VOLUME XIX

ORIGIN WAR

CHAPTER 451

NINE YEARS (I)

A distinctly long valley cut between two mountain chains, decorated with gorged gashes of molten lava flowing, burning away any trace of life. Both mountain chains repeatedly billowed black soot and gray ash into the sky, volcanic maws spitting out burning rocks that came upon the earth down below like rain. Throughout the valley itself, hundreds of thousands of tents, brick-built barracks, independent encampments, and a myriad of strange-looking stoneworks resembling a dwelling, sprung out regardless of their surroundings.

The mud-laden pathways cutting through and in-between the dwellings bore a paradoxical nature, being perpetually wet yet doused in hot air and winds carried over from the surrounding mountaintops. Though it did rain here, frequently at that, the clean droplets, on their way down, were corrupted by thick ash and soot, winding up dried compounds of filth by the time they hit the earth. Yet, wet it remained all the same.

A crusade of tall beasts erect on two legs and draped in thick, brown fur stomped through the narrow cuttings, their bodies clad in thin, leather armor, shins angled and exposed like hind legs of the wolves. There were over forty of them altogether, their walk causing faint thump even within the muddied pathway.

Behind them, similarly numbered, was a group of wholly naked women, their necks bound with iron rings strapped to chains lingering in the dirt. They had their heads hung low, arms modestly trying to cover the private parts meekly, shaking in the whizzing cold. They were led into a circular opening propped by singular stonework, a four-story building looming over its surroundings, barren of windows and decorations.

Upfront, four guards clad in full plate approached and inspected the women briefly before handing the beastmen a clinking satchel and sending them their marry way.

“Pull them in,” one of the guards called to the nearby serfs standing still. “Basement, Lord Vorks chambers.”

“Yes, Sire!” the serfs cried lowly before speeding over, taking the chains and guiding the women too weak to weep inside.

The two guards watched with seemingly detached, cold expressions, their eyes consciously peering past the bare skins and into the black-fogged horizon. They remained standing so long after the women vanished, and long past the hymn of screams and voices that would occasionally trickle out the arched gateway upfront that they were guarding, and long into the night when the same, naked women were sent out piled on crumpling wagons; neither dead nor alive, someplace in-between, inside a limbo where their own selves have been stripped of all energy and meaning.

The two men knew better than to question and discuss what transpired within the stoned, cold walls of the ‘Hub’, as such actions would merit more than just a beheading.

They were replaced just before the crack of the following dawn by two other souls they didn't know, rapidly vanishing from the spot and trailing through the diverse architecture of the Hallowed Valley to find their way over to the Guard Barracks – not a singular building, but rather a self-contained encampment cornered in the north-west of the valley where a variety of buildings, be it straw, wood, or stone-built, rested on the faint, mountainous slope. Handing the weapons and the armor to the scribe in the Armory, they hardly entertained a thought of a meal before rushing to gray stonework and onto the first floor, where their room was.

Like all other rooms, it was narrow, cold and empty. The sole source of light was a barely-functioning candle propped above a frame where a mirror once stood, opposite of a bunk-bed that was a few feet short of covering the entire room in all directions.

They closed the doors carefully and sat in silence for a distinct while, as though ensuring the silence was true. Both had similar appearances, though distinct lack of blood relation was evident in their jaws, eyes, and shoulders; one of the guards was broad and tall, black-eyed like a raven, while the other was on the lean end of things, blue-eyed. Both sported short, brown hair and clearly broken noses that failed to heal properly, leaning to one side a bit too much.

“—should… should we accept it?” the blue-eyed man was the first to crack, mumbling tepidly into the somber silence.

“… I don’t know,” the black-eyed man sighed heavily, shaking his head. “What if we get caught? We won’t have a second to even beg before being beheaded!”

“… I… I wouldn’t mind…”

“Shane!”

“Think about it, Dan!!” the blue-eyed man exclaimed softly, turning toward his shocked companion. “What… what are we even doing here?! For five years… for five years… I haven’t heard laughter, Dan. Laughter. For five years.”

“…”

“If I had known what I’d walk into, damn the five shills, I’d have never come. I… I want to leave, Dan. I really, really want to leave this place…”

“… you think I don’t?” the black-eyed man said, sighing once more. “This ain’t right. None of this is right. I heard rumors that Colonel Yonick brought up the inhumane treatment a week ago, and is now slaving in the mines, disallowed death. Nobody is safe… nobody.”

"—that's why I say we risk it," Shane said, seemingly hardening and steeling his heart at that very moment. "The worst outcome? We die. So be it, we die. Still a fate kinder than most here. However, if we make it… we’ll be free of this, Dan. Free of this torture…”

“… but… but what if the Empyrion is the same?” Daniel asked with a faint trace of worry. “All we’ve heard are the rumors, that it’s a better place. What if it’s not?”

“—what if it is?” Shane asked back. “Can it even get any worse than this? Not unless they are spiking newborn babes and using them as hall ornaments, Dan.”

“… I know,” Daniel said, gritting his teeth. "I heard they constructed the Purifying Pit at last. All dissidents are bathed in it but kept alive. This… all of this… is insane…"

“… tomorrow, then. Tomorrow we act.” Shane said firmly. “Burn it.”

“Burn it?”

“Burn it.”

Daniel took out a heavily crumpled talisman from the inside pocket of his overcoat, carefully holding it within his shaky arms. He couldn’t recognize the design or the pattern despite a trace of knowledge when it came to talismans he inherited from his father; either it was foreign or far too complex, but he hardly cared. Gripping it tightly for a moment, he took a deep breath and burned it with a whiff of Qi.

The talisman burned without exuding even an iota of light, or a trace of Qi, as though absolutely nothing happened. Their worried expressions mellowed, having feared the burning of the talisman would have caused a ruckus despite having been told otherwise. Now, at the very least, they wouldn’t be discovered before tomorrow.

Shane bid the tall man farewell and climbed on top of the bunkbed, ready to sleep, while Dan left sitting, his fingers interlocked, arms rested against his knees, deep in thought. He didn't know whether the two of them made the right choice; that uncertainty ate away at him, yet it was already too late. While he withstood their reality better than his friend, he was by no means impervious to it.

The two arrived here as hopeful recruits five years ago, happily trekking toward the promised land of the Firmament – Hallowed Valley. Beyond its borders, it is considered a Blessed Ground, a blending of cultures, traditions, and forces from all corners of the world who came together, under the same banner, to defeat the Mad Empyrion.

Neither suspected that, within a month of their stay, all their dreams and pictures of this place would come crashing down. There was nothing unifying about this place, there was nothing promising about it, nothing blessed. It was hell. No, perhaps, it was even worse than Hell. Ever-stiffed air that had to be consciously purified with Qi lest one failed to wake up one random morning, overbearing atmosphere where going out of line meant excuseless death, and terrible food were just a few things they could live with, albeit with some difficulty.

The day their illusion crashed beyond repair was when they were first stationed as guards in front of the ‘Hub’ – that same day, much like last night, random beastmen brought two dozen naked women in chains while their superintendent gave them a satchel and sent the women inside. They were told that would be their job from then on, and it remained so until today. Who were those women? Neither Shane nor he knew, and they hardly dared ask.

All they knew that they would see the same batch return every ten months, broken and listless. After the first time, the same batch would never produce even a sound, let alone a scream that could rip through the thick stone and find its way outside. Though he could imagine the reality behind it all, he refused. It was too ugly, too inhumane, too contradictory to what he believed this place to be.

Eight years ago, when the Empyrion was publicly established, this place was a rapid reply; perhaps, in its initial form, it truly was what it marketed itself as – a place where all those with anti-Empyrion sentiments could come together, forming the bastion that would protect the world from madness and chaos.

He glanced at the flickering flame of the candle, the crimson-coral shape swaying faintly left and right, barely strong enough to cast a faint light onto the crack frame beneath it. It was old and oriental, Daniel mused, reminiscent of the Skyhaven School of Art.

His thoughts trailed, heavy, back on his life before the Hallowed Valley; he was an ordinary Disciple of the Crypt, living a fairly simple and ordinary life. He had no grand aspirations, had no dreams of ascending the ladder and becoming a titular name of the world. He disregarded most of the news and rumors that came trickling through the circles and even disregarded the declaration of the Origin War. What did that matter for him? He had no reason to believe someone so low in standing would either be given the opportunity or has the ability to impact anything. It wasn't until four years later that he changed his mind; one of the short skirmishes left a gaping trace of irreverent death just outside the Crypt's grounds where, looking from the wall, he saw a pit filled with disemboweled corpses.

With the fire of his heart stoked, he looked for ways to help when he learned of the Hallowed Valley. Now, however, looking back on that day, he saw it through a different lens. He understood it from a different perspective. It was war, and in war, it hardly mattered how you treated your foes; here, he learned, that the rightful treatment itself wasn't a right, but a privilege given to a very few. He pondered, all the way until night, when Shane awoke, what the Empyrion was like. Whether it was more of the same, or truly as it was rumored to be – as close to a paradise as one could come upon Noterra.