Bro, I'm not an Undead!



When the Emissary finished telling this rendition of the tale, he garnered the greatest reaction yet.

What he had just told, was a hard to pill to swallow, especially to individuals who thought they knew far more than the average person.

It was sort of humbling, yet also completely unbelievable.

Most wanted to reject it, but somehow, they found themselves wrestling against the notion that... maybe this was true.

It conflicted against what they knew, but it filled in several gaps they did not have answers to.

Replicus was stunned the most out of everyone here.

Through his separate journey from Skullius, he had found that history, as far as texts and word of mouth went, didn't have a definitive conclusion to Fulgardt's story. It was almost as though someone had written out an abrupt end to a story that was at its climax each time he inferred how exactly Fulgardt had died if he had grown stronger after losing everything.

Now, he knew.

And he understood why everyone seemed so oblivious.

The Ashing of Time.

Several things instantly began to make sense to him now, especially with how he received this story, unlike the others – everyone with the exception of the Bishop was visibly shaken.

The Head Faction leader leaned in from her seat, and laid her chin on a net of her locked fingers.

"This certainly differs from what I know the Ashing of Time to be..." she said while staring at the faceless Emissary.

The individual was amused.

"Of course it does," it said.

The man with the jewel around his neck finally spoke, adding on.

"I was under the impression that the Ashing of Time was a phenomenon that occurred when the Yormuness collided with Aigas, causing the natural mana quality around us to dim, and distorting time itself. I'd heard it's why we have weaker warriors, and are less developed despite living through tens of millennia. But from this view..."

The low groans and grunts that permeated through the air, confirmed the fact that most of the other Faction leaders knew this version of the story too.

"A mere half-truth. Even less than that," the Emissary said as he pressed his palms on his knees in the cross-legged position he sat in. "The reason living beings outside Edagon even have knowledge of this is because of the Heralds. They intervened in order to make sense of several things for humans and Sif alike, altering histories that you don't know and shuffling memories of what you do know.

"As such, you celebrate a happy ending to the Second Grand War and Fulgardt's fall, and you also remain oblivious to the fact that your races haven't actually lived through 80 millennia since then. Most of them were just a blur that passed in a blink. Thankfully, the brain is the greatest deceiver of all. It is very proficient at fabricating lineages, families, victories and love that never existed."

There was silence for a stretch of time.

Could this really be true? That was a dark, dark story. Twisted even.

It was a terrible blow too.

To say that much of history was fake...

Did this mean some events didn't happen as far back as people thought.

Just how long had it been since the Second Grand War then?

When minds reached this particular point, some things just didn't make sense.

Weren't there beings that were twenty to forty millennia old?

What came to mind for most of the experts here were the beasts that usually guarded olden relics that stored legacies.

How did this story fit in with them?

The Emissary piled on.

"You'll find that the Purity has always been ahead on this as well. Because several vessels chosen from among the Purity's champions existed during the time, and were not affected by the Ashing of Time like the Heralds, the Purity has known for a long time the truth about history."

"Because of this, they monopolise information they know the wider public that submits to the Deities do not know. Like the existence of the Yormuness, for instance. Why tell believers that there is no distinction after death for the righteous and the fool? They would obviously fabricate lies about reward and punishment."

...!

This particular detail smote Replicus hard.

What was common knowledge to everyone around him wasn't so clear for him. He had been wondering what would become of a person who died for a long time.

The last time he heard anything remotely close to substantial was when he talked to the Stray Knight Bek Dworth back in Harifrast. According to the Knight, who was also a Spirit Warden, there was a place for those who abided by the Deities and those who didn't, but he didn't seem to believe it myself.

He was detached from his own words.

(A/N: Refer to Ch.371).

This was one of the factors around which Skullius had chosen to spare Sila. If he could combine their souls, then even if he died, his soul would go wherever the Deities banished unworthy souls. That was far better than what Somanda had planned.

Yet...

'The Yormuness, huh? And Spirits? Like Bassbion?' Replicus thought to the guardians of the Temple of Unlusted Tears.

Darn, there was so much to unpack.

The bit about Rules.

The bit about an actual dragon.

The bit about... pretty much everything else!

The velvet clothed woman spoke again.

"You said Heralds can pass on their power right? I don't know how long dragons live, but—"

"Yes," the faceless entity swiftly cut her off. "The Herald the masked man is after, is a dragon. And no. Jiggorrhax and his mate were the last dragons to exist on Edagon during that age. Way before the First Grand Wars... that was the prime of dragons' existence. Jiggorrhax and his mate's offspring is all that's left. And once again, no. I fear that no Herald alive right now, can handle the masked man alone. While a Herald as a dragon is more than a hundred times stronger than any other... that's still a no."

Amid the many thoughts, a truly sombre mood crawled its way around the Coliseum. Hints of doubt were still swirling persistently, especially with this added information.

What monstrosity was this masked man?

How had he become so strong?

No one among the Faction leaders assumed they could take on a dragon, even if it wasn't blessed with the might of the Deities.

Silence pervaded for the umpteenth time, but the Penetrator broke it minutes later.

"I see..." he said, causing several faces to turn to him. He then pointed at the Emissary. "So, if I'm to make a guess, one of the Immortals or whatever... is a Herald, right?"

...!

Shock sprang about.

It wasn't that this was a severely shocking reveal.

It was just that most of the Faction leaders had been so busy digesting this story after allowing themselves to believe bits of it, that they didn't even think of this.

The Immortals being a myth barely held if their mysterious nature was so because among them, there was a Herald!

It had to be.

Otherwise, it wouldn't make sense why the Immortals – or whoever sent the Emissary – knew all this. Of course, this whole thing could also be a lie, but Replicus didn't think so.

The Emissary stared at Replicus and a chuckle scurried from its figure.

"Let's talk about the assignment, shall we?" it said, brushing off Replicus' question. "Whether you choose to believe me or not about several things, is up to you, but ALL OF YOU are going to follow after the enemy."

Several grunts of dissatisfaction rang out.

The arrogance!

Some even asked the faceless Emissary what would happen if they refused, but most turned to the woman in velvet. Regardless of how they felt, she had the final say on their actions.

She had the highest authority after all.

The woman seemed to ponder for a while.

Replicus wondered what her decision would be.

He didn't forget that the faceless Emissary had said something about destroying the Severed Union and rebuilding it again to prove a point. He was sure she remembered that too.

That hadn't sounded like a weightless declaration.

Soon, the Head Faction leader spoke.

"The Herald's breath – according to you – is what caused the way to Edagon to become unstable, right? I recall you saying something about transport. I assume you're providing ships for us?"

It didn't take a genius to figure out what the woman in velvet had decided.

A lot of the Faction leaders weren't happy with this.

Just like that?

"Of course," the faceless entity confirmed.

The woman in velvet nodded before standing up. The cloth around her seemed to adjust itself according to her posture.

She faced down the faceless entity, and the air around her shifted from the cool calm to become as frightful as a thunderstorm unseen by the eye.

"Interesting. It truly is all interesting. However, Mr. Emissary, for me to send out every pillar of this organisation – which you seem to think you can twirl around your finger – there has to be a fitting reward. A prize enough for me to entertain even the possibility of the collapse of even a single Faction on this assignment. Even if this is the end of the world, NONE OF US are honourable or noble enough to work for free."

The Emissary seemed stunned for a moment, and then it gave a laugh.

"Of course there's a prize, but only one of it exists," it said. "Given what and who you all are, this might turn into a race."

The Head Faction leader scoffed and a cold smile appeared on her lips.

"We wouldn't have it any other way."