Chapter 1330 - The Dawn of Collow (1/2)

Translator: EndlessFantasy Translation  Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

The nightmare was dissipating.

The Forgotten Abyss, shrouded by Lockmarton’s power of Chaos, gradually broke away from the darkness. The first thing that changed was the core of the epic battle, the throne of the nightmare tyrant—Spiral Hill.

The evening twilight slipped away while the twisted remnants of Spiral Hill disintegrated in silence. Smoke rose from the monsters that emerged from the nightmare like sunlight shining on the morning dew. They became transparent before they disappeared. The storm over the plains had stopped, and the giant pillars of smoke as well as dust collapsed like dreams, releasing little glows up to the sky akin to liberated souls. There was some mysterious debris that shimmered and fell from the sky onto the battlefield, on every soldier and general.

Startled, Calaxus looked at the scene and reached out.

A piece of shimmering debris fell on his palm. It felt warm. As if he heard a whisper of gratitude, he listened carefully and found that it was a hallucination.

The supernatural forces had dissipated, and a ray of light shone on his face.

The rolling clouds in the sky gradually calmed down and dispersed in all directions. The light, absent for a long time, descended from heaven and dispelled the last traces of haze. Light beams shone through the clouds like a waterfall onto the land below.

“The nightmare is over.” A senior church knight took off his blood-stained helmet and held it under his arm. Looking up at the bright sky, he lamented, “It’s really over this time.”

The exhausted soldiers could finally rest. After losing the will that supported them all this while, they dropped to the ground, one after another. Covered with blood and dirt, the weary soldiers looked at each other. They were overjoyed and relieved, wanting to laugh out loud or shout, but they found it too exhausting to do so. All these warriors could do was looking at each other and smiled.

It seemed that Calaxus wanted to lie on the ground, even if it was just for a minute so that he could let himself rest. But he remained on his feet and staggered toward the wardens.

His platinum wand had been destroyed due to overloading. Calaxus could only support himself with a crooked wooden stick now.

Some vague figures were standing in front of the Lord of the Mountains.

Not many warriors of the Spirit Braves Army and Armageddon Army left at the end of their last battle. Many of them fell on the battlefield and paved the way for a peaceful future. When the dawn finally arrived, only a few soldiers were left standing.

Deformed dark creatures, empty and transparent soul warriors, empty armors and battle robes had all gathered in front of the Lord of the Mountains, just as they did in a military parade thousands of years ago.

A skinny old man stood in front of these armies, as if an ordinary elderly, looking up at the Lord of the Mountains.

As if a thought suddenly crossed his mind, Calaxus realized that the pope was no longer a living person in this world but belonged to the army of the dead.

Auguste VII, as avuncular as a father, was dead.

Gordon, the Lord of the mountains, leaned down in front of these warriors and listened carefully to the words of the old pope. After a long while, Gordon, nodding as if he had made a promise, slowly got to this feet.

A beam of light shone from the clouds on the Armageddon Army.

The distorted and mutated limbs dissolved in the light, and the corroded bodies vaporized. As black smoke dissipated, these distorted monsters were restored to their original appearance in soul form. Knights in shiny armor, priests in a sacred white robe, and the standard-bearer recovered. The standard-bearer reverted into a battlefield bishop in battle robe, his hair and beard white, and face resolute. The piece of rag that he tied at his back and fluttered in the air gradually turned into a golden flag with the side portrait of the goddess.

The old pope nodded to this battlefield bishop and then glanced back at Calaxus before turned and walked toward the army of the dead.

The battlefield bishop raised the golden flag in the air and shouted, “About turn!”

“Forward, march!”

The dead marched in synchronous steps toward the light.

Light, which shone down through the clouds, grew more intense and finally became ubiquitous skylight, illuminating the old world in its full glory. The figure of the legion marching in the light gradually disappeared and became one with the twilight.

Ten wardens were standing and watching solemnly as the dead legion departed.