Chapter 1267 — Phantom

A dry wind blew across the arena. The banners fluttering atop the spears snapped vigorously in the wind. The mortals who had entered the divine realm and the phantom of the God of War that had appeared in the divine realm faced each other quietly across the whole arena. Kamal finally withdrew the floating energy spheres in his hands and led the wary team toward the giant figure in the distance.

The huge figure clad in hollow armor remained motionless—only then did Kamal and the White Knights finally relax.

Kamal now had time to carefully sense his surroundings. He raised one arm and watched the arcane light floating on its surface being suppressed by the environment. He said thoughtfully: "We are already far from the interference caused by the portal... I might be able to set up my magic laboratory in this arena."

"The conditions do look quite good," Mirmirna agreed from the side. As the former sovereign of the field of magic, she certainly knew that Kamal had always wanted an opportunity to verify the nature of magic, and she herself had an unprecedented interest in this project. "Once the follow-up equipment arrives, you can begin setting up the experimental environment—if you need help, just come to me."

Kamal stopped. He looked somewhat strangely at the former god beside him, who was smiling, and only after a long while did he say in a low voice: "If necessary, I will."

The explorers came to the huge throne. The giant formed of iron-gray armor still sat quietly there, maintaining the posture of overlooking the arena, exactly as Mirmirna had judged: he was only a phantom.

Kamal looked up. At such a close distance, he finally saw a trace of illusory transparency on the surface of the iron-gray armor, which made him curious: "Why is there a phantom of the God of War here? After a god falls, will such a phantom always appear in his divine realm?"

"I do not know," Mirmirna slowly shook her head. "The God of War... his fall was very special. My experience may not be useful here..."

As she spoke, she reached out and gently touched the hollow, illusory iron-gray armor. A sensation like touching cold mist and clouds came through. Almost at the same time, a voice abruptly surfaced in the minds of all members of the exploration team, including Kamal. The voice was low and majestic, with a steely texture. Everyone who heard it could not help but see visions of battlefields, blades, city walls, and legions in their minds, and the voice said only one sentence:

"Good luck to you..."

The voice in their minds disappeared, and the many visions that had appeared along with it vanished like smoke. A muffled voice came from inside the helmet of the White Knight Quinn: "Master Kamal, just now I heard..."

"I heard it too—everyone check your mental contamination readings!"

"Readings are zero." "No contamination." "The protective devices did not raise an alarm..."

In dealing with divine power, one must be prepared for mental contamination no matter what one hears or sees. Therefore, the exploration team immediately checked their own conditions. Only after confirming that no one had suffered mental contamination did Kamal have time to focus on the content of that brief "vision." He looked up at Mirmirna: "Was that... the voice left by the God of War?!"

"It seems so," Mirmirna had also heard the voice, and her eyes became serious. "That should be the last 'thought imprint' the God of War left before departing this place..."

"A thought imprint..." one White Knight said instinctively. "Did he know long ago that we were coming, and leave such a sentence?"

"No..." Kamal had already reacted. He shook his head. "This sentence was not left for us."

He raised his head, his gaze resting for a long time on the iron-gray giant on the throne. After a few seconds, he said in a deep voice: "It was left for the mortal army that would face him on the battlefield of Winterhold."

Mirmirna was silent for a long time. At last she reached out and lightly pounded the cold, solemn throne: "A brainless brute..."

The exploring party fell silent. Kamael brooded for half a minute before suddenly raising his head to look at Miremna. "Wasn't the God of War already completely insane and out of control by then? How could he still have left a sentence like that?"

The words had barely left his mouth when a voice suddenly drifted from among the rows of seats in the arena stands nearby. "By then my lord had indeed gone utterly mad... but even within ultimate madness, a sliver of reason may yet remain."

That sudden voice was as startling as the phantom of the God of War they had just seen. The magical radiance around Kamael surged in an instant, and he whirled toward the source of the sound. "Who goes there?!"

Under the watchful, battle-ready gazes of the explorers, a figure draped in long robes slowly emerged from behind the nearby arena seats.

In this dead divine realm of the God of War, already in the midst of slow disintegration, a mortal figure had appeared!

He wore the robes of a priest of the God of War, and upon his head rested an illusory, translucent crown. His features were blurred in the chaotic light of heaven, yet he could still be vaguely made out to be an old man. The figure stepped out from behind the stands and walked slowly down the steps, one stride at a time, until he stood before Kamael and the White Knights—like a ghost, raising no sound of footsteps and emitting no aura at all, just like... the phantom of the God of War beside him.

"So you've finally come out," Miremna said, showing no surprise at the figure's appearance; she seemed to have sensed him long before. "I felt you a moment ago."

"You are another deity," the ghostlike figure said, looking toward Miremna with reverence.

"I once was."

"Forgive me that I cannot offer you worship—I revere only my lord."

"You need not worship me in any case—I'm retired."

Kamael stared fixedly at the ghostly old man who had appeared before them. Though a guess had already taken shape in his mind, he still asked in a stern voice, "Who are you?"

"Malm Duniter—that is the name I once used... You may call me by it," the old man in the priest's robes said slowly. "As for now... I am merely a humble servant here."

"Malm Duniter, Pope of the Church of the God of War Typhoeus... Just as I thought," Kamael said, eyes fixed on the other, his voice low. "You should be at rest... Why do you still linger here?"

Malm, the former War God's Pope, did not answer at once. Instead he turned to look at the figure upon the throne, and only after a long while did he speak softly. "I have come to keep my lord company."