bookbashuk Page 17
Page 17
The terrifying, twisted monsters, draped in white cloth, displayed a hint of divinity on their inhuman faces—one after another, they knelt in devout worship toward the magnificent, almost blinding light. The holy white light engulfed them like a tide, and their bodies transformed.
A pure white halo floated above his head, and wings of pure light unfurled behind him—at that moment, they all transformed into Sarkaz!
The fragment of memory from the depths of time abruptly ended. The four snapped back to reality, finding themselves once again in the chilling underground ruins. The three Sarkaz exchanged bewildered glances, their eyes filled with undisguised shock.
From Kane's transformation to everything they've seen so far, this has gone far beyond the scope of a field mission. They don't even know how to write their mission reports so that their superiors won't think they're just a bunch of people talking nonsense.
However, Andorn's mind was already completely consumed by another fervent emotion. He was convinced that he had glimpsed the truth of the Sarkaz—the Law truly existed! Just as Cairne had said, even the Sarkaz could be bathed in holy light once they gained the recognition of the "Law"! How similar those "monsters" in the illusions were to the original Sarkaz recorded in history! Could it be... that this foreshadowed the future, that all Sarkaz would be accepted by the Law and become Sarkaz?!
“I understand… I finally understand!” Andorn’s voice trembled with excitement, and his eyes looked at Kane with no trace of hostility, only almost fanatical respect and awe.
"This is the only way to save humanity! Lateran was founded by the first saints, the pioneers who were first recognized by the law. And now... the law has chosen you! A Sarkaz! You are the first saint of the Sarkaz! You will lead them out of their suffering!"
Andorn's conjecture wasn't entirely wrong; it even touched on some core issues—the Sarkaz's birth did indeed stem from a modification of the "Law." But Cairne was by no means a savior saint; he merely possessed access to the "Holder Point of Heaven." That so-called "Law," in essence, was not a sacred and inviolable faith, but rather a secondary compilation and repackaging of the rules by the Sarkaz's ancestors after gaining a halo and empathy, based on their own understanding.
"I have no interest in the title of saint." Kane's voice was calm and even; the responsibility of saving the world was merely a burden to him.
"As for whether the future of the Sarkaz will be as you imagine... that's none of my concern." He didn't expose Andorn's misconception—what they saw wasn't a prophecy of the future, but a long-forgotten historical memory: a Sarkaz faction that had fled to a distant land discovered the "Law" and accepted its modifications. It wasn't some glimmer of salvation, but merely a technological event in the past that changed the fate of their race.
Remian and Mostima remained silent. As Sarkaz raised in the Lateran greenhouse, they had never deeply considered the origins of their race. This sudden "prophecy" struck them like a hammer blow to the foundation of their understanding, leaving them bewildered and disoriented.
Just then, the pair of black and white staffs lying quietly in the skeleton's arms stirred once more! An invisible ripple spread out, and another fragment of prophecy, retrieved from the river of time, was forcibly inserted into everyone's consciousness:
On a desolate plain swept by swirling sandstorms, a solitary "Sarkota," clad in the iconic cloak of a messenger from all nations, stood alone. Behind her, two familiar staffs—one black, one white—were crossed. The howling wind whipped up dust and lifted her wide hood.
Long blue hair danced wildly in the wind, black horns emerged from the strands, and the profile of her face was clear and familiar—it was Mostima!
However, the halo hovering above her head was not the iconic pure white of Sarkaz, but a dull and lackluster version, as were the wings of light behind her.
Clearly, this is a vision of the future—because Mostima himself has never seen it like this.
These staffs are not inanimate objects. They are parts of an ancient behemoth, living fragments bearing the power of time! Their ability to peer into time has unleashed countless bloody storms throughout Terra's history. Warlocks, priests, kings, tyrants… countless ambitious individuals have yearned to grasp the answers to destiny, just as Luca Sargus, the creator of Terra's calendar, had.
However, the chaotic torrent of information about the past and the future invariably leads its holders to utter madness.
Mostima is the new owner it has chosen—it considered all four people present.
Andorn? Just one past illusion has driven him into such fanatical obsession. If the staff falls into his hands, it would be a miracle if he could remain lucid for a month.
Remian? Her personality is calm and composed enough, but unfortunately... she lacks the sorcerer's talent needed to control this power.
Kane? ...The staff felt an unprecedented sense of confusion and apprehension. This being clearly had intricate connections to the previous civilization, and this was not an isolated case in Terra. Logically speaking, as someone who wielded the power of time, He should be able to glimpse the past and foresee the future.
But Kane's past was a blank, and his future was even more terrifying—He saw orange-black Originium covering the earth and swallowing the ocean, freezing all life in that instant; He also saw the deep blue ocean enveloping everything, surging and evolving wildly, and finally leaving the earth and flying into the sky together.
It was far beyond His comprehension, filled with an aura of impending doom that He instinctively repelled.
Stay away from him! We must stay away from this source of danger!
The prophetic image faded, and everyone's attention focused on Mostima—she had been chosen by the staff.
Andorn hesitated, longing to see more of the "future," to know if the answers he had sought his entire life had been found, and whether the glory of Laterano could truly shine upon all people...
Remien felt uneasy. As a sniper, her observation skills were extremely sharp. Even in her haste to enter the ruins, she had glimpsed the ultimate fates of the staff-bearers depicted in the murals along the passageways—tortured, driven mad, and meeting violent ends. The predecessor on the throne, reduced to bones, had ended up with what was considered a "decent" conclusion.
A hint of amused regret flashed in Kane's eyes. As the administrator of Originium, every spell he cast was a 100% energy conversion, flawless and requiring no external assistance. To him, the staff was at most a delicate ornament. What he truly cared about was the ancient behemoth consciousness residing within the staff.
"Beast Lords" and "Beasts"—the former are found throughout the continent of Terra. In some places, they are close to humans, appearing as gods who protect the region; in others, they are ferocious and ruthless, treating life as a game without restraint. They are formed from the souls of the earliest beast hordes "killed" by Originium. They are immortal and can also split into fragments to integrate into the environment of Terra as Beastkin.
The latter is related to Kane—the behemoths were originally part of the previous civilization's plan. They were enormous, practically mobile biological cities, and could build their own independent and unique ecological cycle system. The initial goal of this plan was to have the behemoths build a living environment suitable for humans, and then carry humans along the way, just like how mobile cities today protect civilization from natural disasters.
Kane was unaware of this long-forgotten history, but he was very interested in the giant beast's abilities.
Chapter 48 Hitchhiking
“Mostima, right? You don’t mind letting me see what’s special about those staffs.” Kane wasn’t going to let the behemoth specimen in front of him go so easily; at the very least, he needed to know if his Originium access was useful to them.
"Uh... go ahead." Mostima, with the scimitar in her hand, shrugged, seemingly quite indifferent. This was an unexpected bonus; she hadn't yet considered the dangerous staff her own, after all, it looked quite dangerous.
Kane stepped onto the stone steps without any hesitation, walked straight to the skeleton, and reached out to grab the pair of black and white staffs lying quietly.
hum!
The staff suddenly erupted with a rebellious magical surge, attempting to repel the presence that made it extremely uneasy.
"Heh." Kane let out a cold laugh, ignoring the energy barrier, and gripped the cold staff tightly.
"No matter how special the core is, the outer shell is still made of Originium." And as long as it's Originium, Kane is confident he can handle it.
A hoarse voice, carrying the echoes of vicissitudes and antiquity, resounded directly in Kane's mind: "Kid, can't you show a little respect to us old folks?"
"Respect? You want my respect? You'd better learn to respect your guests first," Kane said coldly. After all, it was this staff that had been ungrateful first.
"...That's all." That hoarse voice seemed to carry a hint of helplessness, or perhaps the long years had already smoothed out its edges, and it had become accustomed to communicating with people.
"Tell me, what do you want to ask?"
“Just pure curiosity. Tell me, what exactly are you?” Kane’s gaze seemed to pierce through the staff’s physical form, looking directly into the behemoth’s consciousness deep within its core.
The power of the behemoths was truly awe-inspiring; even when split into twelve parts, the "Year" could keep a colossus like the Yan Kingdom from sleepless nights. Yeragand was able to protect a small country like Sherag from natural disasters. Sami had even cultivated an elite force to fight against evil. Kane was indeed curious whether he could reach the same level as them in the future.
“Similar to you…” The behemoth’s voice carried a strange resonance.
"They are all manufactured beings. However, your individuality... is too small, and you lack many crucial functions." They are bioengineering creations built by the previous civilization with massive resources, while Kane's Ama series, in comparison, is more like the private creation of two geniuses, the Prophet and Prissis. Like the difference between a military battleship and a civilian boat—if Kane's size were large enough, he would be a behemoth wielding the power of Originium.
"But you are far more dangerous than us, kid." The behemoth's voice suddenly turned cold, carrying a hint of barely perceptible apprehension.
"In the ripples I created, several fragments of your future were reflected. What you are about to do... is no different from that of a madman."
"A madman?" Kane's lips curled into a mocking smile.
"That's still better than you guys—at least I won't be locked in two broken sticks in the future, and who knows, someone might use them to unclog the toilet one day!"
"You—!" Before the behemoth's rage could even erupt in his mind, Kane had already casually tossed the pair of staffs back into the skeleton's arms like trash. He had gotten the answer he wanted.
“Mostima, this thing is yours. If you really can’t find a use for it, you should be able to use it as a toilet brush.” He turned and walked towards the exit of the ruins, his tone mocking.
Kane's figure disappeared at the entrance of the passage. Mostima breathed a sigh of relief, intending to follow him and leave this troublesome place—those staffs were a huge nuisance no matter how you looked at them, so she decided to let them continue to slumber in the tomb, waiting for the next "lucky one."
However, the behemoth's consciousness deep within the ruins clearly didn't see it that way. It "saw" Mostima's future—a long journey full of wonder and the unknown, enough to satisfy its need for amusement.
He had chosen her.
Whoosh!Whoosh!
Two staffs, one black and one white, suddenly flew up on their own, turning into two streaks of light that shot precisely toward Mostima, who was about to slip away!
"Tsk!" Mostima clicked her tongue helplessly, and could only grit her teeth and reach out to catch this hot potato that she couldn't shake off. It was cold and heavy to the touch, as if she were holding a piece of frozen time; the Originium energy flowed unconsciously—she hadn't expected that she had such a powerful sorcerer talent.
The group finally left the chilling underground ruins. Fiameta, who had been anxiously pacing the perimeter, immediately approached, carefully checking on her companions. She secretly resolved: upon returning from this mission, she would unite with the others to have Andorn, that insane captain, dismissed and punished!
"Oh, right—" Kane seemed to suddenly remember something, stopped in his tracks, turned around to look at the Lateran group, and gave them a very natural smile, as if he were just asking about the weather.
"Gentlemen, you must have brought a land vehicle, right? Would you be willing to give me a ride?"
He certainly remembered that he needed transportation to leave this godforsaken place, Kazdel. This well-equipped Lateran squad in front of him could not possibly have gotten here on foot.
Faced with Kane's request, Andorn, a fanatical follower, readily agreed, his eyes even carrying a hint of honor. He probably thought Kane had changed his mind and decided to go to Laterano. The other three exchanged helpless glances. Refusal? What a joke! Not to mention that the other party possessed the most core forbidden secrets of Laterano, just in terms of strength... if they angered him, the consequences would be unimaginable.
Kane thus "smoothly" took the co-pilot's seat in the Lateran field vehicle. This position was precisely under the direct line of sight of everyone in the vehicle—any unusual movement would provoke a desperate counterattack from the entire squad.
This place is under everyone's surveillance. If he makes any unusual moves, the Lateran squad will have no choice but to fight to the death.
"Ah—that feels much better. Thank you all for your generosity." Kane stretched comfortably, as if he had just hitched a ride.
"If I am fortunate enough to meet His Holiness the Pope in the future, I will certainly put in a good word for you all and help you get promoted and receive a raise."
Hearing Kane's words, Andorn nodded excitedly. He had no interest in fame or wealth, but he agreed with Kane's decision to go to Laterano.
"Hehe, that's really...thank you for your help." Mostima said with a gentle smile, quickly taking over the negotiation task.
“By the way, as temporary travel companions, and… in a sense, fellow countrymen, we haven’t formally asked your name yet?” Led by her, the other members of the team also gave brief self-introductions. Thanks to the backing of the Lateran authorities, they didn’t need to use aliases like the security company.
“My name…” Kane’s gaze swept across the desolate scenery outside the car window, and he casually threw out a name.
“You may call me Azazel.” The name of the first fallen angel is nothing more than a meaningless syllable on this land of Terra.
Ama9 is his true self, Kane Mordred is the name he uses to walk in civilized society, and "Cain"... that name carries too much blood and hatred, and it's best to let it remain dormant until he possesses absolute power.
So he casually fabricated a third identity—the appearance remained unchanged, but he believed the chances of these four people ever touching upon "Cain's" deeds were extremely slim. Even if that day ever came... Kane probably wouldn't care then.
“Yes, Mr. Azazel, I hope our journey from here on out goes smoothly.” Mostima readily agreed.
The day's events had consumed too much time, and night fell quickly. Unable to leave Kazdel's territory that day, the squad had no choice but to find a relatively sheltered spot in the wasteland to set up camp.
Two tents were quickly set up. To guard against a possible backstab from Kane or other uninvited guests in the wilderness, the team decided to take turns keeping watch in pairs.
Andorn and Remian are in one group; Mostima and Fiameta are in the other group.
Kane, on the other hand, requested to sleep alone in the rear cabin of the lander to avoid the Sarkaz constantly being on guard against him.
Chapter 49 The Trouble Caused by the Staff
Night fell heavily over the wilderness. Only the campfire in the center of the camp stubbornly burned, crackling occasionally and casting flickering light and shadows on the surrounding darkness, like a conspicuous live target.
Lighting a campfire in the wilderness of Kazdel was tantamount to announcing their location to everyone. But the Sarkaz had no choice—the inextinguishable "sunlight" above their heads and the wings of light on their backs were equally dazzling in the night. For the Sarkaz, covert operations at night were a luxury, so they simply gave up and went for broke.
Andorn and Remian stood guard, their sharp eyes scanning the areas they were responsible for. Because the Sarkaz needed to use firearms, their eyesight was exceptional; they could see clearly even in the faintest light.
"Andorn, I've heard about the dream you pursue. Do you really believe that hatred can be eliminated if everyone can empathize?" Remian asked Andorn casually. As the most perceptive observer in the squad, Remian seemed to have an innate ability to see through people's hearts. No one's appearance, behavior, or subtle changes in expression could escape her all-seeing eyes.
It's an almost instinctive...bad habit. From a young age, she would stare at herself in the bathroom mirror for thirty minutes after showering, constructing a detailed "self-model" in her mind and using it to deduce everything in her life.
This endowed her with an understanding of social structures and interpersonal relationships far beyond that of ordinary people. Even Laterano, with its empathy, was by no means a true paradise—otherwise, why would the notary office's arrest warrant still be there? Much of the hatred on Terra was already ingrained in its blood and marrow. In such a place, empathy would only become a more efficient amplifier of hatred in war, rather than a bridge to understanding.
Andorn remained silent, offering no verbal response. But an unwavering, almost obsessive conviction was clearly conveyed to Remian through empathy—even with slim hope, he remained steadfast in his belief.
Having said that, Remienne said no more. She understood that once back in Laterano, this martyr seeking redemption would likely have to part ways with them.
The night is so peaceful, but danger often lurks in the darkness.
The owner of that underground ruin was once a revered prophet of the Sarkaz royal court. Although he ultimately succumbed to madness at the whispers of the Time Beast, the power of the "Time Beast" fragment he held in his hands was never forgotten by the royal court. Now, the aura of the lock and key has reappeared, the Time Beast's remains reacted immediately, and the royal court's pursuit has arrived.
In the shadows of the wilderness, a squad of Sarkaz royal soldiers tracked them down like ghosts. Their eyes were fixed on the campfire, which was blindingly bright in the night, and the two moving "sunlight lamps" beside it.
“It was the Sarkaz…they took the shards.” The lead warrior’s voice was low and filled with deep hatred.
"That's the royal legacy, the power of the Sarkaz! Take it back!" Several soldiers' eyes burned with hatred for the Sarkaz. Reclaiming the staff was the objective, but to personally tear apart a few of Laterano's "angels"? That would be an extra bonus!
The soldiers silently dispersed, forming a deadly encirclement, their sharp blades reflecting the dim light of the campfire in the darkness, slowly closing inward.
However, just as the encirclement was about to close in!
Remian's eyes, sharp enough to be seen through a sniper scope, precisely caught the fleeting, unnatural silhouette in the shadows! No verbal warning was needed; a sense of crisis was transmitted to Andorn's mind through empathy!
boom--! ! !
Andorn suddenly raised his gun and fired into the dark night sky! The piercing gunshot tore through the silence, instantly waking everyone else in the camp.
“Enemy attack—!!!”
Mostima and Fiameta quickly regained their senses, grabbed the weapons at hand, and immediately joined the battle.
Kane, inside the lander cabin, also opened his eyes at the same time.
However, thanks to his absence from the camp, he was not included in the Sarkaz's first wave of attacks. A barrage of magical attacks and steel crossbow bolts rained down on the four conspicuous Sarkaz figures. The four experienced individuals reacted instantly, rolling and leaping to narrowly avoid the fatal attacks.
Because Kane had shown himself, the Sarkaz soldiers stationed on the perimeter immediately spotted him—a lone figure! Wasn't this the perfect opening?
They charged in like a whirlwind, their blades flashing as fiercely as their eyes.
However, when they rushed up to Kane, they were shocked to find that this guy with the halo actually had Sarkaz horns just like them! His face, illuminated by the campfire, was just as cold and fierce as theirs!
clang!
The sharp royal sword slashed at the "Chimera's" arm, but instead of the expected severed limb and bloodshed, the wrist holding the sword was jolted and ached.
Upon closer inspection, the blade did not damage the opponent's flesh at all; it was blocked when it struck a layer of silvery-white substance.
Kane didn't waste any words. He flicked his arm to deflect the opponent's blade, then threw a powerful punch that sent the opponent flying several meters away, as if he had been directly hit by a speeding land vehicle.
You've messed with the wrong person!
Kane stood on the land vehicle, and an invisible force instantly choked the Sarkaz elites who were attacking him! Even though these fearless warriors were bound by Originium Arts, they still struggled desperately, trying to trade their lives for injuries!
But this was destined to be impossible. As chilling, twisting sounds emanated from their bodies, blood gushed from all their helmets, and their once strong and powerful bodies collapsed to the ground like rotten mud.
Kane easily resolved the situation, but what he didn't notice was that because of his heightened emotions, his halo of light changed, expanding and becoming more embellished; the light wings behind him also burst forth violently, beautiful, sacred, and full of danger.
Infected by his empathy, Andorn's squad, which had always maintained a high level of tactical discipline, also went "crazy." Andorn directly blocked Sarkaz's slash with the bayonet on his pistol, and then charged into the enemy's arms, firing several shots that shattered the enemy's heart and lungs.
The gushing blood stained his robe, but because it was black, it was not noticeable.
Mostima's wings unfurled just like Kane's, and she pushed her limits—the assault rifle in her hand also entered overload mode.
Da da da da da—! ! !