Chapter 295: Earthquake

Just after noon, the professor and Brother Vatin hurriedly set off on their return journey.

Outside the monastery, people laboring in the fields continued to toil tirelessly, perhaps feeling a faint dizziness at some point, but it was masked by mild heatstroke symptoms.

Regardless, the irrigation channels must be repaired as soon as possible; without rainfall to replenish them, surface and underground moisture were gradually diminishing.

Beneath their working soil, the earth was rich and noisy, densely packed with loose burrows teeming with moisture-loving creatures awakened from the recent rainy season, stimulated by the changing water levels and growing active.

This activity had not yet broken through the soil's crust, only stirring a few mud bubbles or flipping mossy leaves, but given time, no one could guess what might hatch from the familiar ground of yesterday.

It seemed nothing had changed—the same roads, the same scenery, and the increasingly unbearable sunlight.

No, something had indeed changed.

As they passed through knee-high grasses, a swarm of dark shadows burst forth, startled by the tremors, exposing themselves in the open center of the path like sewage bursting from one bank to the other.

The horses, unable to rein in, stepped directly into the shadows; sharp squeals and dirty red substances spurted from beneath their hooves.

It was a vast swarm of rats—Kraft had never seen so many. These nocturnal creatures had been driven from their burrows, venturing out at the worst possible time, forming a nervous dark tide that spilled and surged across the ground.

The deaths of their kind had no effect on their behavior—or rather, their tiny brains were already full, incapable of holding anything extra, driven only by the whip of impending danger to flee desperately.

It felt like an ominous prelude; an unnatural atmosphere spread around them, growing denser as they drew closer to the city.

Flocks of birds circled in the sky, insects fluttered wildly, and all living things, stirred by their instinct to avoid harm, behaved abnormally—swarming in dense clouds, instinctively turning back when passing over collapsed tunnels and gullies.

It was as if something was rising from below, splitting the wilderness into shattered fragments.

But human reactions were far slower.

When they arrived at the city, drenched in sweat, they found its order had not changed significantly.

The outer market still operated spontaneously, its stalls and sheds—selling agricultural goods and handmade items—lined up shoulder to shoulder along both sides of the main road, with people of all kinds browsing and selecting.

Vendors busied themselves arranging shelves, tidying scattered goods, propping up leaning or loose tent poles, and enthusiastically calling out to passersby, hawking goods freshly brushed clean of dust.

The impact here was clearly greater than at the monastery, but still limited, visible only in a few fallen roof tiles.

The abnormal phenomenon, lasting only a few seconds, had already ended before large-scale panic could erupt, and there were no casualties.

But life had to go on; people were gradually returning to their usual routines, and even those few who thought too much were reluctantly swept along by collective inertia into this abnormal normalcy.

Tension, hidden from view, flowed through unconscious gestures; the flow of people moved faster than usual, and even minor conflicts could flare into arguments, only to be hastily ended.

Several carts passed by, carrying daily necessities out of the city, apparently headed to suburban estates for temporary stays.

Though they didn't understand what was happening, many who could afford to leave and avoid danger were clearly unwilling to remain beneath a crumbling wall.

The further they moved into the city, the more obvious these hidden currents became; damage to low-rise homes on the outskirts was generally minor, but signs were amplified on the ancient multi-story buildings.

Minor misalignments caused by the tremors manifested as cracks in the outer walls, suspicious fissures prying open thick layers of plaster, spreading like climbing vines, peeling away the plaster to reveal the aged brick and stone beneath.

Perhaps it was precisely these signs that made people realize the massive stone structures were not eternal—they too would eventually crumble into the ruins beneath their feet, just as they themselves would.

A corner of the street had collapsed inward; water gushed from between the sunken bricks, forming a spring-like pool, while onlookers discussed the possibility of underground water, considering whether to convert it into a small fountain if it could remain stable.

The professor followed Brother Vatin toward the tall spire visible from any point in the city, joining the streams of people spontaneously converging from all over.

Large crowds had gathered before the Cathedral of the Virgin, seeking comfort and answers from their spiritual refuge.

Clergy and guard units were drowned in the throng, shouting desperately to maintain order, but their efforts were nearly useless amid the noise louder than a market, and their status prevented them from taking real action.

The two dismounted and struggled through gaps to reach near the cathedral, only to find the main entrance already sealed; winged-helmeted Templar knights had joined the crowd-control effort, barely preventing trampling injuries—this was already their limit, and they had no time for anything else.

The scene was chaotic; the crowd, which had barely maintained a surface of normalcy, now seemed to have been stirred by the crush and physical clashes, and a dangerous trend was slowly fermenting.

Brother Vatin finally found a colleague he knew, who told them they had been ordered on the spot to block all entrances and go out to calm the faithful—and now they were trapped outside too; until further orders arrived, no one knew where they could enter.

It was a foresighted decision; though the cathedral's interior was large, it could not possibly accommodate a crowd of this scale.

The event had come suddenly; perhaps the Church was still deliberating its response, and needed to consult other powers in the city—so far, no one of sufficient authority had emerged to offer an explanation.

Since there was no explanation, one would grow on its own; they had already heard various rumors in the crowd, even reaching the point of "the Heavenly Father punishes the city's sinful deeds; the earthquake is a warning."

Nearby priests had no time to rebuke the endless stream of heresies; they scanned the crowd, trying to identify and arrest a few, but there was no one to arrest.

At the edge of his vision, something fell from above; a heavy crash and screams erupted simultaneously.

The dense crowd exploded outward from the impact point, fleeing blindly in all directions, accompanied by meaningless wails and cries of "devil!"—totally igniting the tension pushed to its breaking point, triggering a massive wave of panicked flight as people shoved and trampled, desperate to carve a path through the crush.

"Stop! Stop!"

"In the name of the Heavenly Father, stand still!"

The colleague who had just been speaking to Brother Vatin turned to try to halt the surge reaching them, but was instantly swept away and vanished.

The two, sensing danger, nearly drew their swords—but reason held their hands from the hilts; instead, they used their scabbards to deflect charging believers, and when necessary, struck hard with the pommels to pry open unconscious hands clutching at them, fighting the tide while inching backward along the wall toward the epicenter of chaos.

Bursting free from the crowd, more disheveled than if they'd crawled out of a sewer, Kraft stepped on a raised object and nearly twisted his ankle.

Looking down, it was a dark, grotesque half-face, curved fangs protruding through the lips, a jaw covered in moss-like growths smeared with fresh, sticky red fluid.

The sudden shock made him leap back; his mind went blank, wondering if something had leaked from the river island nearby.

Once he calmed slightly, he realized the horrifying thing had no signs of life beyond its mossy surface; its exquisite carving had effectively created a menacing appearance, enhanced by natural aging, making it even more terrifying.

But it was merely a stone statue; the rest of it lay shattered and scattered, tripping more people underfoot.

Kraft looked up; a clear gap was visible on the eave above, its hollow break revealing the object's origin.

A gargoyle of the cathedral—long cracked from age, loosened by the tremors, finally broken and fallen.

It might have struck only one or two unlucky souls, but it landed in the most fortunate—or rather, most unfortunate—circumstances, creating the worst possible outcome.

On the now-empty square lay victims, some unconscious, some dead; the nearest appeared to have been struck directly, clutching his arm and screaming loudly—still full of spirit. Others who had fallen and been trampled lay silent; their condition was grim.

Though it had been only a minor earthquake, the first victims had already appeared—within half a day after the tremor.

Kraft sighed and called out to the few still standing, those who could rise on their own: "Need help? There's a doctor here!"

He had a feeling the trouble here might still be the smallest of what was to come. The holiday had ended before it even began.