Chapter 431

It was a pure white space, spotless, without even a speck of dust.

A place so sacred it felt holy—where a man knelt, offering his prayer.

He looked human, yet he was not.

The horns rising from his head proved he was something different.

Two horns, like those of a mountain goat.

His name was Garante.

A survivor of the Highlanders—a race now reduced to only a handful.

In Kurayan, the Highlanders had been the ones who mediated with the gods.

To better commune with the divine, they lived on mountains that touched the sky.

The higher the mountain, the closer to the heavens—the clearer the gods’ voices, they believed.

Even their name, Highlander, came from their home in mountains that brushed the heavens.

And Garante was the last priest of that people.

Now he prayed, eyes closed, desperate. But as always, the gods gave no reply.

Over a hundred years ago, when they crossed to Earth, their communion had been severed.

It seemed his god had no power here.

Perhaps… when Kurayan fell, his god perished too.

But Garante never spoke such blasphemy aloud.

Outwardly, he was still a devout priest.

At least, in appearance.

Only a few dozen Highlanders remained in El Harun.

Even in Kurayan, they had been few. Crossing to Earth, their numbers dwindled further.

It was no surprise that their race might vanish at any time.

The only reason they still held any place in El Harun—was entirely thanks to Garante.

As long as he stood as priest, none dared openly scorn the Highlanders.

But the day he died, their people would surely vanish from El Harun’s history.

Knowing this, Garante prayed all the more fervently to the silent god.

Even once—just once—if the god answered, the Highlanders could prove their worth and endure.

“Oh Lord… please, have mercy on Your people.”

And then—

Fwaahhh—!

The crystal sphere before him burst into dazzling light,

as if in answer to his plea.

“Ah!”

Garante’s eyes flew open at the sudden brilliance.

For over a century he had prayed here, yet never had the medium—the crystal sphere—responded.

“At last… the god answers…”

But then—

Crack!

A sound of glass shattering.

The light vanished, and fractures spread across the sphere’s surface.

“What…?”

Garante’s face froze with shock.

The crystal sphere was a Highlander treasure, carried from Kurayan itself.

Through it, they had once heard the voices of the gods.

And now, its surface bore cracks.

For the Highlanders, a catastrophe.

“What…?”

With trembling hands, he lifted it.

And when his eyes caught the shape of the fissures, they widened.

The cracks were no ordinary pattern.

He whispered:

“What omen is this supposed to be…?”

For the fractures traced the shape of a crawling serpent.

---

Zeon lifted his head, eyes forward.

Something—an alien presence—flowed from ahead.

No one told him, yet instinctively he knew.

El Harun lay before him.

He could feel it—mana surging violently through the land.

Invisible, yet Earth was saturated with it.

Mana swirled around the globe like air itself.

It crashed into mountains, diverted and redirected. It pooled in deep valleys and canyons.

Where mana was dense, awakeneds were born more often. Where beasts settled, they grew abnormally strong.

But such places were rare.

And almost never human territory.

Without fail, S-class beasts had claimed them.

The strongest among even S-class.

And now—Zeon realized—before him stretched such a place.

If Kurayan’s races had crossed here, they would have built their city on such a site.

As if to confirm his thoughts, Uslann spoke:

“From here on, we enter El Harun’s domain. Be very cautious.”

“Cautious?”

“In your behavior. Your gaze. Even your expression. Leave nothing to be criticized. You must have guessed already—this is no place friendly to humans.”

“I’ll remember.”

Zeon nodded firmly.

After a long walk, an unexpected sight appeared.

From afar, it had seemed only desert. But as they neared—suddenly, a canyon opened before them.

‘An illusion barrier?’

With such a massive canyon, there was no way anyone could mistake it for desert.

It had to be a perception-blocking ward, deceiving both human and beast alike.

Uslann’s party and the caravan entered without hesitation.

At the canyon’s mouth, Zeon felt eyes—sharp, piercing.

Hidden watchers.

Elven Rangers guarding the entrance.

They kept themselves concealed, observing all who entered.

Should anyone unauthorized step in, they would strike instantly.

Most people never even realized the Rangers were there. That was how thoroughly they hid their presence.

Uslann led the group deeper into the canyon.

To the eye, nothing was unusual. But in less than a kilometer, Zeon had already sensed four traps.

Massive ones designed for giant beasts, and specialized ones for hunting humans.

The mana particle cannon he had once faced—that too was here.

Camouflaged as ordinary rock, its barrel still peeked out from the canyon wall.

If an emergency arose, the traps would activate, and the canyon would transform into a killing ground.

Yet Zeon did not flinch.

‘For a cradle of the other races, this much defense is only natural.’

Just as Neo Seoul was humanity’s last hope, so El Harun was the final bastion of the other races.

If El Harun fell, so too would their future on Earth.

So they turned the canyon into a gate of death.

Most awakeneds, most beasts—would perish before even reaching halfway.

Past that deadly passage, a colossal wall rose before them.

It spanned the canyon, sealing it completely.

At first glance, Zeon knew.

They had reached El Harun.

As tall as Neo Seoul’s walls, and at its base—rows upon rows of soldiers stood in formation.

The defenders of El Harun.

Clad in heavy armor, eyes glaring, their presence alone was oppressive.

‘Every one of them… the equivalent of at least C-class awakeneds.’

And there were hundreds.

First-time visitors could only be overwhelmed.

Uslann’s group and the caravan halted before the wall.

Heavily armored soldiers advanced toward them.

The captain of the guard looked them over.

“Uslann. Hodran. You came together? What happened?”

“We met on our return and traveled together.”

“I see.”

He nodded. Then his gaze sharpened.

“But I see two I don’t recognize. Who are they?”

“The man with us is Zeon. He aided in the hunt for Derod. At my request, he accompanies us.”

“And this woman is Neria. She was attacked by scavengers and wandering the desert. We rescued her.”

Uslann and Hodran introduced them in turn.

The guard captain’s eyes narrowed.

No outsiders entered El Harun—not unless under exceptional circumstances.

Even if they were of other races.

It was the law, to protect El Harun.

Like Neo Seoul, El Harun was overpopulated within limited land.

There was no capacity left to accept more.

For outsiders to enter, they needed the sponsorship of high officials. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on novel[f]ire.net

Luckily, both Uslann and Hodran met that standard.

The captain asked:

“You vouch for them both?”

“I do.”

“As do I.”

Uslann and Hodran answered together.

The captain nodded.

“Then the procedure must still be done. You understand?”

“I do.”

“Good.”

He gestured, and a middle-aged elf in robes approached.

A mage of the guard.

The mage faced Zeon.

“Your name?”

“Zeon.”

“Your purpose in El Harun?”

“I come at Uslann’s request.”

“Do you carry anything that could harm El Harun?”

“No.”

“Can you swear you will do nothing to harm El Harun?”

The words seemed routine.

But there was a snare hidden within.

Around the mage’s neck hung a pendant, glowing faint red.

‘An item.’

Elves possessed the power of covenant.

Like when Briel once bound herself to Zeon with a careless vow.

This pendant forced such an oath. A cursed artifact.

Break it, and the wearer would destroy themselves.

It was the work of Ferino, a famed Kurayan curse-sorcerer.

“I swear.”

Zeon answered without hesitation.

He had no intention of harming El Harun.

At once, a prickling sensation bloomed in his chest. Then something solid settled inside.

The pendant’s power had taken hold.

For most, the mere thought of bearing such a curse was suffocating.

But Zeon, who had faced the Grim Reaper’s scythe, felt nothing.

‘Compared to that, this isn’t even a curse.’

The scythe, now absorbed by Gaia, had inflicted enormous backlash on its wielder.

From it, Zeon had built a strong resistance to curses.

This trinket could do him no harm.

Unaware, the mage smiled, believing the curse properly bound.

Next came Neria.

“State your name.”

“Neria!”

“Your purpose in El Harun?”

“None.”

“…None?”

“The caravan brought me.”

“So you came against your own will?”

“Fate brought me.”

“You believe in fate?”

“I didn’t before. Now I do. Since it brought me here.”

“Hm.”

The mage frowned. None had ever answered so vaguely before.

Still, he pressed on, asking a few more things, then reached the final question.

“Can you swear to do no harm to El Harun?”

“Yes!”

Neria replied without the slightest pause.

At once, the pendant around the mage’s neck glowed red.

But unlike before, it flickered—unstable.

The mage’s eyes flew wide.

Yet in the next instant, it returned to normal.

‘What…? An illusion?’

He had used this pendant hundreds of times.

Never once had it failed.

Surely it was nothing.

He turned to the captain.

“The oath holds. They may pass.”