Chapter 467 - 440: Ashen Descendants! Veil Breakers Seen as a Calamity

Chapter 467: Chapter 440: Ashen Descendants! Veil Breakers Seen as a Calamity

"This... How is this possible?"

Roland stared at the corpses on the ground as they rapidly "degenerated," his brow furrowed in confusion. They were becoming identical to the bizarre humanoid creatures from the corridors of the Seventh Observation Station, and his mind reeled with doubt.

When he had encountered these humanoids deep within the Observation Station, they had been stronger and faster than ordinary people, but nowhere near as terrifying as they were just now.

Back then, they had behaved more like beasts hunting on instinct. They had never displayed such a terrifying ability to condense Energy and shape it into attacks.

But...

The brief yet fierce clash was still vivid in his mind.

The dark-red Energy Blades and whips the enemies had condensed with a mere wave of their hands were, in essence, clearly a highly refined form of Fighting Spirit.

And shaping Fighting Spirit into various weapons was a sign of having achieved a certain Realm of mastery over it.

Yet, the contradiction lay in the fact that Roland, with the keen Perception of his [Source Law Engine], was absolutely certain there were no traces of the Knight’s Breathing Technique within these enemies’ bodies.

Their energy circulation systems were completely different from the Breathing Technique.

’So where did this Fighting Spirit, comparable to that of a High Tier Knight, come from?’

Besides...

What concerned Roland most was the faint yet undeniably real aura of a Giant Dragon Bloodline within them.

’Dragon Descendants? A whole group of them?’

The thought struck him as absurd.

In his experience, true Dragon Descendants were exceedingly rare and precious.

He himself had only received a Giant Dragon’s gift through a twist of fate, after a life-or-death struggle.

Even for a powerful man like Mr. Graham, his "Dragonification" was artificially induced by external forces; he possessed no true Dragon Blood heritage.

In all his travels, he had never met another natural-born Dragon Descendant.

This alone was enough to show just how exceedingly rare beings with a pure Giant Dragon Bloodline were.

’How could I have run into so many beings possessing the power of the Dragon Race right after setting foot in Aiselon?’

’Could it be? Is the mastermind who created these enemies a Giant Dragon?’

The moment the speculation arose, Roland vetoed it himself.

According to the ancient texts he’d read, and the ballads of Galvis that were half-legend, half-history, true Giant Dragons were beings at the pinnacle of the world.

They were proud and solitary, almost never involving themselves in the conflicts of the mortal world, let alone mass-"producing" such twisted hybrids.

’So, what in the world... are these things?’

Just as Roland was lost in thought, trying to sort through the tangled clues, an old, hoarse voice, thick with exhaustion, spoke up slowly from nearby.

"They... are called the ’Ashen Descendants’."

Everyone turned toward the voice and saw the old man Roland had questioned at the entrance to Rusted Town. Leaning on a twisted metal rod, he was shakily walking toward them.

His cloudy eyes swept over the devastation and the "degenerated" corpses. A flicker of bone-deep Fear passed through them, but the wrinkles on his face were like a dried riverbed, showing no expression, only a deathly numbness.

"No one knows when they first appeared, and no one knows where they came from."

The old man continued, his voice like a worn-out bellows.

"It’s as if they were born from this land’s Curse."

His gaze shifted to Roland and his party, and his numb eyes seemed to hold a barely perceptible trace of something akin to pity.

"Outsider Veil Breakers, take my advice."

The old man’s voice grew low, yet it carried an undeniable weight. ℯℯ𝑙.

"You’ve been marked by the ’Ashen Descendants’. Once they’ve locked onto a target, they will appear again and again, until one side is completely wiped out. It’s a fight to the death... without end."

"While you still can, leave Rusted Town. Leave this whole area. Any later, and I’m afraid it’ll be too late..."

The old man’s words, like a cold Curse, echoed across the quiet battlefield. They cast an even thicker, more suffocating pall over the storm that had just subsided.

Hearing the old man’s heavy words, Roland exchanged a grave look with Avril.

He took a step forward, his sharp gaze fixed on the gaunt old man. His voice was steady, yet it held an undeniably probing tone.

"Sir, how do you know so much about these... ’Ashen Descendants’?"

The old man’s rock-like numbness didn’t waver in the face of the doubt implicit in Roland’s question.

He slowly raised his head, his cloudy eyes seeming to gaze past the ruins before them and into some distant, bloody past.

"I used to live in a place... called ’Red Ridge Outpost’."

His voice was like the rasp of worn sandpaper.

"More than a decade ago, three ’Veil Breakers’ like you came to the Outpost. They were injured and seeking shelter. The people there were kind enough to take them in..."

He paused, his dry throat bobbing as if he were swallowing a bitter memory.

"And then... that very night, they came. Just like tonight—suddenly, and without a sound."

The old man’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper.

"Those three Veil Breakers fought with everything they had, and all the Warriors in the Outpost joined in... It was useless. All of it. They... they cut them down like reaping wheat... I hid in an abandoned cellar. I saw it all, clear as day, through a crack in the door."

"Except for me and a few of the old and weak who managed to hide, everyone in the outpost who could wield a weapon... died."

The old man slowly raised his head, his eyes—which had seen too much death and despair—looking straight at Roland.

"That’s why, in some places, people say... the ’Ashen Descendants’ follow you ’Veil Breakers’."

"Wherever you go, death follows. In the eyes of many people, you... are walking calamities."

As if that last sentence had drained all his strength, the old man paid no mind to the reactions of Roland or the others. He turned, leaning on his twisted metal rod, and shakily walked away.

He staggered back into the Shadows of Rusted Town, leaving behind only his stooped, desolate silhouette.

Roland watched in silence as the old man disappeared, then let his gaze sweep slowly over his surroundings.

Rusted Town, which had fallen silent during the fierce battle, now seemed to be "coming alive" again.

A rustling sound arose from all directions.

From behind the cracks in the doors of dilapidated houses, through holes in the windows, and from the gaps between mountains of trash, pairs of eyes began to shine, unnaturally bright in the gloom.

These eyes no longer held only the detached numbness from before.

Now, they clearly reflected a bone-deep Fear, a terror of unknown powers, and...

...a deep, undisguised loathing for Roland and his fellow outsiders.

It was as if they weren’t the ones who had just fought off the monsters, but the very source of the plague that had been brought to this town.

Seeing this, Roland let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh.

He understood their feelings. In a wasteland where survival trumped all else, anything that might attract total annihilation would be seen as an absolute enemy.

Suppressing his complicated thoughts, Roland quickly began to make arrangements.

He ordered the still-shaken Gray Dwarves to help clean up the battlefield, then strode over to Duraga, who was checking on some of the injured.

"Duraga."

Roland’s voice pulled the Gray Dwarf leader from his Concentration.

"What’s the progress on your research into that... ’Magic Net Disturbance Detector’?"

His implication was clear.

They probably couldn’t stay in Rusted Town any longer.

After seeing that the few Gray Dwarves who had been sent flying by the Energy Shock were now being helped up by their comrades—grimacing in pain with dented Armor, but clearly in no mortal danger—Duraga finally let out a sigh of relief and looked away from his kinsmen.

He dusted off his hands, stood up, and answered Roland’s question in his gruff voice.

"Progress? Yeah, there’s been some. That old antique definitely has something to it, but..."

He habitually scratched his braided beard, his face showing the frustration of hitting a technical bottleneck. Then he waved toward the Gear Hall and shouted.

"Hey! Mr. Bronson! Stop fiddling with your little gadgets and get over here! Explain it to Rudolph!"

Neither Avril, Galvis, nor Bronson, who was now striding over, batted an eye at Duraga calling Roland by the name "Rudolph." They were all used to it by now.

With a soft patter of footsteps, Roland’s gaze fell upon the approaching Bronson.

The thin scholar’s face was pale from long nights of research, and his clothes were stained with oil and dust. But his eyes shone with the light of Concentration and discovery, showing little of the Fear from the recent attack.

Roland raised an eyebrow, a flicker of sentiment passing through his mind.

’It seems Mr. Bronson has grown quite a bit.’

He clearly remembered their journey from Black Water Territory to Distant Harbor. Back then, the scholar had turned pale and cowered in the corner of the carriage like a frightened quail merely from watching Roland slay a few goblins.

Bronson clearly didn’t notice Roland’s scrutinizing gaze.

He first waved a hand in front of his nose in disgust, trying to dispel the foul, mixed stench of gunpowder, blood, and rust. Then, his face lit up with the characteristic excitement of a researcher.

"Roland..."

Bronson began, speaking quickly.

"Using the ’Magic Net Disturbance Detector,’ we’ve managed to create a preliminary model of the Magic Power distribution and flow in a wide area around Rusted Town. We’ve also successfully calibrated and fixed several relatively stable spatial coordinates to use as reference points."

As he spoke, he pulled a recently-drawn Sheepskin Scroll from his coat and quickly unfurled it.

Complex Energy flows and nodes were marked on it with clear lines and symbols, the ink still fresh.

"But..."

Bronson’s tone grew serious.

"We’re limited by the detector’s own power, so its effective range is finite. We can’t peer into more distant regions. However... we did discover a key phenomenon."

"Recently, although the Magic Elements in the surrounding area are still largely stagnant, their flow has shown a distinct directional anomaly."

"An anomaly?"

Roland’s gaze focused on the Sheepskin Scroll.

"That’s right."

Bronson nodded firmly, pointing to several Energy flows marked in a conspicuous color on the map.

"Look. This Magic Power, which was previously stagnant like dead water, is being slowly and constantly pulled by some force. It’s converging toward a single, common direction. This convergence isn’t a form of Chaos; it’s displaying a... an indescribable regularity."

"Mr. Duraga and I agree. If we can track this anomalous Magic Flow to its final convergence point, we might be able to use the detector there to capture the more macroscopic ley lines of Magic Power. From there, we could pinpoint a stable spatial node to leave this blockaded continent, or at the very least, find an area where the Magic Power environment is relatively ’normal’!"

Hearing this deduction, Roland’s eyes sharpened.

He carefully studied the Sheepskin Scroll in Bronson’s hands. His gaze traced the marked trajectories of the Magic Flow, his finger unconsciously following the lines in the air.

After a moment, his finger stopped at the northwestern edge of the Sheepskin Scroll, the direction toward which several major Magic Flows were pointing.

"The northwest?"

Roland spoke slowly, his voice low.

He raised his head, looking toward the distant horizon shrouded by the Curtain of Heaven.

In his mind, the ancient map of Aiselon that Duadeng had gifted him before they parted came into clear view.

Based on their position after falling through the Curtain of Heaven, they were currently on the southeastern fringe of this lost continent.

Then, to the northwest...

If that ancient map was accurate...

...then that direction was the absolute heart of this continent’s ancient legends and countless interwoven mysteries. It was the glorious pinnacle of a lost civilization, a place spoken of only vaguely even in the ancient songs of Galvis...

Silver Radiance City.