The Kingmaker System Chapter 723 - 722. Fourfold Calamity (1)

The conflicts in Edrisyl and Sestia had commenced nearly three hours prior.

Deep beneath the roots of Yggdrasil, far from the reach of any moonlight or the faint pulse of natural mana, an age-old cavern lay enshrouded in suffocating quietude.

This chamber was of colossal size, vast enough to evoke the image of a buried cathedral's hollowed-out remains. Jagged pillars of obsidian stone stretched towards the oppressive darkness overhead, while countless crimson mana stones, embedded within the cavern walls, cast a dim and foreboding radiance upon the ancient ruins. Their subdued light spilled onto the floor, illuminating immense incantation circles meticulously carved directly into the earth.

Layer upon layer of archaic inscriptions sprawled across the chamber, resembling scars etched deep into the very stone.

Some of these markings were so ancient they had almost vanished, while newer carvings had been etched repeatedly over them through successive generations. Concentric circles overlapped one another, forming a maddening labyrinth of curses, rituals, and forgotten tongues.

And at the very heart of this entire tableau sat the Dominus.

He was seated cross-legged, utterly motionless.

The heavy folds of his ebony robes cascaded around him like liquid shadow, and his pale hands rested passively upon his knees. The silver pendant adorning his neck hung still against his chest, the ram's skull etched upon it appearing devoid of life beneath the cavern's dull crimson glow.

For several silent moments, not a single thing stirred.

Then, the symbols beneath him began to stir.

A faint, black haze gradually seeped upwards from the carved grooves that patterned the floor.

Initially, it resembled smoke escaping from fissures in the ground, thin and lethargic, barely discernible against the surrounding darkness of the chamber. But progressively, more and more of this black mist began to pour forth from the inscriptions until the entire ritual formation appeared to exhale pure corruption.

The dead mana spread itself across the cavern floor before slowly initiating a spiral towards the seated figure at its core.

The very air grew denser and more oppressive. The crimson mana stones flickered erratically, as if their inherent energy was being siphoned away simply by existing in such close proximity to him. One after another, their luminescence diminished while the black mist continued its relentless convergence inwards in unending streams.

The currents of dead mana began to orbit the Dominus, forming a vortex around him like a tempest encircling its calm eye.

His robes rustled gently under the palpable pressure.

The black mist intensified, rising higher and higher until it completely enveloped his seated form in spiraling strata of darkness. Slowly, it seemed to coalesce into the shape of a black serpent, coiling around the meditating man while its towering hood loomed above him.

The entirety of this spectral black serpent drew itself into the pendant, and the very instant the initial tendrils of dead mana made contact with the ram skull, its silver surface turned black.

A profound crimson glow emanated from within the hollow eye sockets of the pendant.

The light pulsed, and the dead mana coursing through the chamber surged with violent intensity. Streams of black mist surged from all directions, pouring directly into the pendant as if the small object harbored a bottomless abyss within its confines. The surrounding cavern quivered subtly under the immense pressure, while the inscriptions etched into the ground began to faintly illuminate beneath the Dominus.

The ram skull's crimson eyes brightened further, until the pendant itself mirrored the gaze of some primordial creature peering out from the encroaching darkness.

Yet, the Dominus remained unmoving.

Not until the final remnants of dead mana had completely vanished into the pendant.

The chamber returned to its previous, profound silence.

A suffocating stillness descended upon the subterranean cavern as the last vestiges of black mist dissipated into the darkness enveloping him.

Then, the Dominus opened his eyes.

The faint red pupils that had once lingered within the infinite blackness of his gaze now blazed with an intense crimson luminescence, powerful enough to pierce the cavern's dimness.

A slow smile curved upon his pale lips, betraying the quiet anticipation of one who finally witnesses years of meticulous preparation bearing its intended fruit.

The Dominus rose smoothly from the center of the incantation circle. The black robes draped over him shifted soundlessly against the stone floor, while the lingering traces of dead mana continued to writhe around his figure like obedient shadows hesitant to depart.

The instant his feet crossed the boundary of the ritual formation, the glowing inscriptions beneath him gradually faded once more, consigning the cavern to its prior, oppressive quietude.

He inhaled deeply.

The air within the underground chamber carried the distinct scent of damp stone, residual dead mana, and slow decay.

He then exhaled slowly, turning to walk towards the massive altar positioned at the far end of the cavern.

A large map lay unfurled across its surface.

The parchment, its edges darkened with age, bore countless etchings and inscriptions spread across its represented territories. Thin, dark lines traversed the map like veins, all converging upon four distinct points marked thereon. These four points pulsed faintly, each like a beating heart.

Pausing before the altar, the Dominus lowered his gaze to the markings. For several prolonged moments, he simply observed them. Then, his pale fingers moved slowly, hovering just above the four dark points. "Decay... Carnage... Dread... Time..." he whispered almost inaudibly. The crimson depths of his eyes intensified slightly, and the corners of his lips curled into a subtle smile. The calamities had fully manifested. The undead had established fields of restless corpses, bodies that could no longer truly die. The mutated shifters wrought slaughter, leading to even more deaths. The chimeras instilled terror among the humans. And, above all else, the Dragon continued to waste precious time, seemingly unaware. Everything was unfolding precisely according to the plan.

"It is time," the Dominus stated softly. His voice resonated gently throughout the cavern, much like a decree whispered into the very abyss. He carefully folded the map, secured it in his grasp, and turned toward the colossal exit of the subterranean chamber. As the Dominus proceeded through the underground tunnels, the faint, distant echoes of battle reverberated through the island's root systems far above. The ritual had commenced. Across Sestia, the selected calamities were systematically driving the Vanguard forces toward the brink of exhaustion.

***

Dahlia swiftly discerned that this battle was proving considerably more arduous than she had initially anticipated. The dark mages exhibited not just raw strength, but an uncanny coordination that consistently disrupted her rhythm. The whip-wielder refrained from direct attacks unless she was preoccupied with the hulking figure wielding a hammer. Meanwhile, the mage positioned further back continuously disseminated dead mana across the battlefield, inciting the mutated shifters into savage frenzies. Each moment dedicated to combating the dark mages also necessitated defending the knights from the swarming shifters.

Dahlia’s spear swept through the neck of an approaching beast, immediately followed by a sharp twist to parry a black whip hurtling towards her flank. The impact sent a painful jolt up her arms, forcing her to pull back before the corrosive effect could spread further along her weapon's shaft. "It corrodes metal far too rapidly," Sir Adler grimaced, having narrowly evaded another devastating whip strike. The sword he had recently acquired already appeared worn and brittle after mere moments of engagement. Dahlia’s gaze flickered momentarily towards the third dark mage standing at a greater distance. That individual presented the most significant threat. Every instance the black mist permeated the battlefield, the shifters grew fiercer and more ferocious. Even grievously wounded creatures, which normally would have succumbed, persisted in their assault like maddened animals.

"We must separate them," Dahlia declared, though achieving this proved far more challenging than stating it. The hammer-wielder relentlessly pulverized the terrain whenever they attempted to advance, while the whip-user consistently targeted their vulnerable blind spots, compelling them to maintain a purely defensive posture. Another deafening impact reverberated as the hammer slammed into the ground once more, sending nearby knights and shifters alike hurtling backward. Dahlia braced herself, a visible flicker of irritation crossing her features. For the first time in a considerable period, she felt genuinely trapped in combat.

Alarice’s predicament was hardly better. The northwestern trade route had already been reduced to rubble from the ceaseless clashes between potent aura and sharp steel. The two dark mages who wielded colossal claymores fought with terrifyingly precise discipline. Their strikes carried the force to cleave the very earth, yet neither warrior wasted a single, deliberate movement. Alarice could immediately ascertain that they were seasoned killers. The instant he managed to block one devastating blow, the second blade was already descending upon him from a different trajectory, forcing him into a state of perpetual defense, devoid of any real opportunity for a counterattack. Sparks erupted repeatedly across the ravaged battlefield as nearby knights struggled immensely to even approach the volatile zone. A single misstep near those immense blades would readily result in the loss of a limb.

Alarice propelled one dark mage backward with a surge of his aura, only for the other to materialize instantly behind him, compelling him to twist and intercept yet another crushing blow. The impact left his arms feeling slightly numb. His expression grew grim. They were meticulously assessing him. Gradually compelling him to reveal his fighting patterns while diligently conserving their own energy and movements. And, unlike conventional adversaries, these two displayed absolutely no discernible emotion during their engagement – no rage, no impatience, no reckless abandon. Only relentless, calculated pressure. Alarice exhaled slowly, re-establishing his footing beneath the steady rain. These were not opponents he could carelessly overpower. He would first need to comprehend their unique combat methodology.

Otherwise, this battle would drag on long enough for the entire situation in the northwestern region to collapse around them.

***

Several mounted figures charged into the ruined town at frightening speed, their horses tearing through the muddy roads while the surrounding knights followed closely behind them. At the very front rode two young men whose presence immediately disrupted the battlefield itself.

The first one wielded a longsword overflowing with blazing violet aura.

Every swing of his blade carried overwhelming force behind it. Gargi watched one enormous mutated shifter leap toward him from atop a ruined cart only for the young man to cleave straight through the creature alongside the stone road beneath it in a single strike.

The resulting shockwave erupted outward violently enough to send nearby shifters tumbling across the battlefield.

The rain itself seemed to split apart around him.

The young man did not slow down after the strike. He drove his horse straight through the middle of the horde while his sword carved blazing arcs through the darkness one after another. Each swing created openings large enough for the knights behind him to advance.

The second young man fighting beside him was entirely different.

Where the first resembled overwhelming destruction, this one felt unnaturally cold.

Frost spread rapidly across the streets beneath his horse while sharp ice spikes erupted from the ground beneath charging shifters, impaling them instantly before freezing their bodies solid. His sword moved with frightening precision and every motion of his hand manipulated the battlefield itself.

The rainwater touching the ground around him froze almost immediately.

A wave of freezing mana burst outward from his blade and several shifters charging from the side suddenly became encased in ice before shattering apart beneath the following attacks of the knights.

Gargi’s eyes narrowed faintly as she watched the two. These two were far stronger than the knights she had encountered earlier.

And more importantly, the beasts under her command were hesitating.

The mutated shifters that had rampaged fearlessly through the town until now instinctively slowed around the two young men as though sensing genuine danger from them. Or was it because she herself was feeling hesitant?

The dark mage standing beside Gargi clicked his tongue softly.

"So these are Sestia’s prized heirs."

Another dark mage farther behind them laughed quietly beneath his hood.

"They’re troublesome," he admitted. "Especially the ice user."

But Gargi remained silent.

Her gaze stayed fixed upon the battlefield below while the rain dripped steadily from the ends of her dark hair.

The aura user carved paths through the horde using sheer destructive force alone while the mage steadily locked down the battlefield beneath layers of frost.

For the first time since the assault began, the humans were advancing.

One of the larger mutated beasts suddenly lunged toward the aura user from atop a ruined building, its massive claws aimed directly toward his head.

The young man reacted instantly.

His sword flashed upward and the creature exploded apart midair.

The sheer pressure behind the strike sent rainwater blasting outward like mist.

Then the young man slowly lifted his head and his sharp violet gaze landed directly upon Gargi.