Song of the End (End of Book 3)

Chapter 274 - Song of the End (End of Book 3)

Theodore Borir (A Few Days Ago):

" Do you even know who he is?" I asked.

The soldier looked confused.

" He's your lord! Apologies for the disrespect, Lord Nathan. I am Theodore Borir, the officer in charge of this ship's inspection. Forgive the lapse in decorum, my lord. We've been given direct orders to ensure your safety after… the incidents."

He ignored us, turning his gaze toward the underground river, taking in the chaotic scene of halted ships as guards conducted inspections.

"What happened?" Nathan Evenhart asked me.

"A terrorist attack, my lord. Two high-level mages engaged in a confrontation here. My orders are to escort you to safety." I replied.

He stared at the water, watching the floating wreckage. But what truly caught his attention was the state of the port—the sheer scale of destruction. When he finally saw the shattered remains, and more importantly, the fact that the surrounding water was frozen solid, his expression changed.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"It's been a few days," I answered.

Nathan Evenhart stepped onto the ship's railing, his gaze locked on the aftermath of the battle caused by Chloe Evenhart.

" Sir, I must insist—I need to escort you—," I insisted.

He looked at us for a moment before leaping into the water, dashing across its surface at incredible speed.

"My lord!" I called out, but he was already moving too fast, lightning sparking off his body as he raced toward the port.

A small smile crept onto my lips as I watched Nathan Evenhart head straight toward the underground city's harbor, eager to witness the devastation left behind by Chloe Evenhart and the assassin.

***

I walked through the ruined harbor, surveying the wreckage left behind from the battle. The heir, Nathan Evenhart, had already vanished, likely returning to his castle. I was searching for something specific amidst the chaos. Lowering myself, I pushed aside some stones until I finally found what I was looking for.

"Here it is…" I murmured, removing a large piece of rubble to reveal what lay beneath—frozen fingers. They belonged to the assassin who had faced Chloe Evenhart, severed during their fierce battle.

"Quinn fulfilled his purpose during the years he served Nikolaus Wolves," I remarked, gripping one of the hands and carefully sliding the ring off its cold finger. "But it's a shame things had to end like this…"

The voice in my mind answered, my lord's whisper ever sharp and ever present.

"Yes… fascinating how the unforeseen continues to appear," I replied in thought. "In the vision of the future, Katherine Evenhart's son should have died in childbirth along with her. That boy, Nathan, is an anomaly. But even when unforeseen events arise, the flow of the plan remains intact."

I twirled Quinn's ring between my fingers, examining it. A ring I had given to him and his sister through Nikolaus Wolves, believing it to be nothing more than a locator for the pair linked to his sister's.

"Quinn and Eliza never fully understood what they carried," I murmured, slipping the ring into my pocket. They thought it was merely a tracking device meant to locate the other half of the set, but to me, it was much more than that.

"The corrupted ring we gave Quinn served its purpose perfectly," I muttered as I strode slowly through the rubble. "It poisoned his mind little by little, inflaming his hatred and resentment until he was ready to bring chaos."

I paused, taking in the wreckage around me. "Still, unforeseen events happened. But in the end, chaos was sown."

"I never expected things to end like this. My plan was for his sister to be poisoned by the other ring and die… and for him to conclude that Nikolaus Wolves had orchestrated their deaths. By then, his mind would have been sufficiently corrupted to retaliate without thinking of the consequences. However, I never imagined that Nikolaus would try to use those two to assassinate a noble superior… or at least attempt to."

I kept walking, my mind racing through the events.

"Did his sister die because of the ring's curse? Or was it in battle? How and when did she die?" I murmured to myself. "It doesn't matter… unexpected things happen. My plan was always for Nikolaus to die. And after the mess he made, the kingdom won't have many options but to condemn him to death," I said with a cold smile. "Or will the Evenhart family take matters into their own hands?"

As I pondered, a grin formed on my lips. "The more chaos, the better."

The voice of one of my lords continued to echo in my mind—meticulous, calculated.

"We successfully removed key figures, provoking that war at the border years ago," I murmured, recalling past events. "After the conflict, our infiltrators took their positions without issue. But Nikolaus Wolves… he failed. He should never have kept provoking the Evenhart family. His methods attracted too much attention. He should have waited in silence until the great conflict began. He was a fool, and that's why I set Quinn up to kill him… but I never imagined such a turn of events would happen."

I nodded as I walked, the constant whispers of my lord flowing like an endless current, always guiding me in the right direction.

I held Quinn's ring in my palm, gazing into the two red eyes glowing within the stone. They were the eyes of one of my lords, watching me through the artifact.

"Yes, I know… I might have gone a little too far," I admitted, aware that I had crossed certain lines. "I just wanted to have a little fun. You already amuse yourselves elsewhere, even on the other continent. I thought it would be interesting to stir things up here."

My lord's voice grew firmer, correcting me.

"I merely wanted to move these defective pieces," I murmured, stepping over the rubble. "Nikolaus Wolves failed years ago. He proved himself pathetic and unworthy. Now, I return my focus to the real purpose of the grand day."

I tucked the corrupted ring into my pocket, feeling the weight of the decisions to come.

"The time is almost here… Soon, everything will follow its natural course, and my lords will once again witness the long-awaited end."

As I walked, I reflected on Nikolaus Wolves' fate. Would he be left to rot, unpunished? Or would the heir Evenhart and his family take justice into their own hands? It didn't matter in the end. Wolves was already living on borrowed time—he would be dead soon, one way or another.

Wandering through the ruins, I began humming the great song we had all waited so long to see fulfilled—a chant of chaos and destruction. The melody echoed in my mind like a shadow, waiting for the perfect moment to rise and consume the world.

Everything was aligning for the return.

"When the great day draws near,

Five heads will then appear.

The small ones will be amazed,

By the vengeful girl's fierce gaze,

The serpent's crafty, subtle play,

The devout man, and the young general's sway.

When they sense the looming dread,

We'll toy in the field of the dead.

When darkness finally claims its part,

The new Ragnarok will start."

I stopped walking and nodded at the words whispered to me.

"Everything must be perfect for the return of the Great Lord Loki."

Yu Xin (Song Dynasty):

We walked through the dark corridors of the Song crypt, a place where only the imperial family and the highest-ranking officials of the Dynasty were allowed entry. The walls emanated a palpable chill, a sinister presence that seemed to creep through the dimly lit shadows.

"Are you afraid?" Sidao asked, his relentless eyes locked onto me.

"Yes…" I admitted, trying to keep my composure. "This place gives me a strange feeling. I mean, I respect the memory of the ancient emperors, but it's the walls that give me chills."

He let out a cold laugh and continued walking with firm, resolute steps.

The young Empress was somewhere at the end of these corridors, in the midst of this suffocating, ominous atmosphere. Every time she finished her grueling training, she would come to the crypt to visit her mother's grave. The walls of the crypt were covered in macabre paintings, all hand-drawn, and the scattered torches along the corridor only intensified the sinister aura of the place. Each flame seemed to flicker under the weight of the images, making the environment even more unnerving.

I glanced at one of the paintings, feeling an even deeper chill run down my spine.

When I turned, Sidao was standing still, watching me with a piercing gaze.

"Macabre, isn't it?" he asked. "Do you know the origin of these paintings on the walls?"

I shook my head slightly.

"Of course, you don't," he chuckled softly, a polite smile on his face, though his eyes remained cold, as sharp as a serpent's. "These and other secrets are entrusted only to the next Emperor and the Chancellor beneath him." Then, he resumed walking.

I quickened my pace to keep up, not daring to ask anything else.

"Do you want to know who painted these walls?" he asked, his voice echoing eerily through the empty corridors.

"I don't have the authorization to know," I replied hesitantly.

He laughed again, this time lower, as if amused.

"You're the Chancellor's assistant. Don't worry," Sidao said, his voice carrying an enigmatic confidence. He continued forward, and I followed closely behind.

"A long time ago," he began narrating, his voice reverberating in the corridor, "there was a survivor from an ancient order. She was a Norn—a Weaver of Fate."

"A Weaver of Fate?" I repeated, surprised.

He nodded slowly.

"They are cursed women, gifted with the ability to dream of the future. Cursed by fate, slaves to it, destined to fulfill a purpose," he explained.

"One of these women arrived here as a fugitive from a distant land, beyond the Cursed Sea. She claimed to have escaped and eventually found refuge on this continent. The Song Emperor at the time took her in, and she provided him with counsel that helped him overcome his enemies. Her wisdom was so great that, over time, she was promoted to Chancellor."

He paused briefly, allowing his words to settle in the heavy air of the crypt.

"She became the second most important person in the Empire. However, one day… she lost her mind." He stopped before a section of particularly disturbing paintings, where strange symbols and bizarre figures were mixed into distorted imagery.

"These eerie things on the walls," he said, pointing at the grotesque paintings, "were made by her during her fits of madness. On stormy nights, she would have vivid nightmares and begin painting frantically. They say she would only calm down once her insane works were finished."

As we moved forward, the details in the paintings became increasingly grotesque. The scales of a gigantic serpent-dragon, the emblem of the Song Dynasty, stretched along the walls. Within the serpent, strange and senseless scenes unfolded—dismembered figures, ruined kingdoms, and deformed faces frozen in silent screams.

"You know what this means?" I asked, pointing to a particularly strange image. A boy lying in a bed, with a cloaked figure standing beside him.

"No one ever knew," Sidao replied, his eyes still fixed on the paintings. "The emperor at the time made records and copied her notes, trying to interpret whether it was connected to his future. In the end, it led to nothing. All that is known is that during her episodes, she would murmur strange names while she painted."

"What names?" I asked, a cold shiver running down my spine.

Sidao seemed to reflect for a moment, as if trying to recall the details he had read.

"Icarus, Athena, Ares, Apollo, Zeus, Helen, Hades, Poseidon, Chronos," he enumerated slowly. "And other names… Whenever she finished murmuring, she would repeat them again, like an unending lament."

We reached a painting depicting a young boy holding a lifeless girl in his arms, his face contorted in despair.

"She used to say: 'Everything begins when he arrives, and everything ends when he departs.'" Sidao's words echoed ominously in the chamber as I stared at the painting, feeling the weight settle in my chest.

Sidao continued walking down the path, but I remained, staring at the paintings.

One of the images on the wall showed a vivid and chaotic scene—a boy with white hair and blue eyes fighting amidst a raging storm at sea. Colossal waves rose around him, as if the ocean itself was being molded by the fury of battle. Lightning split the dark sky, and the boy stood firm against the tempest with unwavering determination.

Before him, a man hovered in the air, gripping a hammer, each strike carrying the power of thunder. Lightning coiled around the weapon, casting eerie illumination over his face as he loomed over the boy.

We kept walking through the dark corridor, the thick shadows swallowing each step, and the images on the walls growing increasingly grotesque. Each painting held something new and disturbing, as if the figures depicted were on the verge of coming to life, their dark eyes and twisted mouths seeming to track our movements.

As we advanced, a chill crept down my spine. There was something unsettling, almost supernatural, about each image, as if they writhed within the stone, twisting in agony or rage. Every now and then, I could swear I saw a subtle movement, a flicker of shadow at the corners of the figures, like something struggling to break free.

The flickering torches cast an unsteady light on the walls, intensifying the effect, making every grotesque detail seem more vivid, more haunting. Each scene felt as though it was pulling me into its depths, and the air around us grew colder and heavier, as if the very corridor was breathing, absorbing our presence.

Finally, we reached the center of the crypt, where the young Empress knelt before her mother's tomb. Sidao walked toward her, but I remained frozen, entranced by the final painting at the far end.

It was the image of the boy with white hair and blue eyes, lying in a pool of blood, his body motionless and lifeless. Dark, shadowy figures surrounded him—some laughing, others dancing in celebration of his death. Above everything, a vast darkness stretched across the painting, with black threads slithering through the scene, like puppet strings controlling fate, manipulating everyone as mere pieces in a twisted game.

"Hell of Icarus…" I murmured, reading the words written by the Weaver of Fate beneath the painting.

Further below, scrawled in deep red ink, so dark it looked like dried blood, were the same words Sidao had whispered to me:

"Everything begins when he arrives, and everything ends when he departs."