Chapter 127: Cities of Black Iron, Silver, and Gold

Radiance spilled down from the firmament.

With it came shadows—shadows that engulfed the greater part of Hermetica, the Mist Zone included.

It was a city.

A city suspended in the sky like a high-hanging sun.

A city forged entirely of gold, shining with such brilliance that it defied the erosion of the Deepest Night.

The City of Gold.

This was the name the ancients had bestowed upon it.

When this magnificent city, resembling a miniature sun, manifested above Hermetica, it was as if the dawn had slashed through the long night. Even the Deepest Night, which devoured light and twisted order, was forced to retreat before this supreme and pure radiance. Demons that had not yet managed to flee were ignited like torches, their desperate wails silenced as they were reduced to nothing but embers on the ground.

And this was merely the beginning of the transformation.

As the sky above Hermetica blazed with light, the calm waters of the Southern Coast began to roar and churn.

Vortex after vortex—

The entire sea was as turbulent and chaotic as a pot of boiling gruel!

Then, with a thunderous roar—

Accompanied by the cascading fury of a thousand waterfalls—

A city rose from beneath the sea’s surface.

It was a mottled, ancient city, draped in green moss. In the distant past, it had been the dwelling of the ancients, the twin shadow of Hermetica, and the ultimate prison sealing away the Great One that flowed from the source of Chaos. Its name was R'lyeh—the City of R'lyeh, which lay in long slumber within the deep sea, trapped in an eternal, delirious dream.

In an even older epoch, it had possessed another name.

The City of Silver.

Gold, Silver, Black Iron—

This was the Tri-City.

Hermetica had once been known by the name of the Tri-City. Though the layers of history had obscured this truth, it was no secret to those who paid attention.

Yet, few realized that while Hermetica was part of the Tri-City, the legendary city of the ancients was not Hermetica itself—if one were to be precise, Hermetica, rising from the earth like a military fortress, was merely one of the three.

The City of Black Iron.

The Tri-City was not composed of the Upper, Lower, and Mist Zones separated by the Walls of Sighs. How could the First Ancients, who had carved a domain of order out of the dark chaos and ignited the flame of civilization, have left behind such a petty design?

The Tri-City consisted of three closely linked citadels.

According to the unverified myths left by the ancients, they were three cities piled high with gold, silver, and black iron—the ultimate, eternally unbreakable bastion.

As the Lord of Hermetica and the head of the Galsworthy family, who had guarded this secret for generations, Duke Galsworthy naturally knew of this hidden truth. But it was not until he truly played this final trump card—awakening the City of Gold and the City of Silver—that he gained a preliminary, albeit hazy, understanding of the Tri-City amidst the earth-shattering, sea-churning chaos.

There was no doubt that it possessed power far beyond imagination.

Even the Leviathan, the behemoth of the sea that had once nearly submerged Hermetica, would surely meet its downfall before the eternally unbreakable Tri-City should it appear again.

However—

A shadow flitted across the eyes of the silver-haired, black-eyed Glorious One. The Tri-City could only defend against external catastrophes. The true peril facing Hermetica did not lie in the chaotic demons or the servants of the Old Ones who felt the summons, but in the extinguishing of the Flame and the gradual awakening of the Great Old Ones that followed.

They were terrifying adversaries, formidable even to the ancients who possessed the power to forge worlds.

They were the very antithesis of the foundation upon which the Domain of Order stood.

Once the suppression of the Flame was lost, the entirety of Hermetica—and indeed the entire Tri-City—would be dragged into their eternal, dreamless sleep. And when that time came—

No one would survive.

Therefore, no matter how magnificent or vast the Tri-City might be, it was meaningless at this moment.

The ultimate defensive measures left by the ancients might repel the supreme beasts that emerged with the tides of chaos, but they were insufficient against the Great Old Ones who had once waged war against the ancients.

After all, the so-called Great Old Ones were the Great Existences that predated the creation of the world, stemming from the Great Source of Chaos. Their very existence symbolized the blind, idiotic will of chaos; they were the ultimate manifestation of dark, chaotic entropy. To say nothing of fighting them, a mere mortal would be assimilated by chaos simply by gazing upon their twisted, chaotic forms. To accidentally overhear their whispers was enough to invite madness.

They were on an entirely different plane of existence from humanity, from the Glorious Ones, from the Sword-Bearers, from the High Demons, and from the Chosen.

Did they bear malice toward humanity?

The answer might surprise most: they held no malice. They never sought to destroy humanity, but only the Domain of Order that the ancients had carved out of the dark void.

Humans were merely insignificant ants who happened to live within this region.

But even ants had the right to seek survival.

Even the Ancient Gods, who existed before the world’s inception, had no right to strip them of that!

A flame burned in his chest, yet Duke Galsworthy’s expression was unnaturally cold. He withdrew his gaze, swept his dark eyes across the central plaza of Hermetica, and spoke in a voice as hard and cold as steel:

"I know what you are all thinking," his voice was not loud, yet it was enough to command the attention of the Glorious Ones. "This is the Tri-City, the final and greatest defense bestowed upon Hermetica by the ancients."

The very word "ancients" held a magical power for the Glorious Ones. With this single sentence, Duke Galsworthy injected a sedative into their hearts, leaving the assembly in silence.

"However—even so, Hermetica cannot escape its doom." His tone shifted; there were no empty words of hope, no beating around the bush. The Lord of Hermetica laid bare the bloody truth. "The Flame of Hermetica has extinguished. The claws of chaos beneath the deep sea are stirring, and the Ancient Gods who once warred with the ancients are peering at us from the endless abyss."

He paused, his razor-sharp gaze scanning the crowd.

"Forgive my candor, but this is a war we are destined to lose. I see no hope of victory; Hermetica is beyond redemption." His words were like sharp knives, piercing the chests of those present, leaving them gasping in stifled misery. "Yet—what awaits us is not the end of the world, nor is it a predestined fate of death. We carry more than just glory; we carry hope."

A long silence followed, as if waiting for something, or perhaps brewing something.

Duke met the eyes of the crowd with his own, deep as the night.

Then, he said, enunciating every word:

"Fight our way out."

"Fight our way out—carve a path of blood out of Hermetica, carve a path of blood through the Deepest Night. Do not hesitate, do not falter. Our destination is the Holy City of Hammurabi."

"If the Cult of Chaos blocks the way—kill!"

"If the High Demons obstruct our path—kill!"

"Gentlemen, this is war—the war that has continued since the ancients shattered the dark chaos, the war between Order and Chaos."

"You, I, and every one of us here has no retreat. All we can do is hack a path through the thorns that surround us."

"And then, move forward."

"The journey may be fraught with difficulties, it may be paved with corpses, and it may be that all of us here shall find our graves in a foreign land. But I ask you—are you afraid!"

A brief silence.

Then, a unified response rang out to the heavens.

"No!"

"No, you say..." Duke’s voice dropped, then rose sharply, "Perhaps. But I am afraid. Even now, the fear within me will not be dispelled—I fear the boundless power of the Ancient Gods who once commanded the dark chaos of the old days, I fear the layers of mist that shroud our uncertain future, and more than that... I fear that I may not be able to lead you through the Deepest Night, that I may fail to lead you to Hammurabi!"

"But I have no choice."

"To stay here is to die."

"The flame of Hermetica may be extinguished, but the spirit of the Glorious Ones must never be broken here." His voice rose once more. "So answer me—do you wish to lay down your weapons and meekly embrace the death that is to come, or will you follow me, holding your torches high in the long night, hacking a path through the thorns and the unknown with iron and blood, with blood and glory?"

"Answer me!"

Thousands of Glorious Ones expressed similar sentiments in different ways, and then... in the stifling, impassioned atmosphere, they unified under a single slogan.

"We are the Glorious Ones!"

Like a mountain call, like a tsunami, wave after wave of sound surged forth.

There was no need for further words; the title "Glorious Ones" was enough to declare their stance.

"Very well." Duke Galsworthy’s expression remained unmoved. He watched them, watched them until they had calmed down, until the assembly had regained its composure. Only then did he speak in a voice as still as a stagnant well, "Gentlemen, we have little time left. The Great Old One sealed beneath Hermetica may drag us into an eternal, dreamless sleep at any moment. Therefore, I leave you with only half an hour to prepare. Assemble here in thirty minutes."

"And then—we depart."

There was no need to discuss the collection and organization of supplies; the Council had already begun this work before the assembly began.

There was no need to reorganize the ranks or reconcile the interests of the various families; those matters had been settled while he was unconscious, and a consensus had been reached under the pressure of life and death.

There was even less need to structure the units, as the formation was already set out in the annual emergency contingency plans.

This world... does not cease to turn because of any single individual.

No matter how noble or great a person may be, they are insignificant compared to the entirety of society and civilization.

Therefore, in these final thirty minutes, he intended to see someone—someone he had to see.

His name was Brandon, the Patriarch of the Cult’s Hermetica branch.

At the same time, he was a Great Sword-Bearer.

The fourth Great Sword-Bearer, hidden by the Cult within Hermetica.