The Unspoken Stories
Mournhelm was a collective of thirteen walled cities surrounding each other.
At the distant horizon, there was a line of dull silver faintly beaming from the shrouded clouds. The rift of the celestial barrier.
But nothing on the ground could be seen anymore.
However, within the walls of Mournhelm's last standing three cities, there was a sight to behold. Large instruments of raw mana were erected.
There were massive cross bows, mystiical pillars, and every imaginable warfare weapon that worked with immense amount of mana. But one glance at them, it was obnvious that only a few of them worked.
Aesther watched dumbfounded.
"What is this absurdity?" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up, "They spent so much mana on broken equipments?!"
But Ezrahl shared none of her bafflement. He seemed mildly taken aback. Then, he slightly shook his head.
"Ghouls feed on mana."
Aesther blinked her eyes, "So they are making food— it's a bait?"