A great battle had ended without a single injury on either side.
Though it felt anticlimactic—Ryan had mobilized so many legends, and with no apparent loss of fighting strength, why had they retreated?
That was how outsiders saw it. After all, Cyril Roland and his companions had not lost a single hair; only the summoned celestial warrior had been destroyed, costing them a little power at most.
Continuing the fight certainly would not have been an issue, yet they had chosen to withdraw.
This ran contrary to the Ryan tradition of fighting to the death without retreat. The Radiant General's reputation was effectively ruined, and his fate upon returning home would likely be miserable.
Yet Cyril Roland was not dwelling on that now. He had led his forces into retreat, though not a complete one; they had merely sailed a hundred-odd kilometers away from Anbaixiu's Gold Coin Island before dropping anchor.
Neither returning nor advancing—much like Cyril Roland's current train of thought, stuck at a complete dead end.
Not just him; every Ryan soldier felt the same.
After that bizarre, incomprehensible battle, every Ryan soldier had to ask themselves one question: was the Holy Light truly on the side of the undead?
If not, then how was that paladin to be explained? How could that effortless sword strike that cleaved the celestial warrior in two be explained? And how was it that the celestial warrior seemed to know that mysterious paladin?
After thinking it through again and again, the only explanation was that the Lord of the Dawn had sent that mysterious paladin to assist the lich.
Yet if they accepted that explanation, every Ryan soul would be driven mad.
If the deity they devoutly worshipped had actually sent his own emissary to aid an undead being, wouldn't everything the Ryan Empire had done all these years become a complete joke?
There was simply no overcoming this hurdle. Cyril Roland's mind was a muddled mess, entirely incapable of untangling a single thread of logic.
When faith was his armor, he could be fearless and charge ahead unstoppably. But when he found that his faith was flawed, nothing remained except confusion and despair.
Such was the greatest weakness of religious zealots.
This time, even Lucas, the Shield of Glory—normally the calmest among them—could offer no answers.
On the battlefield, Lucas could convince himself to shut his ears and enter an "I can't hear you, I'm not listening" state. But away from the battlefield, he was also a devout follower of the Lord of the Dawn; his mental state had collapsed just the same.
Yet no matter how shaken he was, he remained the most level-headed among them. So Lucas spoke to the bewildered crowd: "Regardless of whether what that lich said is true or false, we now face an urgent problem to solve: do we admit defeat and head back, or do we continue our assault on the lich?"
Cyril Roland looked up at his old friend and asked blankly, "I can't even find a reason to swing my sword anymore. How are we supposed to attack that island again? What if that lich really is the one chosen by the Lord of the Dawn?"
Lucas gritted his teeth and said, "Then retreat! Be decisive! The Empire will definitely receive the news soon. If we don't go back, what will we do about our supplies? Even though I can't figure out the truth either, we can't just starve to death out on the open sea!"
Lucas's words snapped many back to reality. Indeed, no matter what the truth was, survival had to come first. Dying out at sea would never bring them the truth.
Yet at that moment, someone spoke up: "If we go back like this, how do we explain it to everyone? We can't even explain how we lost."
In Ryan's longstanding custom, a crusade against the undead yielded only two outcomes:
Victory, or a catastrophic defeat with heavy casualties.
Standing fast and fighting to the death was a Ryan tradition, and they did not lack the courage to sacrifice themselves. But returning completely unscathed like this—how would the people of the Ryan Empire look upon them?
Even if they hadn't fallen in battle, going back like this would be little different from being dead.
Cyril Roland let out a heavy sigh, as if making up his mind. He stood up and said to everyone, "If what that lich said is the truth, then the Empire is in trouble—and deeply so."
Had the late Iron-Blood General, Rachel Angelo, truly committed inhuman massacres? If the Empire knew, why had no action ever been taken against such a person?
Were the reasons for invading the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn and the Orc Mountains truly what the dispatches claimed? Did Unholy Hymn truly worship evil gods and perform massive blood sacrifices? Did orc slaving bands truly hunt and slaughter humans en masse?
Were those reports true or false?
Looking even further back, were the desert dwarves truly so heinous that half their territory had to be seized?
If what the lich said was true, what right did they have to pin guilt onto him? Just as he had claimed, this lich had only ever saved the world—what sins could he possibly bear?
In the past, Cyril Roland would never have doubted announcements released by the Empire.
How could information doubly verified by paladins and clerics of light ever be false? After all, these matters were reported to the Lord of the Dawn during prayer; how could a deity turn a blind eye to such things?
If everything the lich said was true, why hadn't the Lord of the Dawn revoked the favor of the Holy Light? Why were so many paladins and clerics of light in the Ryan Empire still being granted promotions?
It was far too contradictory. Cyril Roland couldn't care less about his reputation now; he only wanted to know the truth.
"O Lord of the Dawn, please hear the prayer of Your humble servant. Please show the way to Your lost followers."
Cyril Roland prayed with the deepest piety of his life, and so did the other Ryan soldiers aboard the ship. They were all the Lord of the Dawn's most devoted believers, and at this moment, they desperately needed their deity's guidance.
Such was the very purpose of faith.
The will of ten thousand souls converged into a river, breaking through the barrier between the mortal realm and the divine realm to reach the Lord of the Dawn's domain.
At last, a divine thought descended from the heavens, imprinting itself upon everyone's mind.
The Lord of the Dawn did not grant answers to all their doubts, providing only a direction: "If you seek the truth, go to the other side of the Ryan Empire."
With the oracle delivered, the prayer came to an end, yet confusion still lingered on the faces of everyone on the ship.
What was "the other side of the Empire"?
Cyril Roland turned his gaze toward a blonde woman on the ship, the cleric of light Elizabeth Morrison. As a legendary cleric of light, she was the most adept at interpreting oracles.
Elizabeth's beautiful features scrunched up in a conflicted grimace.
In the past, she could have interpreted the oracle immediately. But now, even she had begun to doubt herself and had little confidence in accurately deciphering the Lord of the Dawn's meaning.
Noticing her hesitation, Cyril Roland offered comforting words: "Do not worry. I am just like you; we are all lost in confusion. But since the Lord of the Dawn has still bestowed an oracle upon us, it means He has not forsaken us. Elizabeth, regardless of whether what we did before was right or wrong, this is a chance granted by our deity to make amends."
Hearing this, Elizabeth felt considerably reassured. He was right; they still had a chance, and the Lord of the Dawn had not abandoned them.
Elizabeth composed herself and spoke to the gathered crowd: "This time, the oracle does not reference our sacred texts; rather, it is quite straightforward. As long as we interpret 'the other side of the Empire,' our direction will become clear. And in my view, there may be two explanations.
"The first is the desert. That is territory newly conquered by the Empire. If the Empire truly committed unforgivable crimes during the war, we should be able to find the answers we seek in that newly occupied land."
This reasoning made a great deal of sense. Unlike the Ryan Empire's original domain, the desert had only just been conquered; was that not 'the other side of the Empire'?
Cyril Roland asked again, "You said there were two explanations just now. What is the second?"
Looking somewhat conflicted, Elizabeth said, "The second explanation... perhaps it is just my personal feeling. I cannot find any compelling justification, and what is more, if we truly choose this path, I fear it will immediately be seen as treason."
"Treason?" Cyril Roland frowned. Hearing Elizabeth's words, a thought seemed to strike him, and he asked, "Do you mean that 'the other side of the Empire' refers to Alan Watson?"
Elizabeth nodded helplessly. By now, everyone in the Ryan Empire knew that Alan Watson had positioned himself against the imperial family.
Alan had once faced charges of treason. Later, in the battle of Unholy Hymn, he had performed brilliantly, saving Ryan's army and personally holding off the Githyanki pursuers.
That should have been a golden opportunity to return to the Empire's fold. Instead of doing so, Alan had openly and vehemently opposed the Ryan royal family. And as for what the lich said about the Iron-Blood General committing massacres, Alan seemed to have brought that up as well.
Yet the Iron-Blood General was already dead at the time, so most people had not looked into the matter deeply. When Cyril Roland heard about it, the details had been vague; busy with his own duties, he had had no time to delve into it, merely assuming Alan was playing political games with the Ryan imperial family.
And this time, the evidence presented by the lich seemed to corroborate Alan Watson's claims.
Thinking back on it now, many of the suspicious points began to align.
Alan Watson had once been taken captive by that lich. Had he already learned of the Empire's dark secrets back then? After escaping and returning, he had become the student of the Silvermoon Knight and the Empire's youngest legendary paladin. He could have had a boundless future, yet at that very moment, he chose rebellion.
Even back then, Cyril Roland had felt something was amiss. Alan Watson's father was the Supreme Arbiter, and Alan himself had achieved distinction on the battlefield time and again. What reason did he have to commit treason?
There had to be something more to it. And looking at it now, all of Alan Watson's actions stemmed from a single answer: he had discovered the rot in the Ryan Empire long ago.
He wasn't committing treason; he was resisting. He wanted to steer this empire back onto the right path.
Yet Alan Watson's current standing was extremely sensitive. Having just lost a battle, seeking Alan out without going through official channels would unquestionably be branded an act of betrayal by the imperial capital.
Cyril Roland weighed the options again and again before finally issuing an order: "We split our forces into two paths. Elizabeth, take a detachment to the desert to gather intelligence on the war and verify whether the Empire committed massacres. I will lead the rest to find Alan Watson, hoping to hear the truth from his own mouth."
Chapter 406