Epilogue

  In the autumn of the 654th year of the Ainfast calendar, half a year had passed since the great war of the undead that had shaken the continent.

  It was like a plot from a knight's novel suddenly leaping into reality. Half a year ago, the Necromancers of the Diya Valley Necromancer Guild, the continent's most mysterious and dark organization, had used conspiracies to instigate a war between the Church of Light and Oufu. Sedros, the lord of Oufu City, and Pope Magnus were both killed by their schemes. Then, within The Radiant Citadel, they used the dark hilt of The Black Star from Diya Valley to summon the legendary Lich King.

  The Radiant Citadel was razed to the ground by countless undead. The great undead army gathered and marched towards Diya Valley, turning everything in its path into a land of death. The Lich King was going to pull up the sword body of The Black Star and rule the world with death. At this critical moment, the nations set aside their old barriers and hatred. The elite troops of the entire continent and countless brave warriors gathered together, intercepting the Lich King in The Wyvern Wastes before Diya Valley. After an unprecedented, great war, the Lich King and the Necromancers were all annihilated.

  No matter how melodious the bards' songs, no matter how epic their poems, they were insufficient to describe that war, because no one knew the truth of that battle anymore. Not a single person had survived that fight. All that was left for people were the tragic, heroic traces of the battle. The entire Wyvern Wastes and the ground for hundreds of miles around were all turned over. The accumulated remains of the undead, so numerous they covered the ground, were the path paved with the flesh and blood of tens of thousands of warriors who gave their lives in the great undead army to reach the Lich King.

  At the very center of the battle, where the strongest heroes of the continent should have fought their decisive battle with the Lich King, the ground had all become a lava field. An unknown power had even raised a volcano in the desert.

  Finally, the greatest and cruelest trace was that of victory. The Lich King was destroyed. After the dark artifact, The Black Star, shattered, the overflowing dark aura turned all those tragic, heroic traces into obsidian, forever preserved on that land. Along with the remaining troops who had not had time to retreat from this zone, they were also turned into obsidian statues under the aura.

  In the very center of where the dark aura emanated, there was one very special statue. The statue was of a woman, but she was not fighting, nor was she fleeing. She was praying with her hands raised to the heavens, a pious and resolute expression frozen on her face. Her posture seemed to be holding something, but people found nothing.

  As for Roland, the commander of the Ainfast Empire's Paladin Order, Lancelot of the Church of Light, and Gru, the God of War of Oufu—these well-deserved heroes—no trace of them was ever found. They had perished together with the Lich King in the final battle, not even leaving their bodies behind.

  According to some who remained at the Magic Academy, it seemed there should have been another important, unknown hero who participated in the battle. But who he was, and what he did in that battle, was something no one could know anymore.

  Finally, the joint search team of the elves and Ainfast found The Black Star at the peak of Diya Valley, on a dark altar. The dark artifact, without its hilt, stood there silently. According to the elves, this dark artifact was the condensation of the continent's dark aura and could not be completely destroyed.

  The new leader of the elves, Elder Luya, changed the elves' previous principle of reclusion. After negotiating with Ainfast, she announced the establishment of an elven kingdom centered on the Whispering Woods, and took the initiative to establish diplomatic relations with various nations, formally bringing the elven race onto the continent's map of power. After discussion, from now on, a joint force established by the various nations, along with the elves, would be stationed at The Shadowspire Peaks to strictly prevent anyone from using the dark artifact to cause trouble on the continent.

  After this battle, the elite troops of all nations were decimated. Their vitality was greatly damaged, and the continental landscape was completely disrupted and reorganized. This was especially true for the Western Continent, where the Church of Light, which had long secretly controlled the continental situation, was almost completely uprooted. Even The Radiant Citadel, known as the Holy City, had become a land of death. All Cardinals had perished. The new Pope, Adela, had just accepted the last wishes of the previous Pope, Magnus, and finished the preparations for the war of the undead. Then, at the very beginning of the war of the undead, she was discovered sitting in the tomb of the Magic Academy, dead before the grave of Bishop Ronis. And upon examination, the cause of death was actually old age. The various functions in the body of this new Pope, who was only in her thirties, were already like those of a hundred-year-old.

  Pope Adela did not even leave a last will. The Cardinals, bishops, and high-ranking clergy had all perished in this turmoil. The Church of Light existed in name only. The nations of the Western Continent, having lost the constraint that had loomed over them, once again became true "nations" in every sense of the word. Among them, Erathia was the most powerful. Queen Katherine's abilities and means were beyond compare. And General Orrin, the commander of the kingdom's knights, had not participated in this war of the undead due to a recurrence of an old illness, instead becoming the only remaining great master and famous general of the current era. Although it was unlikely there would be any major wars for the time being, it was only a matter of time.

  Oufu, located in the Barbarian Highlands, had suffered devastating losses. Unlike other nations, the ones they sent to resist the undead were not elite troops, but almost all of their adult male beastmen. Although this had earned them the genuine respect of the humans, the loss of national strength was devastating for Oufu, which already had a sparse population. Fortunately, Oufu formed an alliance with the elves and the similarly devastated Tower of Fangs. The former lord, Sedros, had built Oufu well enough, and its various systems were sufficiently sound. The new lord, Master Bolgan, had always been his assistant and was also exceptionally brilliant and capable. As long as they waited for the young beastmen in the city to grow up, Oufu's prosperity was not beyond reach.

  The Ainfast Empire's losses were slightly better, but only slightly. The empire's core military force, the Paladin Order, along with its commander, the Sword Saint Roland, had all fallen in battle. Without an absolute power to maintain that weak and incompetent young emperor, only some old ministers were left to take up the burden. And some small religious nations to the south took the opportunity to send troops, forcing the empire to abandon some of its southern defenses and land.

  Strangely, the empire's female Chancellor, the universally recognized most capable Duchess Mrak, had also mysteriously disappeared in this war. Otherwise, the empire's current situation would have been much better.

  There was a rumor that during the day of the war of the undead, an apprentice at the Magic Academy had seen a strange female swordswoman mixed in with the swordsmen of the Tenth Paladin Order, and that it was apparently Duchess Mrak. But this claim seemed somewhat unbelievable. After all, why would a Chancellor of a nation have any reason to mix into a ranks to go to a battle where death was certain.

  And so, the history of the continent made a thick, curving stroke here, turning towards a brand new direction. The past—whether it was the secret conspiracies or the magnificent, surging battles, and the love, hate, and grudges hidden within—no matter how tragic, how tortuous, or how inseparable, all became the dust of the past, leaving only records in books and scrolls, and poems in the mouths of bards.

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  Floating Ice Harbor, the easternmost port of Ainfast, and the easternmost port on the continent.

  Half a year was not a long time, but here, almost no trace of that turmoil could be seen. That war was very distant to the lives of common people. Hundreds of various kinds of ships were docked in the harbor. Ant-like dockworkers were busy moving goods on and off the ships. Pedestrians and carriages flowed endlessly through the streets. The clamor of sailors in the taverns seemed as if it would never stop. This was the eastern outlet of the Donor River. Since the founding of Oufu, it had become the largest and most prosperous trading port in the east.

  Among the ships docked in the harbor, a few large, unusual sailing ships could be seen. Whether it was their unusually large size or their construction style, they were different from any country or region on the continent. On their huge sails were strange words and patterns. They were merchant ships from the distant Eastern Continent, and this was one of their most frequent ports of call.

  The sailors boarding and disembarking were yellow-skinned Easterners, using obscure and difficult-to-understand writing and language. They all had the uncommon black hair and black eyes of the continent. It was said that the people of the Eastern Continent all had this single hair and eye color. Only these Easterners had the most advanced shipbuilding techniques, able to build such huge vessels that could cross the great ocean to come here, selling precious spices, porcelain, and silk, and exchanging them for chests of gold and gems.

  Today, another Eastern caravan, fully loaded, was about to set off. The central ship, painted with a huge square character, was the lead navigator's vessel. The sailors on board were busy preparing, occasionally casting curious glances at the guest standing at the bow.

  This kind of guest was actually not very rare. Occasionally on the continent, there would be explorers and travelers interested in the legendary, distant Eastern Continent, and they would board their ships to head east. This was not the first time they had carried such a guest, but this time's guest seemed very strange. He did not have the curiosity and talkativeness of previous adventurers. He hardly spoke to anyone. After boarding, he just stood quietly at the bow, gazing into the distance. And that wasn't the only strange thing about him.

  The ship finally weighed anchor. Its huge hull billowed with sails, and it slowly sailed away from the port under the west wind, bidding farewell to the continent. The guest finally turned his head, took a deep look at the land that was slowly receding, his face a mask of indifference. Not the wooden, vacant indifference of a lost person, but an indifference born of having experienced so much, where so much had settled within him, a complexity so profound that it resulted in no expression at all.

  He seemed to be a young man in his twenties. "Seemed," because it couldn't be confirmed. His face was densely covered with countless scars, and he only had one hand; his left was gone from the shoulder down.

  "First time at sea?" the captain walked over and asked with a smile.

  The captain was a white-haired old man, the leader of this caravan. Although he looked to be in his sixties or seventies and was of short stature, he was vigorous and took large strides when he walked. A kind, but not fawning, smile was always on his bronze face. He spoke fluent continental common language. He held two cups in his hand and offered one to the young guest.

  "Yes. Thank you." The guest nodded and took the cup, taking a sip. His hand was also covered with that web-like pattern of cracks. On closer inspection, one could see that all of his exposed skin was covered with them. These scars did not seem to have been caused by weapons, but rather like the cracks on a piece of porcelain or stone. These scars all over his body made him look like a clay doll that had been shattered to pieces and then pieced back together, looking quite terrifying.

  "Have you had tea before?" the old captain was a little surprised. The guest's expression was calm, not like someone tasting this beverage for the first time.

  "Mm." The guest nodded. His expression was not cold, but he seemed too lazy to say even one more word.

  "Oh, I couldn't tell." The old captain raised an eyebrow, smiling as he sized up the young traveler. "This stuff isn't cheap on your continent. But I can tell you're not a noble or a rich man."

  A tower-like, burly man walked over, casting a wary glance at the young traveler, then lowering his head to say a few words to the old captain. This burly man's hair was already graying, and he had quite a few wrinkles on his face, but he was very respectful to the old captain.

  After hearing the burly man's words, the old captain just smiled slightly, waved his hand lightly, and said a few words. The burly man glanced at the traveler again, then turned and left.

  "My second son. A bit reckless. My apologies." The old captain turned to the traveler with a smile.

  "Still think I'm a fugitive on the run?" the young traveler asked with a smile. He couldn't understand the Eastern words, but he could understand the burly man's meaning. This was the reason many people on the ship had initially tried to stop him from boarding. If he hadn't been empty-handed and a cripple, and if he hadn't had the old captain's approval, he really wouldn't have been able to get on.

  "You're not." The old captain shook his head, then said again. "Even if you were, you're a good man."

  "Oh?"

  "Your eyes are very clear." The old captain looked directly at the traveler's eyes, smiling, and took a sip of his tea. "We have an old saying in the East. You can tell what kind of person someone is by looking them in the eye when they speak. I've been looking at people for seventy years, and I can tell you're a good man, a kind man."

  "An interesting old saying. Thank you."

  "This kid, nearing the age of knowing his destiny, still hasn't learned to judge people." The old captain looked at his son's back and gave a wry smile.

  "The age of knowing one's destiny?" The traveler didn't understand.

  "It means fifty years old. We have a saying in the East. When you live to be fifty, you should understand the will of heaven. The will of heaven, in your words... it should be 'fate,' I suppose."

  "Fate?" The traveler was stunned for a moment. The word made his gaze drift. "You believe in fate too?"

  "Mm. Explaining this word with the prophetic 'destined to happen' seems a bit biased. Its original meaning is 'irresistible.' The irresistible helplessness that happens to oneself." The old captain, looking at his eyes, did not answer, but just said with a smile, "I can tell. You believe in it, or at least you have felt it. Only a person who is not frivolous would be troubled by this, and that can only be because they have felt something irresistible."

  The traveler did not answer. He was lost in the bewilderment brought by this word.

  Fate. He had truly touched it, so close, so clear, so irresistible. But why did it end like that in the end? He was actually able to survive. He, the one who should have survived the least, actually survived...

  Facing the surging black aura, that figure, though broken, was still so great, so powerful, so resolute. He charged forward, leaped up, and kicked the sword body, which was spraying the thickest blackness from the ground, flying away.

  The sword body, carrying endless black aura, flew very, very far. When it flew into The Shadowspire Peaks, it suddenly turned and flew towards the faintly visible highest peak. Then, that unique fluctuation came to a stop. But that figure had already begun to disappear after kicking that kick. He only had time to look back at him, say one sentence: "This is the last thing I can do."

  What he could do was enough to be called great, but it seemed to be of no use. The aura spraying from the shattered hilt was still something he could not escape or resist. He could only look up at the woman holding him and say weakly, "I'm sorry..."

  The woman shook her head. Though her face was covered in tears, her eyes held a startling strength. She raised her hands to the heavens. A white flame flowed around her body. A sorrowful but firm voice began to call out: "Oh merciful Lord, may you hear this most pious voice. I am willing to prove it with my life. Please bestow your compassion..."

  A beam of white light cut through the endless black and fell upon him, forming a white shield that enveloped him. The black aura swept over, turning the praying woman into an eternal statue, frozen in that moment, but it could not penetrate that circle of white.

  He could do nothing but feel the warm body that was embracing him turn into cold, hard stone. Tears gushed out. In this short moment, he had already shed all the tears he would shed in this life.

  What descended from the horizon was not a miracle. His eyes could see that it was the beliefs of countless most pious believers, accumulated between this endless heaven and earth, resonating with that most sincere prayer and the white magic flame of a burning life, gathering and drawing it down.

  It is not gods who save people. It has never been gods. Only people can save people.

  Was this also fate? Why did he let himself live? Why did so many people have to die? Why did everyone die for him, yet he, in the end, survived, surviving the deaths of so many people?

  "As heaven maintains vigor through movement, a gentleman should constantly strive for self-perfection."

  "Hm?" The startled traveler looked at the old captain. Although he couldn't understand the words, he knew this sentence was said for him.

  The old captain looked at the traveler and smiled. In his kind eyes was a tolerance as deep as the sea, the unique light of wisdom of an old man who had experienced the vicissitudes of life. "The paths of heaven and earth do not change for mankind. What has happened can never be undone. The only thing one can do is to accept and face it with calm courage. Not to let these past events become shackles and burdens, but to become the strength to move forward, the strength to live better, to live more bravely."

  The traveler was stunned. After a moment, he let out a long breath. The light in his eyes became much clearer and gentler. He nodded, "What a remarkable saying."

  The old captain patted the traveler's shoulder, said nothing more, and needed to say nothing more.

  The young traveler nodded and said no more. He straightened his chest, took a deep breath of the faintly salty sea breeze, and looked ahead at the endless ocean.

  The sunlight sprinkled on the sea's surface. The surging waves broke the light into countless dazzling whitecaps, then took them all into their embrace, revealing an endless blue that stretched to the distant horizon, merging with the sky.

  The End.