All Chapters of The God-Tier Commoner : Chapter 131
- Chapter 140
141 chapters
The Three Fronts
The tent at Thornwall was thick with tension.The canvas walls flapped in the morning wind, but no one noticed. The torches flickered, casting dancing shadows on the maps spread across the tables. The air was heavy, thick with the smell of old parchment and burning oil.Prince Reign sat at the Aurelia table, his fingers drumming on the wood. The sound was soft, rhythmic, annoying. His squad stood behind him—Cedric with his hand on his sword, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the map. Princess Lyra sat beside her brother, her blue eyes fixed on the lines and symbols drawn across the parchment.Across from them, Prince Aldric of Heartland leaned back in his chair, his face pale, his eyes tired. Dark circles ringed them. He looked older than he had any right to look. The weight of his crown seemed heavier than it had been months ago. Beside him, the Grimreach commander sat in silence, his scarred face unreadable, his hands folded on the table.Two messengers had come. Two attacks. Two fro
The Weight of Sloth
Lex struggled to stand against the crushing weight of exhaustion.His limbs were heavy, his eyes drooping, his mind foggy. The ring on his finger pulsed weakly, its blue light flickering like a dying candle in a storm. Around him, his squad lay on the ground in various states of collapse. Dorian was on his back, staring at the grey sky, his chest rising and falling in slow, labored breaths. Kaela slumped against a broken wall, her bow still in her hand but her arm too weak to lift it. The brothers were on their knees, their yellow eyes dimmed, their heads bowed. Vincent lay motionless, his white hair spread across the dirt, the ring on his finger barely glowing. Guiller and Tarek struggled to stay upright, leaning on each other for support.Sloth stood before them, his fine armor gleaming in the grey light. The gold and silver plates were immaculate, untouched by the dust and rubble around him. His dark hair was messy, unkempt, falling across his forehead in tangled strands. His face
The Cold Against the Pride
Dorian moved before anyone could stop him.His curved blade swept through the air in a wide arc, forcing Warjon to step back. The Sin of Sloth blinked slowly, his empty eyes following Dorian's movements with lazy interest. His fine armor gleamed in the grey light, untouched by the dust and rubble around them."You're still standing," Warjon said. His voice was slow, drawling, as if even speaking was too much effort. "That's inconvenient.""Get used to it," Dorian replied.He attacked again.His blade traced patterns in the air—spirals, arcs, strikes that seemed to flow from one to the next without pause. The movements were fluid, graceful, almost dance-like. His boots scraped against the broken ground. His breath came in short, sharp bursts.Lex recognized the movements.The fighting style from Lord Elric's manor. The technique that could counter Sloth's draining power. The lost art that had been passed down through generations, fragmented, incomplete, but still deadly.Warjon's eyes
The Cracks in the Ice
Lex led the column through the gates of Crown's Seat as the sun began to set.The golden light painted the city walls in shades of orange and red, but no one stopped to admire it. Soldiers rushed past, carrying supplies, reinforcing barricades, shouting orders. Citizens hurried through the streets, their arms full of food and water and blankets. Children clung to their parents' hands, their eyes wide with fear.The city was preparing for siege. The gates were being reinforced. The walls were being manned. Every able-bodied person was being put to work.Lyra rushed to help the wounded as soon as the column stopped.Her hands glowed with soft white light as she moved from person to person, her blue hair coming loose from its braid. She healed cuts, closed wounds, eased pain. Her face was calm, but her hands were shaking. She had never seen so many injured at once."Stay still," she said to a young soldier whose arm was burned. "This will only take a moment."The soldier nodded, his face
He who silenced the Sloth
The fight was beginning to be one-sided.Dorian's copied techniques had carried him far, farther than anyone had a right to expect. The ancient patterns he had learned from Lord Elric's fight had kept him alive through the first brutal minutes of the battle. The fluid movements, the strikes that flowed from one to the next, the way he moved like water around Warjon's lazy swings—it had all worked. But it wasn't enough. It had never been enough.Warjon's golden blade sang with every clash. Each impact sent a note ringing through the air—soft, haunting, beautiful. And each note stole a little more of Dorian's strength. Each chord drained a little more of his will. His arms felt like lead. His legs trembled beneath him. His vision blurred at the edges, the ruins around him becoming soft and unfocused, the broken walls and scattered stones swimming in his vision.His whole body was covered in wounds. Cuts on his arms from blocked strikes that had gotten through, the flesh split and bleedi
The Stubborn One
Dorian stood over Warjon, his blades raised, the black aura pulsing around them.The Sin of Sloth knelt on the broken ground, his golden armor cracked, his back bleeding. Blood dripped from the wound—dark red, almost black—pooling on the stones beneath him, seeping into the cracks. His sword lay in the dust where it had fallen, the golden light around it flickering weakly.For a long moment, neither of them moved.The ruins were silent. The grey sky pressed down. The wind had stopped. Even the dust seemed to hang still in the air.Then Warjon's body began to shake.Not from fear. Not from pain. From rage.Dorian couldn't hear the sound that escaped Warjon's throat—a guttural roar, raw and primal, echoing off the broken walls. But he saw it. He saw the way Warjon's face twisted, the way his eyes blazed with fury, the way his hands clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles went white.The Sin of Sloth reached up and tore off his damaged upper armor.The golden plates clattered to t
The Pride's Mercy
Vincent's ice wall shattered.The massive barrier he had summoned to block Renier's white flame cracked first—hairline fractures spreading across its surface like spiderwebs, glowing with heat. The ice groaned, a sound like a dying animal. Then chunks began to fall, melting before they hit the ground, dissolving into steam that hissed and billowed across the battlefield. The steam was thick, white, hot, obscuring everything for a moment. Then the wind blew it away.Renier walked through the flames unscathed.His white-blonde hair drifted in a wind that no one else could feel, flowing past his shoulders like a river of light. His gold eyes were bright, burning with cold amusement, the kind of amusement a cat might have when playing with a mouse that had already lost. His white and gold armor gleamed despite the cracks and scorch marks, the golden sunburst on his chest still pulsing faintly, like a second heartbeat.The wounds Vincent had inflicted were still there—his shoulder still bl
Gluttony's Hunger
Dorian woke to silence.The world was gone. Not dark, not empty—just silent. The crackle of the hearth fire was a ghost. The murmur of voices in the hallway was a memory. He lay still for a long moment, staring at the wooden ceiling above him, trying to remember what sound felt like. The ceiling was made of dark beams, rough-hewn, spotted with knots. A spider had spun a web in the corner near the window. He watched it sway, but couldn't hear the breeze that moved it.His ears were bandaged. He reached up and touched the white cloth, felt the warmth of his own skin beneath. The cloth was soft, clean, wrapped carefully around his head. The ringing that had plagued him for days was gone. Everything was gone. The world was a painting without music.He sat up slowly, his body aching, his wounds protesting. His ribs throbbed. His arms were stiff. The room was small—a bed, a table, a window looking out onto the courtyard. A candle flickered on the bedside table. Its flame danced, but he coul
The New King has Arrived
The retreat began.Aldric's army was decimated. Bodies lay scattered across the field—withered, drained, their faces frozen in terror. The smoke had receded, but the memory of it lingered, thick and suffocating, pressing against the chests of every survivor. Soldiers carried their wounded comrades, their arms shaking, their faces pale. Knights helped villagers stumble toward the gates, lifting children onto horses, dragging the elderly away from the carnage. The Grimreach warriors formed a rearguard, their axes ready, their eyes scanning the tree line for any sign of pursuit.Lex led them.His black horse moved through the chaos, steady and sure, weaving between the wounded and the fleeing. The animal's hooves clattered on the broken stones. Dorian rode beside him, his bandaged ears white against his dark hair, his hand on his sword. Vincent followed, his ring pulsing weakly, his face pale beneath his hood. Kaela and the brothers flanked the column, their bows ready, their yellow eyes
The Jester's Game
The world was still frozen. Time had stopped. But the kid in the kingly robes kept clapping.The sound was wrong—too sharp, too loud, echoing off the frozen stones like a hammer striking glass. It didn't fade. It hung in the air, vibrating, pressing against Lex's ears. The watch on his wrist had stopped ticking. The second hand hung motionless, frozen between one moment and the next.Ping.A blue panel materialized in front of Lex's face, glowing faintly in the frozen light. The words were red, not the usual calm blue. Urgent. Desperate.[SYSTEM WARNING]Threat Level: UNKNOWN.Recommendation: IMMEDIATE EVACUATION.Do not engage. Do not speak. Do not make eye contact.Run.Lex stared at the panel. He had seen this warning only once before—when he first encountered Kaelthas, the Sin of Greed, in the forest outside Ironstead. He had ignored it then. He had fought. He had won.But this time was different.The kid lowered his hands. His smile widened. He walked around Lex slowly, his boots