Chapter 433: Palace of Memory (3)

If a clone is created with such intricacy, it is almost certainly a forbidden spell utilizing human sacrifice.

Furthermore, it must be a type of spell created by borrowing the power of an Apostle.

Lennok had directly encountered ‘Amrita’s Scales,’ an Apostle spell used for large-scale spatial movement in Palgung Fortress, and was aware of its efficiency.

“…That’s truly incredible, Evan.” Cassia, who had been watching in bated breath, showed an unconcealable expression of admiration.

“To be so overwhelmingly… in a situation where we were practically surrounded. I can’t believe it even as I see it. Are you perhaps a soldier, not a traveler?”

“He seems even more monstrous than before… Is it just my imagination?” Pavlen Atwood, whose face was still slightly pale from his injuries, seemed rather relieved after seeing Lennok’s handiwork.

“The Guido Cult doesn’t easily cling on once they realize an opponent is too troublesome to deal with. If they’ve clearly recognized your skill, there’s even a chance they’ll retreat, but—”

“More importantly, look at this.” Lennok cut off Atwood’s words and pointed at the dead priest’s face.

The face of the priest, who had fallen bleeding from his temples, had completely changed to that of a different person than before.

The faces of the other two also turned serious upon confirming this.

“A transformation spell… or perhaps he was controlling someone else?”

“He’s a race not commonly seen in Vulcan. It’s highly probable he was a member of the cult.” At Atwood’s words, Lennok looked back at him with a slightly surprised expression.

“Why, what’s wrong…?”

“No. I just thought you were making more sense than I expected…”

“…” Atwood, unable to respond, cleared his throat and subtly began to gauge Lennok’s reaction.

“More importantly, could we talk for a moment after this is over? A constructive conversation regarding the thesis royalties and capital investment…”

“…” One had to admire Atwood’s consistency in trying to latch on as soon as he realized Lennok was the author of the thesis.

Ignoring him as he subtly appealed to their past connection and mentioned investing in the thesis’s research results, Lennok rummaged in his pocket.

“Do you know that your thesis is already nearing 8,000 citations? This is an absurd figure even just within the pure magic academic community. If we find a suitable investor and actively pursue the research, business success is already a foregone conclusion, but…”

“Ludmilla, it’s Evan. We’re done here.”

[Still searching on this end.]

Ignoring Atwood’s nonsense, he immediately started the call. This was the person Lennok had called before starting this operation, asking if they wanted to work together. Lennok had contacted the Antares Mercenary Group beforehand, with whom he had built a connection under the name Evan.

“I haven’t pinpointed the exact location, but I’ve confirmed the terrain and scenery. I’ll transmit the relevant data, so please focus your search on the city outskirts.]”

Lennok said this, quickly checked his contacts, and spoke again.

“I’ve sent a photo taken during the engagement. They’ll likely have this appearance.]”

[Understood. Since you’re also my little sister’s teacher, I’ll handle this myself for sure.]” A unique, cackling laugh echoed from the other end of the line.

[A strong old man from our mercenary group who just returned from injury is… huh?] Ludmilla’s voice from the other end of the line suddenly cut off.

“What’s wrong?”

[Hm, well, you see….]” Ludmilla said, sounding slightly flustered.

[The Commander said he’s coming himself?]

Near the mega-city. An unnamed plain. A small cave nestled between randomly rising rock formations.

Among the dozens of people lying as if dead, a few convulsed as if having a seizure, then went limp.

When someone observing nearby gave a signal, a woman walked out from deep within the cave.

Her face, as she surveyed the priests, was rigid.

“What, is it over already?”

It was Amila Bainjer, who had just been killed by Lennok’s bullet through her head. Her complexion seemed perfectly fine, without a scratch or any injury, but her expression as she looked at the people lying on the cave floor was not good.

“Camlodal’s Doll… This is why I don’t like this spell. I only find out what happened after the spell ends.”

The words spoken by the doll, which had projected Amila’s consciousness, just before its death were not a lie.

The Apostle spell, Camlodal’s Doll, created using the power of Camlodal, the 8th Apostle of the Cult, is a spell that sacrifices an equal number of humans to project one’s own clone onto those sacrifices.

Once created based on her memories and abilities, the doll moves independently, and its memories are only transmitted to the caster after the clone’s death.

“Isn’t it unavoidable?” Gavin, a young man leaning against the cave wall and observing the situation, replied calmly.

“To collect information without directly entering the city, this method is the best. It’s natural that the rewards are lacking, as we don’t bear the same risks.”

The clone, created based on the caster’s memories and abilities, doesn’t possess the combat power of the original but has comparable thinking and judgment abilities. Though difficult to use directly in combat, it should be capable of entering the city and investigating information. Indeed, the most frequently used forbidden human sacrifice spell by priests who preach the cult’s doctrines was Camlodal’s Doll.

However, Amila immediately shook her head at Gavin’s words.

“No, that’s not what I mean. The clone’s memories haven’t returned.”

“…!!” What did it mean that the clone’s memories hadn’t properly returned, even though the sacrificed priests had died?

It meant that what her doll experienced inside the city was far from normal.

Instantly, the atmosphere among the priests surrounding Amila became tense.

“What should we do?”

“Amrita’s Scales. Contact the branch now to prepare it. We’ll prepare to escape.”

“Understood.”

There was no need to foolishly remain here after realizing things were going wrong. They had to leave this place immediately. As the priests began to move swiftly, Amila spoke again.

“Ah, and while the spell is being prepared, get one priest ready separately.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“If not now, I won’t be able to confirm it. I need to meet our esteemed 8th Apostle directly.”

Thud!! Without hesitation, she killed one of the priests they had brought and sacrificed him, opening a mental link to directly communicate with the Apostle. The fanatics, armed with their doctrine, had come too far to fear death.

“Ugh…” The fanatic stared blankly at his heart, which had been pierced.

The blood rising from his heart transformed into the form of a wavering cephalopod and floated into the air.

The cephalopod slowly looked around, then found Amila’s face and muttered in a languid tone.

[Bainjer… What is it…? I told you not to call me like this.]”

“Bishop Amila Bainjer, Branch Manager of the Cult’s Northeast Province, will greet the 8th Apostle.” Cold sweat trickled down Amila’s forehead as she respectfully bowed her head.

“I humbly request that you briefly inform me about the memories of the spell we just used…”

[I made a big mistake.]” The cephalopod’s tone was slow, as if even making its voice resonate was bothersome, but its timbre was truly chilling.

[Instead of expressing gratitude for using the spell, are you trying to find the reason for its failure in me? I should purge all the faithful with my own hands before the end approaches.]”

“…My apologies.”

[Normally, I wouldn’t even forgive such a consultation… but I owe you a great debt…]” Camlodal’s eyes slowly closed.

[Knowing that, you must have sought me out… Though it’s incredibly audacious… Very well….]”

As the 8th Apostle seemed to agree, the other priests secretly breathed a sigh of relief. The 8th Apostle, Camlodal. One of the very few single-digit Apostles who had not yet fallen into madness, his power dealt with the division and imitation of consciousness and mind. With the power transmitted from the Doom of the Outer Sea, Camlodal infinitely divided his consciousness, suppressing his madness by mimicking Ascendants, and through this, still continued to act for the cult.

Although his nature was eccentric and chaotic, making him truly difficult to deal with, unlike other Apostles, he wasn’t someone completely beyond communication.

Amila had aimed for this, opening the mental link to directly hear from Camlodal about the spell’s execution process.

Even if the memories of the clone created by Camlodal’s Doll spell weren’t transmitted to the caster, the master of that spell would have received the intentions of the doll created by his own power.

Of course, Amila didn’t directly call upon and implore the Apostle every time an Apostle spell failed.

‘It makes no sense for the doll that entered the city to die so quickly. There must be something of comparable value.’

Although its combat abilities were infinitely degraded compared to the original, a clone that inherited at least some of her memories and judgment couldn’t have died in vain. If so, it must have been because there was a strong reason or a formidable opponent. At the very least, she needed to know what her clone had been trying to target.

[I see…]” Camlodal, who had been silent, slowly nodded his slippery cephalopod head.

[You met a strong one. A seasoned hunter and an excellent seeker of knowledge. Your doll approached, targeting the technique he created, and was defeated.]”

“…”

[Even though you set a trap and approached first, you couldn’t escape… At the end, he tampered with the clone’s head, and the spell got tangled… It’s somewhat natural that the memories weren’t transmitted.]”

The reason the memories of what Amila’s clone experienced weren’t properly transmitted to the original body. It was because Lennok, in the process of hitting her head with various reactions and confirming the illusion, severely damaged the clone’s consciousness system.

Even Amila’s clone itself didn’t realize it, but the side effect was caused by the Pontiff becoming self-aware within her mind and conversing with Lennok. It was an overload caused by the intervention of a being superior to the Apostle’s spell, but no one realized it.

“Can you tell me what that technique is?”

[Impossible. Only the intense emotion felt just before death remains.]”

Amila nodded.

“I’ll have to find out. If it moved, disregarding its existing orders, it must be something of undeniable value.”

[Do as you wish. But you will not succeed.]”

“…Pardon?” Amila, who had been about to call Gavin and prepare, stopped at the Apostle’s words.

[I answered your call today not to grant your request, but to see his face.]”

“What… on earth…?” Amila felt a chill run down her spine and her mind began to race. Quickly drawing a conclusion, she shouted to the surrounding priests.

“Everyone, flee and hide yourselves!! Someone is coming this way right now—”

“Amila Bainjer.” At that moment, someone whispered her name, and simultaneously, the other priests uniformly collapsed like puppets with cut strings.

“Guido Cult Northeast Branch Manager. 58 years old. Manipulation-type sorcerer. Born in Kabahim, in the Northern Continent highlands, she lost both parents and joined the cult. She was formally granted priest status before turning twenty and became a bishop at forty-two.”

“…”

“Five years ago, she took over as the cult’s Northeast Branch Manager, and amidst chaotic circumstances, pushed out the Far East Branch and reclaimed influence. She significantly increased the number of followers joining the doctrine.”

The calm male voice resonated in her ear. Even as the voice recited her life history, Amila did not panic but calmly scanned the priests collapsed around her.

Amila let out a hollow laugh upon confirming that even Gavin, the young man who had steadily assisted her, had stopped breathing, his eyes wide open.

“…They’re all dead. He didn’t even make a move beforehand. Did he really just cut off their breath the moment he registered their presence?”

This isn’t merely the level of a superhuman with exceptional skill.

It was a perfect and clean technique, equivalent to pronouncing a death sentence upon all living beings the moment one set foot inside this cave.

A physical ability user at their peak. At the very least, a Holy Rank ability user who has completed a Hierarchy.

What did it mean that no one noticed such a powerful individual approaching so closely, and that only the 8th Apostle Camlodal had recognized that fact?

However, Amila’s thoughts were swept away and vanished into darkness by the man’s next words.

“Five years from now, you will win the cult’s internal power struggle and rise to the position of General Administrator, unifying the Eastern Continent. Later, accumulating more achievements, you will directly meet the Pontiff and inherit the 5th Apostle position. You will be granted the power of ‘Gallatea,’ one of the Doom of the Outer Sea, and play a crucial role in breaking through the central front.”

“What… did you say…? What on earth is that…!!”

“At the end of the world, you stood beside the Pontiff with a very high probability.”

The man slowly grabbed her chin, turned her face towards him, and smiled.

“Lucky for me. Today, I can erase one of those possibilities from the cult’s ranks.”

A tall figure with a fur-collared coat draped over his shoulders. The face of a young man smiling with a gentle expression. But the presence radiating from that smile was by no means benevolent.

The moment Amila recognized the man’s face and her eyes widened.

“Antares…!!!”

Crack!! The dull sound of someone’s neck twisting unnaturally echoed through the now silent cave.