The Greatest Warrior of All Time Returns-Chapter 357

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Chapter 357

The capital of Baltosma had become a true city of the dead—a Necropolis.

No trace of life could be felt anywhere.

But there was something even stranger.

These were not ordinary undead created by necromancy.

To describe them accurately—

they were monstrous lifeforms in the shape of the undead.

The necromantic mana that should have controlled the dead had no effect at all.

Not even “hacking” was possible; they were lifeforms merely wearing the forms of the dead—impossible to command or control.

Finding the spirit summoner Rebecca here was, in some sense, sheer luck.

She looked terrible—clearly she’d been through hell.

Boom!

Thud, thud, thud!

The sound of movement echoed; something had noticed the disturbance and was drawing closer.

“Damn it… this way, quickly!”

Though terrified, Rebecca pulled me along and led me through the ruins to the basement of a half-collapsed chapel.

To my surprise, there were still a few survivors there—barely a dozen.

“These are all that remain alive in the capital.”

Hard to believe humans had caused devastation of this scale, so swiftly and silently.

“Did you come here alone?”

She flinched, lowering her gaze.

“I had a superior with me. They’re dead now… We’re waiting for a rescue team from the Watchers.”

Then she looked straight at me.

“Leon Cascadia… Why are you here?”

“I came to find something.”

“What are you looking for? Don’t tell me—you’re involved in this?”

I met her wary stare.

“Let me ask you something first.”

“…What?”

“What exactly did I do to make you look at me like that?”

“T-that’s…”

“Oh, I see. You people are the so-called prophets, right? What is it—did one of your visions show me killing you or something?”

She said nothing.

Gotcha.

I sighed.

“So tell me, these ‘prophets’ of yours—didn’t they foresee this catastrophe?”

“It’s not… prophecy, it’s—”

She caught herself, biting her tongue.

“What do you mean by that?”

“N-nothing. I misspoke.”

I narrowed my eyes.

The Watchers’ actions couldn’t be explained by prophecy alone.

If they weren’t true seers, then what kind of power were they using?

Even the Saint’s visions came through divine revelation, so this was something else entirely.

“Forget it, tell me what happened here first.”

That was what mattered.

Finding clues about the Archangel Uriel came before anything else.

“…It’s better you hear it from her directly.”

Rebecca led me deeper into the refuge and knocked on a small door.

“Your Highness, it’s me.”

“Come in.”

A weak voice answered from within.

Rebecca opened the old door and guided me inside.

There, over a spread of maps of the capital, sat a young girl—no older than sixteen.

Slender, fragile, with no sign of swordsmanship or magic training.

To be honest, she didn’t look very useful.

But as the princess—likely the last surviving member of Baltosma’s royal line—she could one day be its queen.

I greeted her with minimal courtesy. Her eyes widened in recognition.

“Good heavens… Leon Cascadia?! How are you here?”

“You know me?”

“I was at the exchange meeting! Of course I know. Please, come in! I’m sorry we have nothing proper to offer…”

Even as royalty, she had no power now; the kingdom’s government was in ruins.

Still, given the report she must have received about Prince Fedmore’s plot during the exchange, it wasn’t strange that she knew my name.

Barely having escaped with her life, she was one of perhaps ten survivors in a capital that once housed thousands.

It was, essentially, the death of a nation.

“I’d offer condolences, but I doubt they’d mean much.”

“N-no… Baltosma hasn’t fallen yet. The Grand Chancellor’s Rite of Sin caused this, yes, but there may still be others alive. The outlying cities might be unaffected…”

“Rite of Sin?”

Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke.

“It happened all in a single day. The sky filled with violet clouds, the world turned blood-red… and people—alive—became undead. Their screams filled the entire capital…”

She hugged her arms tightly, trembling.

“My father… my brother… everyone in the royal palace turned into monsters.”

The tears fell, but she wiped them away, forcing composure.

“I mustn’t cry. Baltosma isn’t lost yet. There must be a way to restore them—to return this city to what it was…”

“I hate to break it to you, but that’s impossible.”

“Th-that can’t be.”

“They’ve rotted past saving. Even if you could revert them, they wouldn’t truly be the same people.”

The truth hit her like a hammer; she looked ready to break down completely.

“Sir Leon,”

Rebecca said sharply,

“You don’t have to be so harsh—”

“Holding onto false hope gets everyone else killed.”

She fell silent.

She knew I was right.

As Rebecca comforted the princess, I slipped out to survey the surroundings.

“Librarian.”

[Confirmed.]

“This ‘Rite of Sin’ the Chancellor performed—was it like the ritual Talion used?”

[Highly likely. But unlike Talion’s case, this one appears to have been completed deliberately, over time.]

So Talion Fedmore’s accomplice had been here all along.

I hadn’t imagined that accomplice would be Baltosma’s Chancellor.

“Is that Chancellor still alive?”

[Unclear. But the phenomenon exceeds what a human ritualist should be able to do.]

No surprise.

If a mere human could cause something powerful enough to erase even an archangel’s trace, the Red Moon and Uriel’s war wouldn’t be so evenly matched.

This could only mean—

“There’s something on the level of Nyarlathotep or Cthugha behind this.”

[Current suspicion: Dagon, servant of the Red Moon.]

“Dagon?”

[Yes. Known as the King of the Dead of the Abyss.]

A deep-sea ruler of the dead—whatever that meant.

If one of the Red Moon’s lieutenants had crossed over with real strength, it would explain everything.

“This just got messy.”

[Recommendation: prioritize evacuating survivors. If Dagon is truly involved, the city will sink within days.]

I clicked my tongue.

“Too late for that.”

Withdrawal wasn’t my style.

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If I saw an enemy, I’d crush them—

especially one tied to the Red Moon.

But first, I needed samples.

The enemy knew I was here, yet made no move.

That beam that pierced Baril’s wings—it must have been Dagon’s.

If so, he already knew where every survivor was.

So what was he waiting for?

“…Time to storm the royal palace.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets and strode forward, letting the shadows stir.

The undead rushed me, their foul aura trying to corrode my mind—but my necromantic mana stirred and blocked it instantly.

Their corruption couldn’t touch me, nor could mine affect them.

A strange stalemate—but I had the upper hand in raw power.

“Out of my way.”

At my command, the surrounding shadows surged.

Wraiths poured out like beasts, tearing and devouring the undead.

Their bodies ripped apart, releasing vile miasma, but the wraiths ignored it completely.

Cthugha was dead; Nyarlathotep, enraged at the cultists, was now annihilating them.

I advanced toward the towering royal palace.

But the enemy wasn’t just going to let me in.

From ahead came the sound of metal dragging—

a huge figure approaching, hauling a massive axe.

Its body was human, dressed like a butcher—

but its head was a metallic sphere with no eyes, no mouth, no face.

Yet through the solid iron came a grotesque rasping breath.

The stench of blood and rot clung to it.

[Warning: entity meets specific anomalous conditions.]

“Let’s test it.”

I sent several wraiths at it.

They pounced, biting and clawing—

but their attacks left not even a scratch.

The creature turned its steel head toward them, reached out, and tore them apart with ease.

“Fine. Time to use something heavier.”

I awakened the power sleeping within me.

Thanatos—the Authority of Death.

The wraiths darkened, their claws now imbued with pure death.

The butcher advanced, dragging its axe—

but as the wraiths struck again, its body began to decay, blackening and collapsing.

Even as it staggered, they shredded it to pieces.

“So much for that.”

For all its bluster, it wasn’t that strong—just tough.

From there, clearing the way was easy.

I cut down several more of the iron-headed monsters and other twisted beings that had once been human.

Before long, I reached the palace’s heart—

where an elderly man, half-transformed into a fishlike creature, shambled forward.

He’d lost the power of speech, merely lurching toward me—

so I answered by severing his head with my ghostblade.

“Baltosma’s Chancellor.”

I’d never seen him before, but I knew instantly who he was.

It should have been satisfying—but something felt off.

“Librarian.”

[Confirmed.]

“Don’t you think that was too easy?”

And then—red mist began to seep into the air.

A trap.

I snarled, gathering mana and releasing it in an explosive surge.

Boom!

The crimson fog scattered violently and vanished.

That was it?

Too simple.

I turned back toward the refuge—

and froze.

The survivors were dead.

Hung on hooks, throats pierced, dangling in the air.

Princess, Rebecca, the few remaining townsfolk—all of them.

Their faces were twisted with terror, their bodies mutilated.

Only an hour ago they’d been alive.

Now, slaughtered like cattle.

I’d seen death before, but this—

this felt personal.

Like Dagon himself was playing with me.

I clenched my fists and stepped toward them—

—when a voice echoed.

“Nonexistent reality.”

The scene flickered, distorted—

and the world reset.

The survivors were alive again.

The princess at her map.

Rebecca at her side.

The same hope, the same fear—untouched.

“Sir Leon? What’s wrong?”

The princess asked, puzzled.

I turned silently and stepped outside again.

The undead awaited me once more—along with the iron-headed beasts.

A hallucination?

No.

Everything was identical—

same numbers, same strength.

Except… they were stronger.

Their resistance to the Authority of Death had grown.

I poured in more power, forcing them down, and once again reached the palace—

and once again killed the fish-like Chancellor.

When I returned—

the survivors were dead.

Again.

“Hah… unbelievable.”

Each time I left, they died.

Each time I returned, the world rewound.

I tried other methods,

layered defensive wards, stationed wraiths to guard them—

but no matter what I did, the result was the same.

Every safeguard gone. Every spell broken—without me sensing a thing.

Something was terribly wrong.

This was beyond illusion—

as if the laws of reality themselves were warped.

“Dagon, you disgusting bastard…”

So this was his trap.

A curse that blurred the line between reality and illusion, tormenting me endlessly.

“One thing’s certain, if this isn’t real, then you’re watching me.”

Wherever you’re hiding… the moment I find you,

I’ll make sure you die slowly.

I still didn’t know what method he’d used,

where the border between real and false lay,

or where Uriel—the Archangel I’d come to find—had gone.

But I would.

“Slowly. One step at a time.”

Because my greatest strength was the sheer number of ways I could kill a god.

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