After a long time, Ovid reached the peak of the stone stairs, his mind becoming further confused and shocked after each step.
The Tomb of Saint Gael had been left unattended for a long time, buried beneath earth for so many years. It looked utterly desolate and its emptiness and magnificence made it even more so. Ovid wondered back to when Saint Gael was still roaming the Earth and wondered how big of an influence the man must have had in his life and could not help but sigh.
The abilities that saints wielded were unbelievable, for he had created such a huge space under Aeon forest without the help of a single labourer. Ovid then thought about how it was forgotten in the rivers of time, the records of him almost nonexisting. He looked down a strong sense of dread overcame him.
As he went further into the tomb, the massive pillars that held up space became more distraught. Yet although on them was many collision marks and rubbles, it seemed that even if twenty men stood atop of it, it would not shake.
When the steps ended, Ovid began to walk on the central pillar, leading him high up to the sky. As there were no covers on the side, the wind whistled and swept through space without restriction, were Ovid’s footsteps not as steady, it was very likely that he would be blown away.
The walk to the place the central beam led to was long, a long time passed and Ovid had only covered a third of the distance. From afar, the resting place of Gael looked minuscule.
Ovid’s feeling of reverence toward tomb gradually faded, his steps speeding up, and, acting much like a tourist, he would look around and silently judge the scenery.
---
The wind blowing from inside the chamber would blow the dust off the stone platform that was suspended midair by the numerous pillars. Thus, when Ovid stepped on it, his footprints left behind a distinctive mark.
Atop the platform was another stone door.
When Ovid placed his hand on it, he did not have many strange thoughts, for although the person was a saint in life, he had already seen many. Moreover, the person was already dead, it was not as if he was a tomb robber, and had to act in an elusive manner.
Still, Ovid felt a rare sense of excitement, behind that door was a world that had remained untouched for thousands of years.
With an extremely soft grinding sound, the doors were slowly pushed open.
Only one pillar was holding up the dome.
Space was far more modest in comparison but was still incomparably huge.
As it turned out, in the depths of the tomb, just as one would expect, a burial chamber.
In the deepest part of the burial chamber was a wooden coffin.
Ovid approached the wooden coffin, and it was only then that Ovid discovers that the wooden coffin was extremely huge, taller than any standing tree in the forest of Aeon.
It made Ovid feel even more insignificant than he was compared to the pillar.
The coffin was made of a tree that still retained its roots, it’s surface surprisingly undecayed and archaic, giving off a venerable and solemn feeling that a sage possessed, but also vitality present only in newborn.
Ovid attempted to conjure a reason for how the tree was able to fit through the stone door, but could not think of an answer.
There was no patterning on the tree’s bark, and it did not have any inscriptions that identified the owner. However, because of this, it seemed even more solemn.
Perhaps, at the time, the man silently laying in the grave did not need any sort of carvings to add splendour and did not need any words to sing praises of his deed.
When Saint Gael was merely a teenager, he had achieved sainthood. Leaving for the Straton Confluence, which at the time was infested with countless beasts, he used his own prowess to beat them into submission. Afterwards, he was known as the hero of Straton.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
Later, he travelled Northward, entering the ravine which dragon inhabited. There, he managed to steal one of Julia’s treasured jewel, becoming known as the tyrant of the south.
Yet before he journeyed further north, he was challenged by an ordinary farmer’s boy. Perhaps he was high on his recent victories, in the end, he suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of the boy. Before Gael could become the supreme expert of the continent, he had become a stepping stone to the boy.
The farmer boy that had defeated Saint Gael at his peak was none other than Alexander, the man who would become a god.
Although Gael had the peerless strength of a saint, he had been rudely surpassed by Alexander, who would overshadow Gael for the remainder time both would spend on the continent.
Perhaps it was because of this sense of inferiority he had developed, not a hundred years later, he had disappeared, leaving behind a monumental legacy, but not an everlasting legacy.
Still, all man of great prowess had a strong sense of pride. For his tomb, Gael had dislodged a tree that has survived for many eons, carved out a set of nine mountains and lake as his garden, and buried himself atop that world. How would he need a gravestone, or engrave his name on a gravestone?
But, alas, his world was beneath Alexanders’.
Although he was Saint Gael, was could not be Alexander, who rejected sainthood, and became a god!
There was once a Chinese strategist that had said;
“If Yu has already been born, why is Liang to be born?”
It was not difficult that Gael would have shared a similar sentiment with general Zhou.
Standing before Gael’s tomb, Ovid stayed silent for a while, and then, he gave the tomb salute of respect. Afterwards, he continued onward and did not stay for long.
Then, from behind the tree who’s bark was so creased that one could become lost in it, came a voice.
“You should know who is in the tomb. The hero of Straton, the tyrant who stole a dragon’s prized possession, and the second of all lands under the heavens. Although power is not enough for him to be remembered, he had done countless deeds in life, were it not for him, the monsters would have prevented Alexander from conquering the South so quickly.”
There was not even the slightest rustle of the verdant leaves in the room. It was silent as if not of this world. However, the voice that had sounded was especially clear even though it was feeble.
The voice was soft and weak but exuded calm and peace. It sounded clear to Ovid and was like a thunderbolt to his ears. However, this had nothing to do with the quiet environment.
The burial chamber had been buried under Aeon forest for one hundred thousand years. The nine mountains had been hidden from the world for one hundred thousand years. The tree that lived for eons had been de-rooted for one hundred thousand years. According to all reason, this place had long become a ruin. It was impossible for any trace of life within. And it was true from the Ovid had seen.
However, there was someone else buried in the past among Gael and the million-year-old tree!
Ovid was shocked speechless. He quickly distanced himself from the tomb and raised his blade. He prepared his most powerful attack to strike at the tree’s root where the voice had come from.
After looking carefully, he realised that there was a person that had been coiled in the roots of the tree.
The person appeared at the age of adolescence. His hair was long and hung off his head and reached the ground. The person wore no clothes, but hanging organs that flowed as freely as his hair hid his most promiscuous parts.
The person was extremely skinny. His limbs were thinner than the sticks that grew from the tree. There was no fat or muscle on his body and a thin layer of skin was wrapped around his jagged bones. The two black holes that were his eyes looked terrifying, yet the gaze it excluded was kind and full of wisdom.
Next to the man was an eagle that stood as woodenly as the roots of the trees around it.
There were two very fine chains that went through the man’s drum-like abdomen. The other end of the chains were sunk into the roots behind him. The blood that ran endlessly from the man’s insides would be become black, painted on the tree that surrounded him.
This image was rather strange, and the man within it was terrifying.
Ovid’s already weak and exhausted legs almost gave out but stopped in time due to his breathing exercise.
“Who are you?”
Ovid’s grip on his hilt tightened as he asked agitatedly. He pointed the sharp point of the blade at the immortal man.
The sudden appearance of the man in the burial chamber which had disappeared from the world for one hundred thousand years was hard to explain. Even if saints were immortal, it was unthinkable that the man had survived so many years despite being so thin.
While Ovid finds great pleasure in studying the unknown, he was well aware that this phenomenon was fraught with danger.
“Who am I?”
The man raised his head slowly. The eagle that stood still turning its head in response. As the man reminisced, the benevolent gaze remained.
His loose gather of skin that resembled his lips struggled greatly as he smiled, “I am a person who has been bound by Gael.”
“I have committed a grievous sin in the past and caused the downfall of my race. That is why I have been locked here with this bird. To spend the rest of my days with the last of the sacred groves.”
Even the slightest of actions would cause the roots around him to tighten. However, his weak but wise voice and gaze was filled with benevolence like the most chaste of monks.
The wooden bird ate the organs that flowed of out the man’s body, yet he petted the eagle with great difficulty. He said, “I have taught human knowledge.”
“Taught knowledge?”
The man looked at Ovid calmly and said, “I became a practicer of magic at twenty. I thought, with such knowledge, I would change the world and make it good. Who would have known it led to the birth of mountains of body, and rivers of blood?”
Ovid understood it but did not understand it either. It was said that after Alexander had conquered the continent and eclipsed the elves, who were originally the most powerful race. But why would the man say that he had brought endless murder onto his own race?
The man did not explain further, and said gently, “You smell of the dragon Julia, although it is very faint. You then must know the name Alexander.”
Ovid could feel the kindness and trust in the man. There was perhaps even a trace of doting warmth only a father could have. He answered subconsciously.
The man lamented softly, “I had thought I would spend the rest of my life atoning for my sins. I did not expect to meet a pupil of a northern practitioner.”
“For that crazy man’s empire to have been overthrown by Julia is truly ironic, but I did not expect his successors to grow weaker and become even more bickering.”
He looked at Ovid puzzlingly, but still with a smile, “I have stayed in Saint Gaels’ tomb and not heard of anything. I do not know how much time has passed and only felt that I had slept and wakened up. It seems that even the mischievous Li brat is a saint now.”
Ovid could not bear to interrupt the man, for he has lived in Saint Gaels’ tomb for one hundred thousand years. Furthermore, he had called the emperor of the northern continent, who commanded an empire even larger than that of Alexander at his peak, mischievous Li. This man must have seen stars die, even buried beneath unless tons of earth.
It was just, who was this withered man tortured under the wooden eagle?