He pointed to the center of the city, the "Torch of Light" that emitted a soft halo even in daylight, "… everything flows toward there! Do you see the light at the top? After night falls, does it feel more… 'filled'? Like a heart beating in the darkness!"
And the black-and-white dragon perched atop the torch, all deeply intriguing the curiosity of these mages.
It's a pity, here they dare not be unruly, only able to ponder in their hearts.
The Elf Mage nodded solemnly, her gaze tightly locked onto the elusive glow at the top of the torch: "That's correct. It's like a massive vortex core, absorbing these… 'night's gifts'. What exactly are the Night Watchers preparing? This ceremony is definitely not just a memorial."
Her beautiful face was filled with solemnity and uncontrollable curiosity.
She even felt, it might not be merely a power and authority struggle, so ordinary.
Surely something greater is brewing?
But they couldn't see clearly at all.
"Whatever, the mentor is not in a hurry, what can we do anyway."
That sentence very truly interrupted their idle chat.
This strange atmosphere was not only discernible by sensitive mages.
By the open campfire, the Minotaur Shih-Ti took a large swig of strong liquor, wiped his mouth with a coarse hand, and said in a deep voice to the Snake-man Priest coiled on a specially made seat, "Old Snake, this place always makes my spine chill at night, not fear, it's… strange.
"Feels like countless eyes are watching from the shadows, but without malice. Do you think they are… uh… our fallen brothers stretching their bones?"
Evil Rat's curse, remnants of the Evil God's power.
Caused evil spirits and various undead to naturally arise globally, along with some creatures becoming more malicious.
These were problems that emerged after the war, requiring solutions.
The Snake-man Priest hissed, flicking his tongue, his vertical pupils flickering with eerie light in the firelight: "It's the whispers of the soul, Shih-Ti, hiss… the entire city is like a massive spiritual shrine, and the Torch of Light… is its wick. The boundary between life and death here… is exceptionally blurred. The Night Watchers' intentions, hiss… are significant."
His soft voice carried a profound understanding of all.
They had deeper connections with the Night Watchers, naturally understanding more, especially the sudden appearance of life-and-death-related beacons among the Night Watchers.
And that black-and-white dragon.
He wasn't blind, that was obviously a manifestation of some conflicting energies converging.
It likely symbolized life and death.
The Elf Prince Orion Morningstar stood at the edge of a towering viewing platform, his splendid gown fluttering in the night wind.
He no longer rested his eyes but slightly furrowed his delicate brows, his slender fingers unconsciously rubbing an ancient magic accessory at his waist.
He felt the silent convergence of soul power, like tides surging toward the torch, the arrogance rooted in his bloodline for the first time shaken by something uncontrollable and unknown, his golden eyes reflecting the increasingly bright, heart-like pulsing light source atop the torch.
Tense anticipation, mingled with the bone-chilling night air, enveloped the bustling yet fantastic city of hope like an invisible net.
The curtain could be drawn at any moment.
Finally, the moment everyone awaited arrived.
The invited administrators seemed to reach their deadline.
The city's hustle reached its peak.
The city center square—more a large circular open space surrounding the Torch of Light's base—was now a sea of people.
People of different races, different statuses jostled each other, yet miraculously maintained a solemn quiet.
The peculiar soul power unique to night felt more intense, silently permeating every life present.
The ceremony was not directly initiated by the legendary Savior Kana.
First to ascend the platform before the Torch of Light's base was the Night Watchers' military commander, General Blake.
His figure was like a tower, his face carved with weather and dignity, his silver armor reflecting cold, hard luster under the torch's light.
Years of war had transformed him from a novice knight to a true general.
His silver armor was engraved with Holy Light patterns, showing his identity blessed by Holy Light.
His voice was like rolling thunder, there was no need for any magical amplification, it clearly spread across the entire square, echoing on everyone's eardrums and souls:
"Comrades! Friends! All lives who refuse to kneel before darkness!"
Blake's gaze swept over countless faces below, familiar and unfamiliar, sorrowful and hopeful, "We stand here, beneath us is a new home, above us the torch symbolizing hope.
"But this peace does not come from nowhere! It is forged from blood and fire, lifted by countless brave souls!"
That war ended less than a year ago.
His voice suddenly rose, with tragic passion, "Not long ago, on the battlefield where the Evil God's shadow was yet to be dispelled by the torch! Our brothers, our sisters, those who wore black armor, battling wickedness until the very last moment!
And those from various tribes and lands, who took up weapons to protect their homes behind, to protect the ones they loved, who ultimately fell before dawn!
"They used their lives to cut through darkness, paving the way for us today! Their sacrifice is the most solid cornerstone of this city, the purest fuel of this light! They are the true heroes!
Their names should be remembered by the Night Watchers! Remembered by the world! Remembered by both the living and the dead!"
Blake's speech had no ornate rhetoric, only the iron and blood facts and respect as heavy as a mountain.
Low sobs and deep, respectful acknowledgments spread across the square.
No number of administrators could match the Night Watchers who came here, nor the United Army warriors who once charged on the battlefield.
Of course, their families were present as well.
Many Night Watchers straightened their backs, armor clashing with a metallic sound, their eyes burning with a fire of pride and pain intermingled.
In this grand tragic atmosphere at its peak, orderly, heavy, and slow footsteps were heard from the back of the crowd.
The crowd parted like an invisible hand, spontaneously giving way to a wide path.
A Night Watcher unit that had never appeared in public emerged—the [Soul Guides].
They wore specially made black robes inlaid with silver soul guide runes, faces hidden beneath the shadow of hoods, only revealing eyes emitting a faint blue glow.
On their clothing, there was a very obvious emblem, a streamlined black-and-white dragon.
The leader raised a flag, also sketching a special emblem, seemingly derived from the Night Watcher's symbol.
They marched in unison, their actions solemn, like walking on the boundary between life and death.
And what they carried on their shoulders or lifted by hand were coffins of distinct style.
These coffins were not traditional wood or stone but crafted from a dark crystal as deep as night, yet faintly revealing internal energy veins, their lids engraved with complex Night Watcher emblems and the most glorious deeds and names of the fallen heroes.
Each coffin was immensely heavy, exuding a calm yet powerful aura.
With the most devout posture, the Soul Guides transported them one by one to the vast base below the Torch of Light, neatly arranging them around the base.
"It's the 'Obsidian Coffin'! A sacred artifact from legends that can let heroic souls rest in peace and communicate between two realms!" From the crowd, a knowledgeable scholar gasped in a low voice.
Though it can't be called legendary, as such a legend has only just begun.
"Look at the inscription on the coffin lid… it's 'Sword Breaker' Roland! And 'Bulwark' Martha! Oh my, all fallen legends from that bloody battle!" Someone recognized the coffins' owners, their voice choked.
