New Calendar 1439, Destinos, Silent Sanctuary.
Feathery snow fell thick and fast from the ash-gray sky, soon blanketing the vast gardens of the Silent Sanctuary in a thick, white carpet.
For the children in the sanctuary, a heavy snowfall was always the most anticipated event of the year.
The garden was filled with a chaotic mess of tiny footprints. The children had split into several groups, screaming and laughing as they hurled packed snowballs at their companions.
A few of the older children were working together to roll a massive snowball, attempting to build a snowman even taller than an average dwarf.
Through the thick glass windows, the laughter and clamor were muffled, yet they still carried a vibrant sense of life.
But human joys and sorrows are not shared.
Hill's office was located on the top floor of the sanctuary.
There was none of the outside clamor here, only the occasional crackle of wood burning in the fireplace.
Butter melted in a hot iron pan, releasing a rich, savory aroma.
Hill stood before the prep counter next to the fireplace, holding a silver mixing spoon as she unhurriedly beat eggs and milk into the flour.
The heavy, carved wooden door was pushed open.
A cold wind, carrying a few stray snowflakes, seized the opportunity to swirl inside.
“Why is it always you two?” Hill asked casually without turning around.
Two girls stood by the door.
The red-haired girl's hat was askew, her cloak dusted with snow, and she clutched a pair of soaking wet wool gloves in her hands. Her head was bowed, chin nearly touching her collar, her face the very picture of dejection.
The blonde girl stood beside her, the hem of her nun's habit also heavily soaked.
Compared to her companion's despondency, the expression on her face was completely placid, carrying only a trace of mild confusion.
Sylvia looked up and vigorously stomped the snow off her boots.
“I really didn't do it on purpose. There just happened to be a broken brick hidden under that pile of snow, and I grabbed it with my eyes closed and threw it. Who knew that fat kid was so fragile? He got a bump the size of an egg on his forehead and went straight to complain.”
Kaila unfastened her cloak, which had stiffened from the melted snow, and hung it on the brass hook behind the door.
“I didn't put a rock in it,” she said, brushing the remaining snow from her shoulders. “But the sister said I did. That snowball was clearly pure snow scraped from a branch.”
“Why don't you mention that you knocked his head three meters away?” Sylvia grumbled. “Fortunately, he's from the skeleton race, so he couldn't die from that.”
Kaila did not reply.
It was clearly the other party who had invited her.
She thought.
Yet, the sister on duty had still ended up sentencing her to detention.
Although Kaila didn't find snowball fights particularly interesting, encountering such a sudden turn of events was still quite frustrating.
And her detention was even longer than Sylvia's.
Annoying.
Beside her, Sylvia let out a heavy sigh, squatting down to bury her face in her hands as she grumbled in a muffled voice.
“I was planning to study snowball combat techniques. I'd even calculated the aerodynamic trajectory to curve a snowball mid-air using air friction and a wrist-flick throw... Now it's all ruined.”
Kaila bypassed the large walnut desk, smoothly dragged a padded stool from the corner storage cabinet, moved it to the fireplace, and sat down. Her movements were entirely natural, showing not a single shred of remorse for being in detention.
Sylvia peeked through her fingers at Kaila and whispered, “Hey, can you at least pretend to reflect? This is Miss Hill's office, you know.”
Kaila extended her hands toward the fireplace to warm them.
“Miss Hill doesn't care about that,” Kaila said, staring into the flames.
“Yes, it's fine. Find a place to sit,” Hill said, her focus entirely on her waffles.
The batter in the mixing bowl had turned a uniform pale yellow, its surface dotted with fine bubbles.
Hill picked up the bowl, tilting her wrist slightly as the batter poured smoothly from the rim, landing precisely in the preheated square iron waffle mold.
The batter sizzled sharply as it made contact with the hot metal.
The edges quickly puffed up and changed color.
She set down the bowl, gripped the long handles of the mold with both hands, and closed them, the metal latch snapping shut with a crisp click.
Then, she placed the mold onto a custom iron rack at the edge of the fireplace, where the licking flames immediately enveloped its bottom.
The warm room began to fill with the rich aroma of baking butter and eggs.
Hill picked up a clean linen cloth to wipe her hands.
“Do you know why snowmen don't fight? Because they only engage in cold wars.”
Sylvia: “Ha... haha.”
Kaila: “So cold.”
“It is indeed a very cold day,” Hill said casually, turning to glance at Kaila. “So, what would you like to do today?”
Kaila turned her head, glanced at Sylvia, who was still squatting there in self-pity and dejection, and pulled her hands away from the fire.
“Miss Hill, could you tell us... a story about the outside world?” she asked.
Sylvia stopped instantly.
She immediately grabbed a chair, sat before the fireplace, straightened her back, and her eyes lit up.
The outside world was always so fascinating.
“What do you want to hear?” Hill asked.
“The story of that legendary adventurer from last time,” Sylvia said immediately. “The one from the Red Moon Empire era!”
Kaila said nothing, but her eyes betrayed her curiosity.
Hill used an iron hook to flip the scorching hot mold over.
“I really can't say no to you two. Sit tight.”
“That was during the height of the old Red Moon Empire, a legendary expedition worthy of being carved into the continent's chronicles. Repeatedly sung of in taverns and temples, every deed and every farce served as the most absurd footnotes to this adventurer's travels across the Red Moon Continent. Countless dungeons were cleared by him, countless forbidden zones trampled, and destiny repeatedly threw treasures and trouble alike onto the shoulders of this lone wanderer.
He was a legend who had traversed the continent for years, his swordsmanship, alchemy, and knowledge of ruins having long reached their peak. Wandering year-round through uninhabited forbidden zones and the crumbling ruins of ancient empires, he had long grown accustomed to playing a solo hand, uncovering treasure chests and escape routes in desperate straits where everything was his enemy. He was the name forever pinned to the absolute top of the Adventurer's Guild bounty board.
His resume was a wild, absurd roller coaster filled with heroic feats and laughingstocks. He broke into the northern Evernight Blood Cave alone, dug up the ancestral graves of three high-tier Vampire Ancestors, and carved ‘I was here’ on the inside of a coffin lid before leaving. He got lost in the Great Arcadian Labyrinth for seven days and seven nights, emerging with a tamed Succubus following behind him. He took advantage of the World Tree guardians' shift change to snap off the highest branch to make a fishing rod. He crashed the wedding of the Sylvanas Elven Empress wearing a stolen best man's suit, carrying the bride half a block away in front of three thousand elven nobles, all just to return a missing earring. He practically drowned seven dwarf master smiths of Anvil City in alcohol for three days and three nights, sneaking a peek at legendary armor forging blueprints while they were drunk, putting them back exactly as they were, only secretly lengthening the greaves by a few inches.”
And the final chapter of all his legends was set in the polar Everfrost Wasteland.
No one knew why he went there. But when the northern scouts crossed the last stretch of frozen soil, what they saw was a massive, boiling hotpot. The pot was fashioned from the skull of an ancient giant, heated by everburning stones swiped from a dragon's nest, and the broth bubbled with large chunks of magical beast meat and spices sourced from who-knows-where. The legendary adventurer sat cross-legged in the dead center of the icy plain, dropping meatballs into the pot, with dozens of jars of dwarven liquor lined up beside him, all just to lure out the legendary Snow Saintess.
A sword and a thought, leaving his name everywhere. These few absurd deeds carried all the self-indulgence and talent of his travels across the continent, transforming into the verses of generation after generation of bards beside the hearths of countless taverns...
“So, did he lure out the Snow Saintess?” Sylvia had completely forgotten her dejection from being locked in detention. Clutching her knees, she leaned forward as far as she could, her eyes locked onto Hill's back as she pressed for answers.
Hill divided the waffle, cut into three pieces, onto three small plates, then picked up a jar of amber maple syrup, gently drizzling two rings over each.
“Well, considering he eventually died in the arms of the Snow Saintess, he was probably successful.” Hill turned around, carrying the plates.
Sylvia sat up straight, her expression of eager anticipation instantly freezing on her face.
“Huh? He died?”
A log in the fireplace popped loudly right on cue.
“Everyone dies eventually,” Hill said, walking over to hand one plate of waffles to Sylvia, and another to Kaila, who was still warming herself by the fire. “Eat while it's hot. It'll get soft once it cools.”
Kaila took the plate, her fingers feeling the residual warmth of the porcelain bottom, but her gaze remained fixed directly on Hill's eyes.
Even living in the isolated sanctuary, she vaguely felt that this ending was a bit off.
How could such an absurdly grand legend come to an abrupt halt in such a pantomime-like manner?
“Did the Snow Saintess die too?” Sylvia held her plate, her fork hand frozen mid-air, still refusing to let the matter drop.
Hill pulled back the high-backed chair behind the desk and sat down. Resting her cheek on one hand, she looked past the windowpane at the heavy snow still drifting outside.
“She's alive. Isn't she the Snow Witch?”
The warmth from the fireplace in the room seemed to dissipate instantly.
The two girls widened their eyes.
They exchanged a glance.
Wasn't that just a story?
Witches were the disasters hanging over everyone's heads, the source of omnipresent curses, and the absolute taboos in textbooks that must never be touched.
And just now, that absurdly ridiculous legendary adventurer who ate hotpot and drank strong liquor in the story had ended up dying in the arms of one of those very disasters.
“Did he lure out the Witch to fight her?” Kaila asked softly.
Interacting with a Witch and ultimately paying with one's life had to have been a tragic, noble struggle to eradicate evil.
That would require unimaginable courage and resolve.
“Probably not. Didn't you hear what Miss Hill said just now? Back then, the Snow Witch was still called the Snow Saintess,” Sylvia immediately countered, her mind racing.
Suddenly, Sylvia's breath caught for half a beat as a hair-raising theory surfaced in her mind.
“Could it be... that legendary adventurer was Hiso?”
The moment that strangely pronounced name was uttered in the warm room, even the air seemed to grow thick and suffocating.
On the Red Moon Continent, not even a three-year-old child in the most remote village would be unfamiliar with this name.
In the widely circulated, mournful ballads, that name was synonymous with the scourge of all realms, the evil of ten thousand generations, and the source of all suffering. It belonged to the one destined to destroy, and who had already destroyed, the old world.
Even in the closed archives of the sanctuary, that mythical and terrifying history was recorded: rumor had it that the last all-powerful Grand Prophet of the Red Moon Empire, after exhausting his life force to complete his final prophecy, stared into the void, shrieked “Hiso!” three times, bled from his seven orifices, and dropped dead.
As she spoke, Sylvia couldn't help but begin to recite.
“Sing, O Goddess who discerns destiny! Sing with your immortal voice of the endless pain that spreads like a plague! Sing of the culprit who brought havoc, the smooth-tongued, smiling wanderer—the name even the Goddess refuses to utter. With light steps, he once walked across the vast territories of the Red Moon Empire, pausing before every city-state, before every gold-inlaid gate. He wove vows with honeyed lies, tenderly placing those seven crowns gleaming with dazzling light upon the brows of seven noble maidens. He toyed with mortal joys, sorrows, and deep affections in those dust-free hands, plucking their heartstrings like a lyre.
Yet, when that ruthless wanderer suddenly vanished from this earth like morning dew, leaving not a single trace, those seven pillars bearing grand vows and expectations began their shrill and prolonged weeping in the winds of despair. Look, their tears were by no means clear, sweet spring water, but turned into giant waves that tore through the earth and city-states. The once incomparably prosperous old empire, with the World Tree as its heartland, met its doom amidst those wails.
Laws collapsed, lands tore apart, and the vast Boundless Sea, like a raging beast, swallowed the roots of the World Tree and the imperial throne in a single gulp. Those seven crowned maidens, in unappeasable pain and madness, unleashed the War of Witches that made heaven and earth change color. Using each other's trauma as blades and curses as shields, they lit the flames of war on every inch of land under the Red Moon, swearing to make the entire world taste that gut-wrenching poison with them, letting innocent souls wail under the grinding gears of Law. The stars dimmed, the rivers ceased to flow, and empires and civilizations crumbled into piles of rubble.”
...
“Yet, the thread of fate has not been cut; it was merely quietly taken over, wound onto another spindle. That vanished wanderer, when did he ever truly depart? He merely split his dust-free body into two, hidden from the gaze of all living beings: one half, like extinguished embers, sank into the deepest, darkest abyss of the earth, bowing his head in quiet wait; while the other half—shall eventually stand up slowly from among the ruins and bones, cloaked in the darkness of the entire sky, during that endless, long night.”
The Green Mist King leaned against the cold wall, shuffling forward step by step.
His luxurious royal robes had long been soaked in blood, the dark red liquid dripping along the edges of the gold embroidery, dragging a broken red trail behind him.
Every breath was accompanied by violent spasms in his lungs. The destructive power of the mana backlash spread from his internal organs all the way to his bone marrow, squeezing out his life force bit by bit.
Yet, his lips still moved, his hoarse voice echoing through the empty corridor.
“Therefore, O living souls who harbor hope, do not cheer for the sound of returning footsteps. The dawn you await will not arrive, for the Lord of the Dark Night has returned. He comes not to end this suffering, but to bring that first catastrophe to perfect completion in his hands; he shall awaken the other half of the embers sleeping in the dark abyss, reuniting what was severed, allowing that smiling culprit to walk the earth once more in his complete form. When that time comes, the Battle of the Crowns that dimmed the stars will be but an unremembered prelude, and the true long night will have only just closed its wings. Sing, O Goddess—sing of this return of suffering, sing of this deeper night descending in the name of salvation.”
He walked past a statue of the ancestral kings, his bloody fingers leaving striking red marks on its pedestal.
The moment the magic circle was activated, he saw the scene above Silvervein City through the mana circuit.
That white figure cloaked in the night.
That galactic greatsword suspended in the sky.
How utterly insignificant all schemes and ambitions were before such a miracle.
Humans have limits.
The Green Mist King stopped, his body swaying.
He finally reached the end of the corridor.
It was a heavy oak door decorated with a double-headed eagle emblem.
He slammed his back heavily against the door.
The door was pulled open from the inside.
The Azure Sky King stood behind the door in a messy nightgown, his eyes bloodshot, clearly having not slept all night.
When he saw the blood-soaked figure collapsing inside, his pupils dilated sharply.
“Guards! Priests! Call all the Clerics here!”
The Azure Sky King reached out to catch the Green Mist King's sliding body.
Blood instantly stained the Azure Sky King's cuffs, but he ignored it, cradling his brother in his arms.
“What happened? Did the vampires rebel? I'll go beg the Witch... I will beg Lady Miaoyue! Don't die, please don't die!”
The Green Mist King leaned against the doorframe, barely supported by the Azure Sky King's strength.
He looked at the brother before him, whom he had always deemed weak and pushed forward as a shield. Twitching the corner of his mouth, he let out a bitter smile.
He slowly and firmly shook his head.
“It doesn't matter anymore,” the Green Mist King said weakly.
The Azure Sky King froze.
His eyes turned red.
Tears spilled over uncontrollably.
“Because I witnessed the arrival of the end with my own eyes.” The Green Mist King's gaze bypassed the Azure Sky King's shoulder, focusing on a point in the empty air. “The magic circle is shattered. That girl... that white-haired girl wearing the mask... she is Hiso. The one who will eventually destroy the world. The long night has fallen, and everyone must die. Since destruction is inevitable, what meaning is there in whether we ants saved Solitude before this?”
These words drained the last of the Green Mist King's strength.
He slid down the doorframe, slumping helplessly onto the cold floor tiles.
The Azure Sky King fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he tried to cover the wound on the Green Mist King's chest that was constantly gushing blood.
“What nonsense are you talking about! What do you mean, Hiso? Isn't that just a legend? Hold on, there must be a way to save you!” The Azure Sky King spun around and roared down the empty corridor, “Where are the priests! Are they all dead?!”
An icy, blood-stained hand grabbed the Azure Sky King's wrist.
The Green Mist King stopped him.
“My foolish brother, do not bother. It is useless. I was injured by mana backlash; even my soul is dispersing.”
The Azure Sky King held that cold hand back, utterly lost.
“Right,” the Green Mist King coughed violently, blood dripping down his chin. “Before I die, could you grant me one last wish?”
The Azure Sky King nodded vigorously, tears blurring his vision.
His brother.
That consistently powerful brother was actually...
The Green Mist King's other hand fumbled inside his robes, pulling out a roll of ancient parchment scroll emitting a faint golden glow.
It was the last Wish scroll, bearing the gold-threaded emblem of the double-headed eagle.
The final trump card of the Solitude royal family.
As long as the wish was not too outrageous, it would surely be realized.
Wealth, power, status...
Even—changing bodies.
Under the Azure Sky King's shocked gaze, he slowly grasped the scroll between both hands.
The Azure Sky King's breath hitched.
He stared intently at the golden-glowing parchment and said in pleasant surprise, “Brother, you actually brought it? This Wish scroll will definitely save your life...”
“Shut up.”
The Green Mist King's voice was very soft, yet it choked the words right in the Azure Sky King's throat.
He frowned in annoyance, looking at the face before him that was seventy to eighty percent identical to his own.
It had been like this since childhood.
Weak, indecisive, thinking thrice before everything and yet never daring to act.
He treated this brother as a shield, a double, a pawn that could be pushed out to take the blame at any time, but he had never once looked him in the eye as someone who could stand by his side.
Yet, by some cruel twist of fate, they were born with almost identical faces.
His annoying brother.
And yet, this body was young, healthy, and clean, completely untainted by the corruption of mana backlash.
The Green Mist King's gaze swept over his brother's body inch by inch.
“This body of yours,” he spoke slowly, “has never once been put to use all these years.”
The Azure Sky King's brow furrowed sharply. “...What do you mean?”
He didn't understand, dismissing it as his brother's dying delirium. He reached out to steady the swaying body. “Stop speaking nonsense. The priests are almost here.”
“It is too late,” the Green Mist King interrupted him. The golden emblem began to burn hot and bright, ancient magic awakening inch by inch along the parchment's texture. “And there is no need for them to come.”
“I have wanted to do this for a long time.” He stared at the face identical to his own, expressing every word. “Between the two of us, there shouldn't have been such a clear distinction.”
The Azure Sky King could not read the almost devout light in his brother's eyes.
He remained silent, his Adam's apple bobbing. In the end, he only raised his hand to cover his brother's cold hand, squeezing it tightly.
“...Yes. We are one.” His voice was low and hoarse, forcing himself to keep it from trembling. “So it's even less your turn to leave first alone.”
The hand of the dying man suddenly erupted with astonishing strength, locking onto his brother's wrist in a death grip.
Golden light burst forth.
The Azure Sky King watched the scroll light up between them, a glimmer of hope passing through his eyes.
He thought his brother was finally willing to use a miracle to prolong his own life.
However.
A person whose soul was dispersing and whose body was dying.
A Wish scroll capable of 'changing bodies.'
A brother he had despised for half his life, yet who shared the exact same face.
And that phrase—'This body of yours has never once been put to use.'
The long night is coming, and disaster is descending.
In this final secret chamber of the royal family, what the older brother was using his last breath to seize from his younger brother was already self-evident.
“I've always thought...”
The Green Mist King stared at the face identical to his own, using the absolute last of his strength to let out a bitter laugh.
“If only the one born with me had been a little sister.”
Rip.
The Green Mist King exerted force with both hands, tearing open the Wish scroll that represented miracles.
The Azure Sky King: “Huh?”
...
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