Chapter 442: Inexplicable, War Rekindled

"What is going on? What just happened? Where did our last carriage go? The guests who paid their fare are in there! Search the surrounding area immediately!"

A carriage vanishing into thin air could hardly go unnoticed. The caravan guards and the merchant leader began to scramble in a panic, searching for the missing carriage, but their efforts were doomed to be fruitless—and they soon found themselves in trouble as well.

While they were still halting the caravan to search the vicinity, the city guards had already descended from the alleys, swiftly surrounding the entire convoy.

"Halt! Identify the passengers in your caravan and present your travel permits!"

The guard leveled his halberd, pressing the cold steel against the merchant leader’s chest without a hint of mercy, coldly commanding him to comply.

"Ah... ah, please, calm down. I’ll get them for you right away."

Sweat beaded on the merchant’s forehead. He knew exactly what kind of people he was carrying. They were almost certainly illegal immigrants trying to enter the capital without permits—a job most caravans took on as a matter of course.

Usually, no one cared; even Wang Yu had entered the city that way. It was an unspoken rule. He just didn't know why he was so unlucky today, losing a carriage and getting caught by the guards simultaneously.

"Please, take a look..."

He honestly produced the forged documents. Having seen them himself, he honestly couldn't spot the flaws; if they weren't authentic, then these "guests" were truly masters of deception.

"Tsk, forged documents. Come with us."

The guard took the papers, and without a word, slapped a pair of anti-magic metal shackles onto the merchant, consigning him directly to the prison.

"Yes..."

The merchant’s brows twitched, and he lowered his head, obediently following the guards to the dungeon. He had seen it clearly: the guard hadn't even looked at the papers before declaring them fake.

In the past, he would have assumed they were just looking for a bribe, but given the political climate since the Council was established, he feared he had stumbled into something much larger. He would just go along with them; at least he wouldn't have to worry about that missing carriage anymore.

The guards didn't waste time, hauling away the remaining horses, carriages, and all the caravan guards. Soon after, members of the Night’s Edge arrived, quickly deploying spatial containment arrays and devices to prevent any escapes, sealing off the surrounding area.

...

"It seems our operation has been exposed. This is clearly a method used by the Alastrians to deal with intruders like us."

The arrivals from the Sariben Empire had all stepped out of their carriage, surveying their surroundings. The space was bathed in a deep, oppressive purple; the sky was a void of pitch black, and the ground was a flat, endless expanse. It was impossible to tell if it was truly vast or if the boundaries of the space were creating a visual distortion.

"The concentration of void energy here is high, but not quite at the level of a void rift. This must be a pocket dimension between the material world and the void. The spatial structure is chaotic; preparing a spell to break out will take time, and I doubt they will give us that luxury."

Within the Sariben group, a wizard analyzed the situation, bluntly stating their predicament. It was dire, yet he showed no signs of panic.

"It seems you have a clear understanding of your situation. Then, why not stop the chatter and tell me what you intended to do by sneaking into the Alastrian capital? If you came with peaceful and friendly intentions, I might just let you go."

Shal’s voice drifted from nowhere, devoid of much inflection, yet conveying his message clearly.

The moment Shal’s voice rang out, the Sariben group fired a beam of pitch-black light without a second’s hesitation, striking the empty space before them.

"Wha... what? How could you know I was there... and that was an instant-cast... seventh-tier spell? Impossible..."

Shal’s figure materialized, a massive hole blown through his chest by the seventh-tier necromancy spell, Finger of Death. His internal organs, bones, and the flesh around the wound had turned to dust and were slowly flaking away. His eyes, filled with disbelief, stared fixedly at the Sariben group before he collapsed to the ground in frustration, his life force fading.

"..."

Not a single member of the Sariben group spoke. They frowned, staring at the spot where Shal had fallen. What was this guy playing at? Did he really just die like that?

"It seems this gentleman isn't very friendly. In that case, Alastria does not welcome those who harbor malice. You can be the first to leave this beautiful world forever."

As expected, the entity that had appeared and died before their eyes wasn't truly dead, but what happened next sent a chill through them.

In the arms of the mage who had just fired the Finger of Death scroll, a card suddenly appeared. It depicted a dark jester performing a juggling act.

As the mage looked down at the card, the static jester suddenly moved, flashing an exaggerated, mocking grin.

"!?"

The mage panicked, immediately attempting to cast a defensive spell, but the jester on the card was impossibly fast, juggling the balls—one, two, three, four...

"Puck!"

Void energy flared violently for a split second. The mage’s head, still encased in a magical shield, was ripped clean from his shoulders. It traced a graceful arc through the air before landing exactly where the corpse had fallen.

Blood sprayed from the body and the severed head, staining the jester card that had appeared in the mage's arms. But eerily, only the jester on the card turned red; the rest of the card remained pristine.

"Now, can we have a proper chat? Let’s not harbor such malice; it’s not good for either of us. We’ve been neighbors for so long—it’s quite strange to have a dispute all of a sudden, isn't it?"

The blood-red jester smiled and stepped out from the card, transforming into Shal, dressed in a suit and holding a cane. With his top hat and the half-mask covering his face, he looked exactly as Wang Yu had seen him—a gentleman magician, or perhaps, one of those damned devils.

"Shal Lade, the primary power-holder in Alastria. The fall of the old royal family is deeply connected to you..."

Most of the Sariben group remained silent, save for one who appeared to be the leader, who spoke to identify him.

"Yes, that’s me. But to be honest, this position is exhausting. If I could, I’d much rather have someone else sit in this chair. So, can we stop the nonsense? Tell me why you friendly neighbors decided to trespass in our home, or at least, tell me your name."

He tipped his hat, speaking casually until the very end, when his tone turned icy. As his cane struck the ground, a phantom figure emerged behind him, and countless Judgment tarot cards hovered above the Sariben group, ready to descend in a torrential storm.

Having spent so much time with the devil "One," Shal’s mastery of witchcraft had grown at a terrifying rate. Trapped in this pocket between the void and the material world, with "One"’s assistance, no wizard could hope to get the better of him.

After all, devils were the darlings of the void. Aside from anomalies like Wang Yu, those who could threaten a devil were few and far between—only the void gods or the true deities.

"A dying man has no need to give his name. We intended to carry out a decapitation strike, but it seems you were tipped off. Since you chose to appear before us, you’ve given us an opportunity..."

The Sariben leader didn't give his name, simply speaking to himself. Then, as his words ended, he launched a sudden assault. A chaotic barrage of attacks flew toward Shal—spatial locks, fireballs, and twisted hexes—shattering the area where Shal stood into a thousand pieces.

"Was that necessary? It really has no meaning for me."

Shal, who had crawled out from the blood-red jester card, was blown to smithereens by the cluster of attacks. Yet, his voice did not stop. The "corpse" previously pierced by the Finger of Death slowly crawled up from the ground, its face gray and zombie-like, but its mouth moving with incredible speed.

"The Sariben Empire formally declares war on Alastria!"

"Hm? What did you say!?"

The roar from the Sariben group stunned Shal. The next moment, the Sariben soldiers activated the arrays etched into their chests, triggering alchemical devices implanted within their bodies. Amidst a frenzy of chaotic mana and void energy, they collapsed into expanding spheres of annihilation.

"Boom!"

The overlapping explosions swallowed everything in the vicinity. The immense destructive power shattered the pocket dimension, the impact rippling out into both realms.

In the material world, on the street, a deep purple semi-sphere of energy erupted, consuming everything in its path, reducing everything inside into elementary particles until nothing remained.

"What terrifying destructive power. The rift was blown wide open. If we were still there, we wouldn't have stood a chance. Thank goodness for Mr. Shal’s warning."

The Night’s Edge members, who had retreated in advance, looked at the jagged crater in the street with lingering fear. Shal had suddenly shouted through the prayer communication network for them to pull back; five seconds later, the massive explosion had occurred.

...

"Yes, we have spotted the Sariben army. They haven't launched a full-scale invasion yet, but they have stationed a massive force at the border in the North. My father and I are already preparing to mobilize the troops."

Edward stood on the snowfield as the blizzard cleared, staring at the scene emerging in the distance. Dense ranks of soldiers stretched to the horizon. Behind him lay the Winter City, its atmosphere heavy as it entered a state of war. His reply to Shal was laced with an indescribable exhaustion.

"Bang!"

A solid wooden table was struck by a fist. The table remained intact, but the sound of bones cracking echoed through the room. The owner of the fist was consumed by rage, easily ignoring the pain.

"Those sons of bitches. What do these bastards think war is? Do they have any idea how many people will die, how many will lose their homes, or how much of the kingdom’s hard-earned foundation will be lost?"

"Are they insane? These bastards have lost their minds! Damn it, to hell with them! Why don't they just drop dead? God of Light, where is your divine retribution? Send them straight to your kingdom to repent—"

"Is regret not a good thing?!"

Charles cursed in a fit of rage, his features twisted into a mask of ferocity. He had never truly descended into the rift himself; those "Charleses" were merely constructs of void energy. The devil "One's" ability had allowed him to confront events five seconds before they transpired. From start to finish, those Saris had been puppets dancing upon his palm, yet it all seemed utterly devoid of meaning.

A suicidal assault without reason, an inexplicable declaration of war—it had plunged Alestle once more into the fray of kingdoms. Could this realm, having only just concluded its conflict with Sevintan, overthrown its monarchy to reorganize its parliament, and begun the slow process of recuperation, truly possess the strength to endure the flames of war yet again?