Chapter 178: The Gates

The cold wind blew hard through the mountain pass, throwing sharp ice against their faces.

Viona pulled her rough cloak tighter, shivering from head to toe. Her white dress was ruined, covered in dirt and black soot. Her mana core still throbbed with a dull ache. Every breath of freezing mountain air stung her lungs. Without her grand temple and the prayers of her followers, her divine power was running on empty. She could barely summon enough warmth to keep her fingers from turning blue in the biting frost.

Beside her, Leon trudged through the knee-deep snow. His breath came out in thick white clouds. His lone amber eye stayed fixed on the dark cliffs above, watching for hidden archers or ambush parties. At his waist, he carried only a cheap iron shortsword he had taken off a dead sentry days ago; his prized greatsword was gone, shattered into fragments by an American bomb in the river basin.

Behind them, surviving summoned heroes walked in total silence. Their heads hung low, their hands tucked deep into their oversized fur coats just to stay alive. They had watched high-tier paladins get shredded by cluster bombs on the open roads, and the terror had never left their eyes.

"Keep your legs moving," Leon grunted, his voice rough as sandpaper. "If you sit down to rest in this pass, the frost will freeze your blood before the sun goes down."

"I am trying, Leon," Viona whispered back through chattering teeth. "I am not used to walking through freezing mountains on foot like a common peasant."

"Well, get used to it," Leon said, not even looking back at her. "You aren’t sitting on a gold throne in Port Solis anymore. Nobody is coming to carry your palanquin. And remember what I told you before we climbed this ridge: when we see Emperor Varos, keep your mouth shut. If you act proud and high-and-mighty, his hounds will cut your throat before you can finish your sentence."

Viona clenched her jaw, but she kept walking. She hated the snow, she hated the cold, and she hated the bitter taste of defeat.

Soon, the blizzard cleared, revealing the Great Iron Gate of Ouroboros.

It was a giant wall carved straight out of the sheer black mountain rock. Two huge statues of coiled snakes flanked a massive gate made of star-iron and reinforced oak. On top of the battlements, dozens of elite guards stood watch in black-and-red armor, holding heavy repeater crossbows that glowed with green poison runes.

As the small group walked closer, the guards along the parapet spotted them. The heavy thrum of crossbow strings snapping into firing position echoed off the stone walls.

"Halt!" a loud voice barked from the top of the wall.

A moment later, a side door creaked open. A dozen soldiers marched out onto the snow, pointing long barbed spears at them. Leading the squad was an officer wearing a heavy black breastplate and a helmet shaped like a snarling wolf.

"Who goes there?" the officer demanded, his hand resting on the hilt of a broad cleaver. "No southern trash enters the Wallachian Empire without imperial orders."

Viona stepped forward and pulled down her hood. Her dirty golden hair fell across her shoulders. She rubbed the dry blood off her cheek and looked up at the officer.

"I am Viona," she said plainly. Her voice was tired and raspy, but she tried to stand straight. "I came to see Emperor Varos."

The officer looked at her face. For a second, he completely stopped moving.

Every kingdom across the continent knew who Goddess Viona was. For decades, statues of her stood in every city square of the Solarian Empire, portraying a radiant, untouchable being clad in pure gold. But seeing her now—covered in mud, shivering in cheap gray wool, her face gaunt and her divine aura gone—made the officer burst out laughing.

"Viona?" the officer chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "The great goddess from the south? Look at you. Word came north days ago. The Solarian Empire is gone. Your palaces belong to men with metal wagons, your dukes are dead, and your throne was crushed to dust. You’re just a runaway beggar now."

Viona’s face flushed with pure fury. A small golden spark flickered on her fingertips as her pride flared up. "Watch your tongue—"

CLANK!

Six heavy spears dropped at once, their sharp points stopping less than an inch from her throat and eyes.

"Try to cast a spell and we put a hole in your neck," the officer warned, his voice turning dead and cold. "The Emperor already knows you’re coming. You will enter, but you are not guests here. You are prisoners."

Leon quickly stepped between Viona and the spears, pushing her back with his shoulder.

"Stand down, Viona," Leon muttered. He raised his empty hands toward the officer, showing he held no weapons. "We aren’t here for a fight. We came to give your Emperor critical information about the weapons the Americans used to take the south."

The officer glanced at Leon’s scarred face and missing eye. "You’re Leon. Her mercenary dog."

"That’s me," Leon said easily, not taking offense. "And the kids behind us are summoned heroes from the Otherworld. They know the language, the history, and the home world of the Americans. If you kill us here at the gate, your Emperor gets zero intelligence on the flying machines before they bomb your passes."

The officer stared at them for a few tense seconds. The cold wind howled between them, kicking up loose powder from the snowbanks. Finally, the officer lowered his hand and waved to his squad.

"Disarm them," he ordered. "Take every blade and every coin. Check their clothes for hidden magic. Put the heavy iron on them."

Four guards moved in roughly. They snatched Leon’s shortsword, patted down his boots, and took the small bags of copper and silver the heroes had left. One guard reached out and ripped an ivory hairpin from Viona’s hair, tossing it into a sack. She tried to pull away, but Leon caught her arm with a firm grip.

"Let them do it," Leon whispered. "It’s just metal. Keep your eyes forward."

CLICK.

Heavy iron cuffs locked around Viona’s wrists. The moment the dark metal snapped shut against her skin, a sickening cold shock ran through her veins. The tiny bit of mana flowing in her channels was instantly crushed, leaving her feeling completely weak, heavy, and dizzy.

"Mana-lock iron," the officer said with a cold smirk. "You won’t be throwing any sparks today, goddess. Move your feet."

The giant iron gate groaned open, scraping loudly against the frozen rock floor.

Pushed by the blunt wooden ends of spears, Viona, Leon, and the frightened heroes walked beneath the dark archway and stepped inside the black fortress.

The air inside was warm, but it smelled foul—sulfur, hot iron, burning charcoal, and the wild, rotten stench of giant beasts kept deep underground. Torches burned with oily black fire along the walls, lighting the damp stone hallways. Squads of silent, disciplined Wallachian soldiers marched past them, their heavy boots thudding in unison against the floor. Every man carried dark star-metal armor and heavy, practical blades made for hacking through bone.

"Where are you taking us?" Viona asked, stumbling over a rough stone step as her chained hands dragged her down.

"Straight to the throne room," the officer replied without turning his head. "The Emperor and his Ten Iron Fangs have been waiting for you."