had crushed the magic, the stone, and the cultist with overwhelming, terrifying martial violence. Ming Xuan Ji. It had to be her. Who else would have both the motive and the capability to do something like this?

Thorne stood in the freezing chamber for several more minutes, the weight of his failure and a new, unfamiliar spike of genuine terror pressing down on him like a physical force. Then, without a word, he turned and walked back toward the surface. He would need help. The other, deeper branches of the cult would have to be informed. Elite resources and tracking specialists would need to be immediately redirected. And most importantly, he desperately needed to find out where Ming Xuan Ji had taken the girl.

Because as long as the Heavenly Killing Star vessel remained in the hands of a walking natural disaster, their apocalyptic plans would continue to unravel. And Thorne had absolutely no intention of being the one to explain another failure to his superiors. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.