CHAPTER 361: THE FALL OF THE SPELL

Everything suddenly stopped.

The dark sky split apart, cleaving in two and revealing a breathtaking sight for those fortunate enough not to be trapped within the poisonous mist.

The shadowy energy that had engulfed the castle began to recoil, slithering downward like black serpents being dragged into the earth by unseen hands.

The milky film clouding the vampires’ eyes vanished, and confusion rippled across their faces as they blinked and surveyed their surroundings.

Immediately, tension flared between the vampires of Asvaldur and those of Eira. Eyes narrowed. Fangs bared. They were ready to lunge, to resume the battle where it had paused until Thorin’s howl sliced through the air, silencing the field.

"Attention, my comrades—and enemies," he bellowed, his voice raw with authority as he slowly reverted to human form.

The thick fur receded, revealing brawny arms as his muscular frame shrank back to a more familiar shape. His legs, once powerful wolf limbs, reshaped into human calves with every tremor of change.

With every eye already fixed on him, Thorin seized the moment.

"You don’t have to fight anymore. We didn’t come here to conquer Asvaldur. We came to stop your emperor from destroying everything we hold dear. Yes, he meant to end our world!"

In the old wars, knights lived by a sacred code: the conflict must end when a leader fell. That was why leaders always stood at the heart of danger.

But the soldiers of Asvaldur had abandoned that ancient honor, twisted by blind loyalty and the poison of devotion. They refused to yield, even when their emperor was no more.

A defiant voice rose above the crowd. "How dare you ask us to believe the word of a werewolf over that of our emperor?" a knight roared. His eyes were wild, his sword trembling in his grip. "We will fight to the end. We will protect our land and our people!"

Thorin sighed heavily and raised his arms in a plea for reason. "What is it you think you’re protecting? I told you—we’re not here to harm your empire or your people. Didn’t you see what just happened? Your people were trapped in a nightmare... weren’t you?"

As if to emphasize his words, a vampire doubled over and vomited noisily, the sound echoing in the uneasy silence.

"You did that to us!" a commoner shouted, jabbing a trembling finger toward Thorin and the cluster of werewolves beside him.

"We?" Thorin echoed, pressing a hand to his chest, his voice rising with disbelief. "We’re werewolves. We don’t deal in magic. Don’t you know that? I thought that was common knowledge."

"Not you!" a knight interjected sharply, stepping forward with fire in his eyes. He thrust his finger not at Thorin, but at the group behind him, toward the ancient, watchful figures cloaked in silence. "Them. The elders. You!"

The elders gazed at the Asvaldur vampires with quiet pity, an expression that only stoked the flames of suspicion. To the already shaken crowd, that look felt patronizing, almost mocking, and it only fueled the belief that the elders were behind the poisonous mist.

The most volatile among them—yes, Griswold, of course—locked eyes with the hostile crowd and bared his teeth in silent warning. He looked one breath away from lunging, eager to "educate" them, despite having just shaken off the nightmare himself.

"See?! It is their doing!" someone cried from the crowd, their voice taut with fear. No one could pinpoint the speaker—they were likely hiding, unwilling to risk the elders’ wrath by being seen.

"This should not be your greatest concern right now," Ulysses said, his voice calm and without a trace of anger. He didn’t raise it, didn’t bristle or scold. Instead, he opened his arms, gesturing toward the many vampires still collapsed or groaning in pain, their bodies trembling from the lingering effects of the mist. "Some among us require urgent medical care."

The lingering effects of the poisonous mist had ravaged the minds and bodies of many vampires.

Some clutched their heads, wailing as if their skulls were being torn in two. Others vomited blood, collapsing in spasms of pain. Several curled up on the ground, groaning, clutching their stomachs as if something inside them were rotting away.

"UARRRGGHHHH!!!!!"

A lone vampire woman sprinted aimlessly, shrieking, thrashing her head violently from side to side, as though trying to shake loose a memory too dark to bear.

Though the mist had lifted, its nightmare had not. Some victims remained trapped in it, their minds still ensnared by horrors they could no longer escape.

A vampire healer knelt beside one man who had just coughed up blood and now lay moaning on the ground. The healer placed a hand on his chest, checking his pulse, then looked up gravely.

"It’s true," he said quietly. "They need medical attention—immediately."

Nearby, a knight’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening. He clenched his jaw. If the choice were his, he would order everyone to evacuate, carry the wounded to safety, and stand his ground to fight until the very end.

But the truth stared him in the face: he couldn’t win alone. And his comrades—those still able to stand—were too few and too weak.

As that realization sank in, a new movement stirred. From the ruins of the nearly demolished castle, a group of figures emerged, cloaked in dark robes.

They moved quickly, purposefully. They were the scholars and magic wielders—members of Emperor Kaan’s secret underground project—now freed from the nightmare that had imprisoned them.

"Wait! They’re telling the truth. It is the truth," one of the scholars cried out, raising both hands high to show he meant no harm.

The Asvaldur knight narrowed his eyes, lifting an eyebrow. "And you are...?"

The scholar swallowed hard, chest heaving from exhaustion. He was weary of running, and the lingering effects of the poisonous mist had left him breathless and weak.

"We were summoned here by His Majesty—by the late Emperor Kaan," he said, his voice hoarse. "He gathered us to study a demonic possession... something that was brought forth using a forbidden ritual."

Another scholar stepped forward, eyes dark with regret. "We thought he sought knowledge for noble reasons—that he valued learning, discovery, wisdom. But we were wrong. Eventually, he demanded we craft spells—create magic—to bind and enslave the demon for his own ends."

The Asvaldur knights exchanged tense, uneasy glances. These weren’t words spoken by enemies outside the walls—they came from their own people, from those who had lived and worked under the emperor’s rule. It was harder now to dismiss what was being said.

A third voice, deeper and steadier, joined the chorus. "Even Sir Roderick recognized the danger. That’s why he chose to work with us. Together, we tried to stop the emperor’s scheme... to save the world from what he was becoming."

A female scholar stepped forward, her robes stained with soot and tears. She clasped her trembling hands, her voice breaking.

"Sir Roderick..." She struggled to continue, choking on the weight of the memory. Wiping her eyes, she took a shaky breath and pressed on.

"He gave his life for us. He stood against the emperor... fought him with everything he had. And he was struck down—mercilessly—right in front of me."