Half a month had passed since the Blood Moon Cult incident. While the primary rescue operations in the capital had concluded, the work of clearing debris and repairing the city continued in an orderly fashion.
The Outer City had suffered the most. Nearly a third of the buildings between the Seventh and Twelfth Districts had collapsed, and other districts sustained varying degrees of damage.
The City Guard Station had temporarily requisitioned several markets to serve as relocation centers for the displaced, with dedicated personnel distributing food and fresh water daily. The situation in the Inner City was slightly better; aside from the barracks in the palace's backyard that were being rebuilt after a collapse, most other buildings only suffered external wall damage.
As for the Royal Magic and Martial Arts Academy, classes would not be resuming anytime soon. Three teaching buildings had collapsed, and half of the old library was in ruins. Teachers had managed to rescue the majority of the precious scrolls and records stored within, but the remainder were buried under rubble, requiring a page-by-page recovery effort.
Hogg stood by the window of his office at the top of the Magic Tower, looking down at the capital with his hands behind his back. After two weeks, the pace of the pedestrians on the streets had returned to normal, and a new rotation of City Guards had taken over. Aside from the cordoned-off construction zones, the entire city seemed to be back on track.
However, he knew in his heart that some accounts had yet to be settled. Following Ignatius’s arrest, he had ordered Intelligence to follow every lead and investigate all Blood Moon Cult strongholds in the capital. Napa had led raids on over a dozen secret underground chambers, capturing a group of peripheral cultists and seizing a large volume of sacrificial records and ledgers that they hadn't had time to destroy.
The names of over twenty nobles and merchant groups were implicated in those ledgers, including three branch families of marquises. The King had remained silent for a long time after seeing the list, eventually leaving the final decision to Hogg.
But Hogg felt this wasn't the whole story, which was why he had delayed making a final judgment.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.”
Napa pushed the door open, followed by Angela and Marz. Half a month of non-stop aftermath work had left all three looking weary to varying degrees, with dark circles still lingering under Napa’s eyes. Angela had uncharacteristically changed into formal mage robes, while Marz still held his perennial clipboard, flipping through pages faster than usual.
“Teacher, here is today’s report.” Marz opened his clipboard, speaking slightly faster than his normal pace. “Debris removal in the Twelfth District of the Outer City is eighty percent complete. We expect traffic to be fully restored in three to four days. The restoration plan for the academy’s Main Gate Square has passed its evaluation and will begin next month at the earliest. Also—”
He flipped a page and glanced at Hogg’s back.
“Angela’s team in Intelligence reports that the interrogations of the last batch of peripheral cultists are finished. Three of them disclosed several undiscovered supply caches in the Outer City, which we have already seized. The rest are being transferred to the Legal Department in batches per your orders. All transfer procedures should be complete within five days.”
Marz closed his clipboard and stood aside, waiting for instructions.
Hogg continued to stare out the window, offering only a brief “Mm.”
Napa took over the briefing. “Emotions among the civilians in the Outer City relocation centers have mostly stabilized. The injured have been sent to treatment stations, and all those in critical condition are now out of danger. The Hyatt Chamber of Commerce has sponsored stone and timber for the reconstruction, and Duke Sebas sent word the day before yesterday asking if we need supplies from his territory.”
He paused for a moment, and seeing no reaction from Hogg, added another point.
“The damage assessment for the academy is also out. We expect all aftermath work to be basically finished within a month.”
Marz flipped through his clipboard and asked one more question: “Teacher, regarding the general direction of the aftermath efforts...”
“The three of you decide,” Hogg said, returning to his desk. He sat down and scribbled his name on the document before him. “You’ve been handling it for the past half month and have done well. Continue at your own pace. As for those who sacrificed their lives in this incident... the compensation amounts can be increased slightly.”
The report contained no specific casualty numbers, a request Hogg himself had made... but in the end, it was merely a form of self-deception.
The three shared a look and nodded in agreement. Napa turned to leave but stopped at the door, looking back.
“One more thing. Ignatius woke up this morning.”
The tip of Hogg’s pen paused on the paper.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing,” Napa shook his head. “He hasn't said a single word since he woke up. The healers examined him; his physical vitals are mostly normal. There are no issues other than the fact that his mana source is completely drained. He just stares at the ceiling.”
“Staring at the ceiling?”
“Yes, motionless.”
Hogg set his pen down and nodded after a moment of silence.
“...I understand.”
Napa didn't ask further. He, Angela, and Marz exited the office, closing the door behind them.
Hogg sat in his chair for a while as the sky outside gradually darkened.
The special cell holding Ignatius was located on the third basement level of the Magic Tower, a mana-suppression cell specifically designed for high-risk mages. The entire cell was built from anti-magic stone, with the inner walls covered in runes that suppressed the flow of mana. Any mage imprisoned here would be unable to manifest even a shred of mana—though for the current Ignatius, such defenses were likely redundant.
The mana source within him had been completely emptied the moment the Incarnation of the Blood Moon God was purified. Now, he couldn't even cast a Rank 1 spell.
The corridor was quiet, echoing only with Hogg’s footsteps and the rhythmic tap of his staff on the stone floor. The two Imperial Guards at the entrance straightened their backs and saluted upon seeing him. Hogg waved them off, signaling them to stay put, and walked alone to the door of the innermost cell.
A small window was cut into the iron-grated gate, through which the dim, yellowish light of an ever-burning lamp flickered.
Ignatius sat on the edge of the bed, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out. His ankles were bound by a relatively light set of mana shackles. Half a month of treatment had restored his physical condition significantly; his withered skin had regained some color, and his sunken cheeks were fuller than before. But those pale grey eyes remained hollow, devoid of emotion, as he stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.
Hogg stood outside the bars and watched him for a while.
“You’re awake? How are you feeling?”
Ignatius didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
Hogg didn't press him, simply standing in place. The flame of the ever-burning lamp flickered weakly within its glass cover, casting a blurred shadow between the two men.
After a long time, those dull eyes finally blinked.
“What are you here for?”
His voice was dry and raspy, as if it hadn't tasted water in ages.
“To see you,” Hogg replied in his usual tone. “And to ask a few questions.”
“Do you think I’ll answer?”
“I hope you will.”
Ignatius withdrew his gaze and glanced toward the small window.
“You remember that phrase you shouted earlier, right?” Hogg got straight to the point. “‘The revenge of the Ranchiloko Dynasty begins with you.’”
The back of Ignatius’s hand stiffened ever so slightly.
“The Ranchiloko Dynasty—I’ve seen that name in the history books. A nation that collapsed five hundred years ago, allegedly due to blasphemy and being abandoned by the gods. But you shouted ‘revenge’—revenge against whom? The Kingdom? Or...”
He paused.
“Or the gods?”
A long silence filled the cell. Just as Hogg thought Ignatius was going to play the mute again, the prisoner suddenly laughed.
“It’s truly rare for a Legendary Archmage like you to find the time to look into such ancient history.”
He slowly raised his head, and his pale grey eyes finally found focus, landing on Hogg.
“The core members of the Blood Moon Cult are almost all descendants of the survivors of the Ranchiloko Dynasty... including myself.”
Hogg’s brow furrowed slightly as he waited for Ignatius to continue.
“Hundreds of years ago, the magical technology of the Ranchiloko Dynasty was already far beyond any of your current nations.” Ignatius’s tone was so calm it bordered on cold, as if he were reciting a history that had nothing to do with him.
“Our ancestors built steel golems that could walk on their own, energy stoves that could run forever without mana crystals, magical tools that allowed ordinary people to fly through the sky, and even automated weapons capable of rivaling Heroic Spirits. To the gods, all of this was undoubtedly a challenge to their authority.”
He paused, as if giving Hogg time to process the information.
“Humanity never needed to rely on the charity of those high and mighty gods.”
“But the gods didn't want a human civilization that could stand on its own feet. So they issued divine oracles and united over thirty nations—including the Kingdom of Kajinson, which was just a small country back then—to launch a war of extermination against Ranchiloko. Against a coalition of tens of millions and the direct intervention of the gods, the dynasty lasted less than three years before it fell. Cities were burned, records were destroyed, factories were leveled, and everything that was once a source of pride was turned to ash in a few short years.”
He raised his hand and pointed to the ground beneath his feet.
“This capital of yours is built upon the ruins of the Ranchiloko Dynasty. And beneath every stone slab you step on, our ancestors are buried.”
Hogg remained silent. It wasn't that he hadn't read accounts of the Ranchiloko Dynasty’s fall, but those records were extremely brief. Blasphemy, divine punishment, the wrath of the gods, the fall of a dynasty—a few sparse words that were worlds apart from what this man was saying.
“You don't believe me?” Ignatius looked at Hogg’s face, the corners of his mouth curling up another fraction. “You can check your kingdom’s archives, find the oldest and dustiest files. If you’re lucky, you might even find the mobilization records from before the coalition set out. But I advise you not to hold out much hope; even if those things weren't destroyed, they’ve likely been lost long ago. History is always written by the victors—when you lose, others can write whatever they want.”
Hogg didn't deny it, instead moving on to the next question.
“Ignatius Napoli Daschi. That is your true name, isn't it?”
At those words, Ignatius’s pupils constricted imperceptibly, but the reaction vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
“Names have long been irrelevant to me.”
He folded his hands over his knees and looked up at the conflicted Hogg, speaking unhurriedly.
“However, the Blood Moon Cult won't vanish just because I was caught. The Blood Moon God still exists. The one that was killed was merely its incarnation—a flawed product forced to maturity using mana cores. The true Blood Moon God has existed since long before; it has been slumbering, deep within the depths of this continent. The cult will return sooner or later. Perhaps in ten years, perhaps in a hundred, or perhaps as soon as next month.”
Hogg didn't take such threats to heart. It was essentially impossible for the cultists' strength alone to threaten the Kingdom. As for the Blood Moon God...
“What is the relationship between the Blood Moon God and the Ranchiloko Dynasty?”
Ignatius looked down at his shackled wrists and laughed with an indescribable sense of piety.
“The Blood Moon God was created by the Ranchiloko Dynasty—the ultimate weapon designed for revenge against the gods.”
He looked up, the dim light of the lamp reflected in his grey pupils, his tone laced with madness and pride.
“A man-made god! Our ancestors didn't live to see its completion, but they left its seed to us. We spent centuries, generation after generation, continuously collecting sacrifices, perfecting the rituals, and shaping its body so that it could descend upon the world—until fifty years ago.”
He paused, his gaze fixed on Hogg’s face.
“Until you interrupted the ritual and the Blood Moon God fell into a slumber.”
The ritual he had barely stopped fifty years ago by risking his own mana source—all those memories resurfaced at this moment, fitting together with this man’s confession like a complete puzzle.
He had stopped the ritual back then, thinking the matter was over, but now...
“So you spent fifty years just to make the Blood Moon God fully awaken?”
“It was only fifty years.” Ignatius withdrew his gaze, his tone making it sound like a trivial matter.
“For a revenge spanning centuries, fifty years is not long. We have plenty of patience.”
He spoke with conviction, but Ignatius hid a sliver of deep-seated worry very well. Because this time, he was truly afraid—the youth who had completely overturned the situation with two slaps... now, he didn't even want to think about whether the Blood Moon God could actually complete its revenge if it ever had to face that man.
As someone who had experienced it firsthand, Ignatius had a clearer understanding of that youth’s power than anyone else—that was simply not a power a human could possess. Perhaps even a god couldn't.
Before him... was a god truly that strong?
Perhaps. But Ignatius had a faint feeling that even if the true Blood Moon God fully descended, it probably wouldn't be able to withstand those two slaps.
So who was he? A human? A god? An abyssal creature?
None of those fit. He shouldn't even exist in this world.
Ignatius was clever enough to hide this minute doubt and insecurity, and Hogg failed to notice anything unusual.
The reason he had answered Hogg’s questions at all was purely because the mental trauma from those two slaps had made him feel, for a moment, that the entire revenge plan might be an utter joke... it didn't matter anymore.
Hogg stood outside the bars for a while longer before turning to leave. He pulled a communicator from his sleeve and, once connected, stated his request directly.
“Intelligence, bring all original files regarding the Ranchiloko Dynasty from the archives to my office. Remember, the original files, not the transcriptions.”
Rate on N.U.
