Pillar of Yita

In a haze, Fang Hong felt a pair of hands groping his face. Struggling to open his eyelids, he felt the dim light piercing through his lashes, causing his eyes to flicker, and tears welled up uncontrollably.

In the foggy vision, a bright gaze first became clear; it was Miss Ship’s Officer’s autumn-like eyes, watching him as if they could speak—calm, clear, and reserved.

The gaze of Hilveld looked at the Captain’s scabbed face with a hint of worry. She gently stroked it, watching his eyes slightly open a slit, and her own eyes overflowed with a surprising brightness.

She lowered her head, gently brushing against his cracked lips.

Fang Hong murmured hazily, unsure if it was because of blushing or the dizzy burning pain.

”The Sand Thief has been repelled,” Hilveld said softly, her voice slightly raspy.

”So, did we win?” Fang Hong asked, still somewhat dazed and confused.

”Not entirely.”

His vision gradually cleared. Beyond Hilveld’s shoulder, the sky behind had become completely bright. In the distance was a tower, only half of its structure remained, in ruins, a hollow skeleton letting through the light.

It seemed they were still inside the Inner City.

Thick clouds were still suspended on the horizon, low and heavy, occasionally swirling with lightning. A single lightning bolt split the vastness, crimson and dazzling, piercing the sky and earth, as if a glaring blood flowed down from the cloud layer.

Then, more lightning fell, near and far.

Watching these lightning bolts, Fang Hong seemed to remember something, a dizziness surged, and Mahazar’s final scene flashed back.

A crimson lightning hung down from the clouds, smiting the King of the Sand Thief into ashes; amidst the scattered dust, a crimson mark seemed to envelop the oblivious soul, ascending into the sky.

A splitting headache overwhelmed him, and he groaned again.

Miss Ship’s Officer gently placed her cool hand on his forehead. Feeling her tenderness, Fang Hong felt his headache ease somewhat.

”What exactly happened?” he asked hoarsely, the sensation from his right shoulder felt empty, reminding him of the prior wound.

”The Sand Thieves died, but you could say they didn’t die,” Hilveld gently pressed on his forehead. ”Those red lightning bolts turned them into immortal monsters, now Quistack is infested with them.”

”Monsters?”

Fang Hong watched the wispy red mist drifting towards the sky from afar, rising from every corner of the battlefield, from each Sand Thief’s corpse, ascending skyward, forming smoke pillars.

Blood-colored pillars soared upwards, under the sagging clouds, like tentacles, gripping the city.

Between the smoke columns, black dots seemed to be fluttering.

Suddenly, he understood what the previous scene meant.

It was a Soul Contract.

In tales of darkness, there are often descriptions of greedy, ambitious people signing contracts with evil beings, offering their souls in exchange for what they deem valuable on the other end of the scales—usually strength, wealth, and infinite power.

Such things are indeed real in Eteliria, the dark saints’ means to deceive mortals are just like this, but for those whose desires are insatiable, it’s quite effective.

Evidently, the Sand Thieves were such people. To them, souls and life might be worth less than a bag of gemstones, a revelry in slaughter, a woman. They belittle others’ lives, naturally including their own.

The Blind Followers’ initial rites were not intended for the city’s residents, but for the deceived Sand Thief. They had unknowingly signed contracts with Dika.

And now, it was harvest time.

”Where’s Ye Hua?”

”He’s outside, dealing with those monsters, but it’s not very meaningful, just preventing them from coming in to hurt you.”

”And the others?”

”They’re all at Kashan Palace.”

Clearly, as Hilveld said, the combat with the Sand Thief had ended, and everyone had gathered at Kashan Palace. Yet, for him, the current situation remained somewhat unclear.

Fang Hong said softly, ”Let’s go too.”

Miss Ship’s Officer nodded lightly. ”Yes, the Princess’s people should be arriving soon.”

...

Walking through the Inner City’s streets revealed the devastation left by the previous combat. The towering buildings, now charred ruins and debris, with charred beams remaining, lingering warmth and wisps of white smoke, dark crimson glows beneath the ashes.

The fire could rekindle at any time, but now no one paid attention.

The knights dispatched by the Grand Princess created a simple stretcher. A flag wrapped around two poplar branches, allowing him to lie flat on it.

Hilveld on one side held the Pride of the Lonely King, following closely.

In theory, the lost right arm could be restored with advanced healing arts or a Prayer, Bishop Faris would likely be willing to act. Even if not, Fang Hong wasn’t overly worried; he still had a resurrection chance.

Soon after, he encountered those ’monsters.’

As they traversed the uneven ruins, suddenly a sharp cry emanated from the sky, a shadow seemed to block the sunlight. Fang Hong looked up and saw a giant beast maneuvering its wings between the ruins. Its physique was very robust, its bones tall and crimson like fire, a horn protruding from its head, a faintly glowing eye socket, and beneath it an open maw lined with rows of fangs, sharp as daggers.