Rise of Aretian: The Roman War Priest

Chapter 4: The Priestess of Blood and Oaths

The statue of Jupiter towered above Ares Valen, casting a shadow that stretched across the polished marble floor, moving almost as if it had a life of its own. He froze. His heart hammered against his chest. Throat dry as dust. Every thought spun into a dizzying blur. Could gods… really exist? The question clawed at him, sharp and insistent.

For a heartbeat, maybe two, or perhaps an eternity, the air seemed to shiver. A flicker of movement—or a trick of light—made the stone eyes glimmer. And somehow, damn it, they felt alive. His hands twitched. The strange power he had felt before—the fog bending to his will, whispers threading through his mind—what was it? Magic? Divine power? Or something far stranger?

Then he saw it. Floating before him, almost casually, the Sword of the God of War. Its blade caught the sunlight, cold and precise, forged not for display but for death and mastery. Ares drew a sharp breath and grasped it. Perfectly balanced. Heavy enough to feel lethal, yet agile enough to move like an extension of his arm. Every inch of it whispered danger, every inch screamed authority.

“This world… it’s… wrong,” he muttered to himself. Somehow, he had become a priest. Somehow, this divine weapon rested in his hands.

“Priest?” The voice cut through the thick air, startlingly close. The Hidden Captain stepped forward. Her voice wavered, a mix of authority and excitement that sent shivers down his spine. There was something magnetic about her, subtle but undeniable. A soft, sweet scent lingered around her, impossible to ignore in a tense moment like this.

Ares blinked. Then realization struck him like a hammer. “She’s… a woman.”

The ruthless, masked commander of the Hidden Ones—a figure he had always imagined as cold and unyielding—was a woman. He stared. Her movements, her lethal presence, her aura of danger, none of it had hinted at femininity. And yet she stood there, demanding attention without even trying.

“The power you used,” she said, her voice firm now, “was granted by the divine spirit. But His strength… it is weak. He needs believers. Only through faith can He grant more power. Only then can He protect His people. Only then can Alatien be safe.”

Her eyes burned with conviction, piercing the dim light of the temple, setting his mind alight with awe and fear.

Ares swallowed hard. “The… power of gods?”

“Yes.” Her voice returned to its usual roughness, masking the glimpse of softness he had glimpsed before. “Jupiter gives priests command over elements, authority to lead, and the wisdom to judge. Faith is the fuel. The more believers, the stronger the priest becomes.”

His pulse raced. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t luck. Power fueled by devotion. Terrifying. Powerful. Possibly unstoppable.

“Only I can wield this power?” he asked. “No one else?”

“The selection is strict,” she said, her tone carrying respect. “Only the most devoted Hidden Ones, with five or more years of service, may be chosen. Inheritance must come from a temple priest. To become a true war priest—recognized by the divine spirit—you must be chosen above all others.”

Ares exhaled slowly. Alone for now. But it was a beginning. In the back of his mind, a faint flicker of the auxiliary system reminded him of the long path ahead.

Temple Status: Grand Ruling Temple

Deity: Jupiter

Believers: 380

Divine Power: Low

Priests: 1 (War Priest)

Can Train: 10 priests

Next Ability: Judgment of War

Weapon: Sword of the God of War

Tier: One

Bonus: Double attack power

Special: Soul Stab

Upgrade Requirement: 5000 soul power

His eyebrows twitched. Soul absorption? Eternal imprisonment? This weapon surpassed everything he had seen in Rome: Total War.

“How long have you been a Hidden One?” he asked.

“Eight years. Started at twelve,” she replied.

Twelve. So young. So disciplined. So carefully molded by the temple. Ares exhaled, decision forming like fire in his chest.

“Starting today, you’ll be the second priest of this temple.”

The words struck like a hammer. The Hidden Captain’s breath caught. Her eyes flickered behind the silver mask.

“Priest…” she whispered, reverence bleeding from every syllable. For a Hidden One, the priesthood was life’s purpose. Everything they had trained for. Everything they had lived for.

But as he sifted through inherited memories, reality hit him hard. Priesthood was far from ceremonial. Sacrifices—food, jade, silk, livestock. And worst of all, blood. Hundreds of days spent kneeling, praying before the gods.

He clenched his jaw. Resources were scarce. But blood… that was non-negotiable. The bridge to the divine. Everything else could be adapted.

Ten Hidden warriors formed a solemn circle. The Captain stepped forward, hands trembling as she removed her silver mask.

Ares froze. Pale as winter snow, delicate yet severe. Her face caught the skylight, bathed in golden light, ethereal and almost otherworldly. Beautiful. Dangerous. A figure carved by discipline itself.

A flicker of vulnerability passed across her face before her composure returned.

“I am ready,” she whispered, soft, human, feminine.

Ares nodded. “Then we begin.”

Raising his hand to the statue, he intoned:

“In the name of the Source of Light, the Lord of Heaven and Earth, the Guardian God of Rome, Jupiter, I grant the Hidden One, Cress, the right to serve as a priest of this temple.”

Her name—stolen from her since childhood—is now hers. The Hidden Ones had no face, no identity, only a mask. Until now.

“Let all remember,” he continued, voice echoing through the stone hall, “the gods of Rome are watching. Never shame them through your deeds.”

Cress drew a sharp breath and then sliced her wrist.

“Cress!” Ares shouted. Blood spread across the marble like living fire, metallic and vivid. Romans believed blood carried the soul. Here, it was the bridge to the divine.

Nearly a liter spilled. A ripple of magic shimmered faintly across the floor.

“That’s enough! Stop bleeding!” he barked.

She did not stop. Hidden Ones were trained for devotion beyond life itself. This was sacred. Untouchable.

Her pale, determined face met his gaze. “A Hidden One’s face and identity must remain hidden unless priesthood is earned. Otherwise… death. Thank you, Priest, for giving me a name.”

Another slash. Another river of crimson.

“You stubborn woman!” Ares roared. He looked at the ten warriors. “Stop her! Now!”

They stayed kneeling, heads bowed, respect and fear entwined. Her offering was untouchable, holy, complete.

If she died here… because of ritual… what kind of god demanded this? Anger flared. Raw and sharp. “Even without a temple,” he thought, “I will carve my own path in this world.”

Then—a deep chime. Resonating, shaking the hall.

“The Guardian God of Rome, Jupiter, grants the devout Cress the Staff of Abundance…”

Another chime.

“Jupiter grants Cress the right to perform the duties of Priest of Abundance…”

A third, final chime.

“One divine skill granted: Flourishing Growth—for crops, grains, livestock.”

Warm golden light cascaded over her battered form. Gentle. Embracing. Divine. The ritual succeeded.

Cress’ knees steadied. Tears of relief and devotion filled her eyes. Ares lowered his hand, chest heaving, heart pounding with awe, frustration, and responsibility.

This was more than a chapter in their lives. It was a beginning. For him. For Cress. For Rome. A world poised between mortal struggle and divine will.

And as the light bathed her, he knew, with thrill and chill intertwined, the gods had chosen… and their work was far from done.