The sight inside the Sanctuary was even more desolate than its periphery; besides the terrifying ice sculptures, there were layers of ice everywhere. The pale blue profound ice gave a deep-sea-like sense of oppression, sometimes even mistaken for a gem, freezing stories in time.
For thousands of years, nature's creation seemed to have fallen into an awkward stagnation here. Most stone objects still stood firm, metal weapons were intact, and even books were safely displayed in windless corners.
Alas, time is ultimately time. The ice layers here had changed many times, a large part having melted, like tides ebbing and flowing, rising and stopping. The arrival of Simon and others was like a tiny spark in a frozen land, bringing a little heat, causing a gentle whirlwind to rise from the ground. Those seemingly intact bottles, jars, paper, and fur all dissolved into dust, or something even finer than dust, in the wind.
Serana was so affected by the environment that she dared not speak loudly, fearing that this glass world would collapse with a single shout from her. "Baishan, this place gives me such an oppressive feeling."
Simon inhaled softly. The frost magic energy here was so rich it almost caused auditory hallucinations in his ears—a faint, cold piano melody. Besides that, there was also the scent of desecrated life magic energy, the desperate wails of the undead.
"Some of the fellows in these ice sculptures are still alive." Indeed, he could even perceive some ice sculptures trembling slightly, stimulated by the aura of living beings, as if they would break free at any moment.
Simon collected all these ice sculptures with his Pure Land and placed them on the ice plain, intending to defrost the surviving victims when he had time, and then deal with them.
The problems in the Sanctuary were not limited to this. The souls that had indeed died were not at peace. Their substantial spirits had ascended to heaven, but a wisp of resentful, ethereal spirit lingered in their frozen husks, existing between extinction and being. One could say they simultaneously existed in Oblivion and Mundus, yet were not truly in either, until the moment fate decreed their state, only then could they be released.
"Such wondrous things, they are like magical energy specters..." Simon untied his headscarf, revealing his third eye. After the wailing fluctuations were activated, he gained a whole new field of vision. Beneath the mixed and colorful tide of magical energy, the frozen dead bones roamed. They seemed to have seen the Troll and surged towards him, then circled around him.
Serana's eyes widened. "Them, I see them!"
Small, white, ghostly spheres appeared in the void, slowly moving around Simon. The air did not stir a single ripple, but a faint iridescence floated.
Simon whispered, "I hear the scene of the dawn's light striking the gears;"
"I see the songs of men and Elves on the snow-white earth;"
"I smell the sensation of a meteorite falling on the skin of a flower, scorching and painful;"
"I foresee that the light of the world will dissipate, and the spokes of reincarnation will cease to turn;"
"The moon will become our home, and gods will descend upon Mundus..."
Serana listened to his chaotic words, her voice sinking from a high distance, little by little, into the water, becoming inaudible. Harkon explained to his daughter, "He is receiving Revelation. The Revelation of those deceased priests, their Revelation before death, is still left in the world. This scene is truly rare. The Elven Lord God is too mysterious, and you know the Snow Elf people; they were exterminated in the First Era. Their magic is lost; perhaps your beloved can inherit a part of it."
Simon woke up in a daze. He hadn't completely forgotten what he had just said; he still remembered the first part—at least he remembered it this time. Usually, when he fell into such a muddled state, he would suffer amnesia afterward, even forgetting the amnesia itself.
Serana: "Baishan, are you alright?"
"Of course, I'm fine. The spirits of those priests have dissipated, but they granted me some Restoration magic, you know—that kind of primitive divine art. It's not of much use to me, but it's better than nothing."
"As long as you're fine, shall we continue?"
"Mhm."
Deep inside the ice, through winding tunnels, they arrived at the chapel. Countless ice sculptures menacingly spread their limbs, and on the divine throne deep within, a pale-skinned Snow Elf sat askew.
High Priest Visul, he also seemed to notice the newcomers. He opened his eyes and saw two mechs standing in the hall, one tall and one short, but both imposing. Furthermore, all the ice sculptures had disappeared.
Visul was greatly astonished.
"Wait? Who are you?" He spoke in Snow Elf language. Simon understood it, but Serana was a bit confused. She said nothing, only drawing the Bloodthirst Greatsword from her waist.
Simon's voice rumbled like thunder, shaking the frozen chapel. "Don't mind who I am. I ask you, was it you who spread the prophecy of the Tyranny of the Sun?"
"Oh, of course, I can answer everything for you, but I don't like your tone. Please show me some respect, worm!"
Simon sneered, "Times have changed, old man!"
In front of Visul's divine throne was a transparent magic energy barrier, almost indestructible, but that depended on who was attacking it.
big ivan raised his axe and suddenly leaped, like a shooting star, tracing a long curve, striking the barrier. In an instant, Visul's face flushed red, and the ice layers of the chapel shattered. The giant axe squeezed again, the barrier burst, and High Priest Visul also fell awkwardly from his throne.
Simon picked up Visul. With a paralysis spell and a five-ring combo, this old immortal Snow Elf was gloriously captured.
Serana scoffed, "I thought you were so powerful, but you're just for show."
Visul broke out in cold sweat, which immediately froze into frost. "Who exactly are you? Sent by the Dwemer?"
"The Dwemer are all dead! Maybe one person survived, even more miserable than you Snow Elves. Also, can you speak Nordic?"
"Don't even dream of me using that vile, harsh language!"
"You're much harder to talk to than your brother." Simon sighed, swinging his giant axe and severing one of Visul's arms.
Visul screamed, and then everyone saw the severed arm, which had been smashed into pulp, gradually turn to ash. Serana looked at the High Priest in shock. His eyes—golden pupils, red sclera—he was a Vampire too!
Harkon murmured, "Excellent, excellent..."
Simon emerged from his mech, and Serana followed. They brought Harkon before Visul.
Simon: "Auriel's priest is actually a sun-hating Vampire. Don't you think that's laughable?"
Visul's severed arm was healing, the entire process barely shedding any blood. He hissed, "It's Geleb, isn't it? Did he send you to kill me!" This time he spoke Old Nordic; it seemed he wasn't as arrogant as he perceived himself to be.
"That's not important. You spread the Tyranny of the Sun, didn't you?"
"That's right! Auriel abandoned me, so I want to corrupt the sun." He looked at Serana, his eyes brightening, and he roared almost maniacally, "Hey, you are the Daughter of Coldharbour, yes, corrupt the Elven arrow with your blood, then shoot it at the sun with Auriel's Bow, and the world will plunge into eternal night! How wonderful! Isn't this what you've always wanted?"
Harkon closed his eyes in pain, "Despicable wretch, why does the prophecy originate from such a useless being!"
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