THE LAST GODSLAYER

Rain.

For seven straight days, the Kingdom of Asterion had seen nothing but rain.

It drummed against tiled rooftops, flooded narrow alleyways, and turned the once-bustling market streets into rivers of mud. The people called it **Heaven's Blessing**, believing the Twelve Gods were washing away mankind's sins before the annual Festival of Ascension.

Hans had stopped believing that years ago.

He pulled the hood of his faded cloak lower over his face as he made his way through the crowded market district, balancing two woven baskets on a wooden shoulder pole. Fresh bread rested in one basket, while the other carried vegetables, herbs, and dried meat destined for the Grand Temple.

The delicious aroma made his empty stomach tighten painfully.

He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.

A baker called after him.

"Hans!"

He stopped and turned.

The voice belonged to **Old Bram**, whose beard was almost as white as the flour coating his apron.

The old baker hurried over carrying a small cloth bundle.

"You forgot this."

Hans frowned.

"I paid for exactly twenty loaves."

"You did."

Old Bram smiled warmly.

"But I baked twenty-one."

Hans looked at the bundle before gently pushing it back.

"I can't accept charity."

"It's not charity."

"It's bread that wasn't ordered."

"Then consider it a mistake."

"You don't make mistakes."

The old baker sighed dramatically.

"Must you make kindness so difficult?"

Hans couldn't help smiling.

It was a rare expression.

"I'll pay you tomorrow."

"If you insist."

Old Bram slipped the warm loaf into Hans's basket before the young man could object again.

As Hans adjusted the shoulder pole, the baker's smile slowly faded.

"The bruises are new."

Hans instinctively touched the faint swelling beneath his jaw.

"They'll heal."

"They always say that."

Old Bram lowered his voice.

"It was the temple boys again, wasn't it?"

Hans remained silent.

The silence was answer enough.

The baker clenched his flour-covered fists.

"They're cowards."

"They're children."

"They're sixteen."

"So am I."

"Exactly."

Old Bram looked Hans up and down.

"You've got nearly a head on most of them. Why don't you fight back just once?"

Hans glanced toward the towering white temple visible even through the rain.

"Because winning one fight would lose me every tomorrow after it."

The baker fell quiet.

That...

That sounded far older than something a sixteen-year-old should say.

After a moment, Hans gave a respectful nod.

"I should go."

"The priests don't like waiting."

Old Bram watched him disappear into the rain.

When the young man was almost out of sight, he whispered to himself,

"You're becoming more like your grandmother every day."

---

The closer Hans came to the Temple District, the cleaner the streets became.

Mud disappeared.

Stone roads replaced dirt.

Houses grew larger.

Windows became brighter.

Even the rain seemed quieter.

By the time he reached the marble staircase leading toward the Grand Temple, ordinary citizens had almost vanished.

Only nobles, priests, knights, and wealthy merchants walked these roads.

Hans climbed slowly.

Not because the baskets were heavy.

Because he knew what waited at the top.

Halfway up the staircase...

Someone blocked his path.

Three boys dressed in blue academy robes.

Temple students.

Hans recognised every one of them.

Lucian.

Marcus.

Edric.

They had attended the temple academy since childhood.

They had also made it their favourite pastime to remind Hans where he belonged.

Lucian smiled.

It wasn't a pleasant smile.

"Look who crawled out of the gutter."

Hans adjusted the baskets.

"I have deliveries."

"I know."

Lucian stepped sideways, still blocking the stairs.

"So do we."

Marcus looked into one of the baskets.

"Fresh bread."

"I wonder..."

"...if thieves deserve fresh bread."

Edric laughed.

"They probably taste better when stolen."

Hans met Lucian's eyes.

"I paid for everything."

"So you claim."

The three boys spread out across the staircase.

Rain rolled off their expensive robes.

Unlike Hans's worn cloak, theirs bore the golden emblem of the Temple Academy.

Only children blessed by the priests were accepted there.

Hans had applied once.

He had never received an answer.

Lucian folded his arms.

"Say it."

Hans frowned slightly.

"Say what?"

"'Good morning, Young Masters.'"

Marcus grinned.

"And bow."

Hans looked at the baskets resting across his shoulders.

"If I bow, the bread will fall."

Lucian shrugged.

"Then drop it."

Hans remained silent.

Several nobles climbing the stairs noticed the confrontation.

None intervened.

One elderly merchant merely shook his head before continuing upward.

This was normal.

Everyone knew the orphan.

Everyone knew the temple students.

Nobody wanted trouble.

Lucian took another step closer.

"I gave you an order."

Hans spoke calmly.

"You aren't my master."

The smile disappeared from Lucian's face.

"What did you say?"

"I said..."

"...you aren't my master."

Marcus looked around nervously.

"People are watching."

Lucian noticed too.

His pride stung.

Without warning, he shoved Hans hard.

The baskets swung violently.

Hans twisted his body, protecting the bread instead of himself.

The wooden pole slammed into his shoulder.

Pain shot through his arm.

A loaf slipped free and rolled down the rain-soaked steps.

Edric chased after it laughing.

He picked it up...

Looked at Hans...

Then deliberately tossed it into the mud.

Splat.

The white loaf disappeared beneath dirty water.

Marcus laughed.

"There."

"Now it's fit for him."

The three boys burst into laughter.

Hans slowly descended the steps.

He picked up the loaf.

Mud clung to every side.

He looked at it for several seconds.

Then carefully wrapped it in cloth and placed it into the empty corner of his basket.

Lucian frowned.

"You're still taking it?"

Hans looked up.

"Wasting food dishonours the people who made it."

The answer caught them off guard.

Marcus scoffed.

"It's ruined."

"I'll wash the outside."

"You can't wash bread."

"I can cut away what's spoiled."

Lucian stared at him.

He wanted anger.

He wanted tears.

Instead...

The orphan calmly solved the problem.

For some reason...

That irritated him even more.

"So that's your life?"

"Picking food out of the mud?"

Hans answered honestly.

"No."

"My life is making sure I don't become someone who throws it there."

Silence.

Even the nobles who had stopped to watch exchanged glances.

Lucian's face flushed red.

"You think you're better than us?"

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it."

Hans sighed inwardly.

There it was again.

The same conversation.

Every time.

People heard insults in truths they didn't want to face.

Lucian suddenly reached toward the basket.

"If you're so grateful for food..."

"...let's see how grateful you are without it."

He grabbed the edge of the basket.

Hans moved instantly.

Not to strike him.

Not to shove him.

He simply stepped between Lucian and the food.

His movements were quick.

Natural.

Almost instinctive.

Lucian blinked.

For a brief moment...

He had the strange feeling that Hans had predicted exactly what he was going to do.

"You..."

Hans looked at him steadily.

"I won't let you waste it."

The rain intensified.

Water streamed down Hans's face, yet he never looked away.

Something about his eyes unsettled Lucian.

There was no hatred.

No fear.

Only quiet determination.

It felt...

Older than it should.

A deep voice suddenly echoed across the staircase.

"What is happening here?"

Every head turned.

Descending the marble steps was a man clad in silver armour beneath a long white cloak embroidered with the symbol of the Twelve Gods.

His broad shoulders and stern expression commanded immediate respect.

Temple Knight Garrick.

The boys immediately straightened.

"Sir Garrick!"

The knight's sharp eyes swept over the scene.

The muddy loaf.

The baskets.

Hans.

Then the academy students.

"What happened?"

Lucian answered first.

"This orphan blocked the staircase."

Hans said nothing.

Garrick looked at him.

"Is that true?"

Hans met the knight's gaze.

"No."

"I was delivering the Temple's morning provisions."

Garrick studied him for a moment.

Then looked at the baskets.

He knew exactly who Hans was.

The quiet orphan who never complained.

The delivery boy.

The one with no family.

No connections.

No one important.

His gaze lingered on Hans for several seconds.

Then he smiled.

It wasn't a kind smile.

"Search him."

Lucian blinked.

"Sir?"

"Did I stutter?"

Two temple guards immediately stepped forward.

Hans slowly set the baskets down.

Without protest...

He raised his arms.

The rain continued falling.

Above them, thunder rolled across the grey sky.

Neither Hans nor anyone else noticed...

That high above the storm clouds...

Twelve immense shadows had all turned their attention toward a single boy standing on a rain-soaked staircase.

The rain fell harder.

It drummed against polished armour, splashed across the marble staircase, and ran in thin streams between the temple's towering pillars.

Hans remained motionless with his arms raised.

He had been searched enough times that the routine had become almost mechanical.

One guard untied the worn leather pouch at his waist.

Another emptied his pockets onto the wet stone.

A sewing needle.

A length of twine.

A folded handkerchief.

Three copper crowns.

Nothing else.

The guard picked up the coins and weighed them in his palm.

"Three crowns."

Hans nodded.

"My wages."

Temple Knight Garrick extended his hand.

The guard immediately placed the coins into it.

Garrick looked at them for a long moment before slipping them into his own pouch.

"Temple inspection f*e."

Hans looked at him.

"There is no inspection f*e."

"There is today."

"It has never existed before."

"It exists because I say it does."

The surrounding guards laughed quietly.

Lucian smirked.

Hans didn't argue immediately.

Instead, he looked past Garrick at the temple gates towering above them.

The symbol of the Twelve Gods was carved into the marble arch.

Beneath it were ancient words every citizen knew.

**Justice Guides the Faithful.**

Hans read them silently.

Then he looked back at Garrick.

"If justice guides the faithful..."

"...who guides justice?"

The laughter stopped.

For a brief second, even Garrick seemed caught off guard.

Then his expression hardened.

"Careful."

"I'm asking a question."

"You're questioning the Temple."

"No."

Hans's voice remained calm.

"I'm questioning a man."

Lucian's confidence faltered.

This wasn't going the way he'd imagined.

Hans wasn't shouting.

He wasn't begging.

He wasn't even angry.

He was simply... speaking.

That somehow made every word heavier.

Garrick took one deliberate step forward until they stood barely an arm's length apart.

"You think being clever makes you brave?"

"No."

"What makes someone brave, then?"

Hans answered almost immediately.

"Doing what's right..."

"...when there's a price."

The words hung in the rain-soaked air.

Something flickered in Garrick's eyes.

Not guilt.

Recognition.

For the briefest moment, he saw someone else standing where Hans now stood.

A woman.

Black hair.

The same unwavering gaze.

The memory vanished as quickly as it had come.

His jaw tightened.

"Enough."

He seized Hans by the front of his cloak.

"Perhaps a night in the temple cells will teach you humility."

Hans didn't struggle.

He looked directly into Garrick's eyes.

"If that's what you believe is right."

The lack of resistance irritated the knight even more.

People who feared him screamed.

People who hated him cursed.

Hans did neither.

He simply endured.

"Sir Garrick."

The voice came from above.

Everyone immediately turned.

Descending the staircase was a middle-aged priest dressed in immaculate white robes bordered with gold.

His silver hair was neatly tied behind his head, and though he carried no weapon, every guard straightened the instant they saw him.

Father Cassian.

Administrator of the Grand Temple.

Second only to the High Priest in authority.

"What is delaying the morning procession?"

Garrick released Hans and bowed.

"Nothing of importance, Father."

Cassian's sharp grey eyes moved from Garrick...

...to Hans...

...then to the muddy loaf still resting in the basket.

"What happened?"

Lucian hurried forward.

"The orphan was being disrespectful."

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

"Disrespectful?"

"Yes, Father."

"He questioned Sir Garrick."

Cassian looked at Hans.

"Is that true?"

Hans thought carefully before answering.

"I asked a question."

"What question?"

Hans glanced toward the temple arch.

"I asked who guides justice."

A strange silence followed.

Cassian's expression didn't change.

Yet something thoughtful appeared behind his eyes.

He looked toward Garrick.

"And why did he ask that?"

Garrick answered without hesitation.

"He objected to a routine inspection."

"Routine?"

"Yes."

Cassian's gaze dropped to Hans.

"Were you carrying anything forbidden?"

"No."

"Weapons?"

"No."

"Stolen goods?"

"No."

Cassian nodded once.

Then turned back to Garrick.

"Return the boy's wages."

Lucian's eyes widened.

"What?"

Several guards exchanged uneasy glances.

Garrick stiffened.

"Father..."

"I said..."

Cassian's voice remained quiet.

"...return them."

For a long moment, neither man moved.

Finally...

Garrick removed the three copper crowns from his pouch and dropped them into Hans's hand.

The coins felt strangely warm despite the rain.

Hans closed his fingers around them.

"Thank you."

Cassian studied him.

"Not me."

"You thanked the wrong person."

Hans understood immediately.

He looked at Garrick.

"Thank you."

The words were sincere.

That sincerity struck harder than an insult ever could.

Garrick couldn't meet his eyes.

Cassian noticed.

So did Hans.

Pride humiliated in public often searched for revenge in private.

His grandmother had taught him that long ago.

The priest turned toward the academy students.

"And you three."

Lucian swallowed.

"Yes, Father?"

"You're late."

Their faces fell.

"The morning scripture examination began ten minutes ago."

Marcus turned pale.

Lucian looked ready to protest.

Cassian didn't give him the chance.

"Run."

The three boys practically fled up the staircase.

Only after they disappeared did Cassian look back at Hans.

"You should go."

"I still have deliveries."

"I know."

Cassian's gaze lingered on the muddy loaf.

"Old Bram baked that."

Hans blinked.

"You know him?"

"We grew up together."

A faint smile touched the priest's lips.

"He's stubborn."

Hans smiled slightly.

"So am I."

Cassian chuckled.

"I noticed."

He stepped aside, allowing Hans to pass.

As Hans climbed the remaining stairs, Cassian watched him quietly.

There was something unusual about the boy.

Not his strength.

Not his appearance.

His composure.

Most adults lost their tempers more quickly than this orphan.

Father Cassian had spent decades judging character.

He had learned one lesson above all others.

The loudest people often carried the weakest convictions.

The quiet ones...

Were dangerous in entirely different ways.

---

Hans entered the Temple grounds just as the morning bells began to ring.

The sound rolled across the city.

Deep.

Resonant.

Powerful.

Citizens stopped what they were doing.

Merchants lowered their heads.

Workers paused their tools.

Even children fell silent.

For one full minute...

The kingdom listened.

Hans walked through the enormous courtyard toward the kitchens.

Towering statues of the Twelve Gods surrounded the square, each carved from brilliant white stone.

The God of Judgment held balanced scales.

The Goddess of Harvest carried a bundle of golden wheat.

The God of Storms raised a spear toward the heavens.

Hundreds of worshippers knelt before them despite the rain.

Hans bowed his head respectfully as he passed.

But he did not kneel.

He never had.

Not because he despised the gods.

Because kneeling, to him, meant complete trust.

And trust...

Had to be earned.

As he crossed beneath the largest statue—the God of Judgment—he felt something strange.

A faint pressure.

Like someone watching him.

He stopped.

The feeling disappeared.

Hans looked around.

Nothing.

Just worshippers.

Priests.

Servants.

Rain.

He shook his head and continued toward the kitchens.

High above...

Hidden beyond the clouds where no mortal eye could see...

One of the twelve immense shadows stirred.

Not fully.

Just enough...

To notice that, for the first time in thousands of years, someone had walked beneath the statue of Judgment without fear in his heart.

And somewhere, far below the Temple's deepest foundations, behind doors no living person knew existed...

A single ancient seal flickered.

Only once.

Then returned to silence.

The doors to the Grand Temple kitchens opened with a low groan.

Warmth rushed over Hans like a blanket.

The scent of fresh bread, roasted meat, herbs, and simmering soup filled the enormous room. More than fifty cooks and servants hurried from table to table, preparing food for the Temple's priests, knights, academy students, and honoured guests.

No one noticed Hans enter.

Everyone had work to do.

He quietly carried the baskets to the delivery counter.

A broad-shouldered man with a thick beard looked up from a ledger.

Head Cook Gilbert.

He counted the bread.

"Twenty-one."

Hans nodded.

"Old Bram baked an extra loaf."

Gilbert frowned.

"He charged us?"

"No."

The old cook sighed.

"He'll never learn."

"He said it was a mistake."

Gilbert snorted.

"The only mistake Bram ever made was believing people deserve second chances."

Despite the harsh words, Hans noticed the faint smile hiding beneath the cook's beard.

Gilbert wasn't insulting the baker.

He was protecting his reputation.

After checking the vegetables and dried meat, Gilbert signed the delivery ledger.

"You can collect your wages tomorrow."

Hans accepted the parchment.

"Thank you."

As he turned to leave, Gilbert called after him.

"Hans."

He looked back.

"You've lost weight."

Hans gave a small smile.

"I'll eat tonight."

The cook stared at him for a long moment before pretending to organise a shelf.

"There's vegetable stew left over."

Hans immediately shook his head.

"It belongs to the Temple."

"It belongs in the rubbish if nobody eats it."

"I can't."

"You can."

"I won't."

Gilbert sighed.

"You really are impossible."

He reached for a bowl anyway.

Hans gently placed a hand over it.

"If I accept food meant for others..."

"...then tomorrow I'll find another excuse."

The cook froze.

Then slowly lowered the bowl.

After several seconds, he simply nodded.

"Go."

Hans bowed politely.

"Thank you."

This time...

He wasn't thanking Gilbert for food.

He was thanking him for understanding.

---

The rain had eased to a gentle drizzle by the time Hans left the kitchens.

Instead of returning home immediately, he walked toward the Temple gardens.

Few people visited them during the rain.

That was exactly why he liked them.

The gardens were simple.

Stone paths.

Ancient trees.

A small pond whose surface danced beneath the falling droplets.

Hans sat beneath a weathered cedar tree.

From inside his cloak he carefully removed the loaf Lucian had thrown into the mud.

Taking out a small knife, he patiently trimmed away every spoiled piece.

When he was finished...

Nearly half the loaf remained.

He looked at it for a moment.

Then quietly said,

"Still enough."

Before taking a bite, he broke the bread cleanly in half.

The first half he wrapped carefully and placed back inside his bag.

The second he began eating slowly.

His grandmother had taught him never to eat quickly when food was scarce.

*"A slow meal feeds the heart as well as the stomach."*

The memory made him smile.

She had always spoken as though ordinary things carried hidden lessons.

Sometimes he wondered if she had simply enjoyed turning life into riddles.

Sometimes...

He wondered whether she had known more than she ever told him.

A soft rustling interrupted his thoughts.

Hans looked toward a nearby bush.

Two frightened children peeked through the leaves.

A little boy and his younger sister.

Their clothes were patched.

Their shoes were falling apart.

Street children.

The boy quickly pulled his sister back, believing they hadn't been seen.

Hans pretended to keep eating.

After another few moments...

He spoke without looking up.

"You can come out."

Silence.

Then tiny footsteps.

The children approached cautiously.

The little girl couldn't stop staring at the bread.

Hans smiled gently.

"Have you eaten today?"

The boy immediately answered.

"Yes."

His stomach growled loudly.

Hans pretended not to notice.

Instead, he reached into his bag and handed them the untouched half of the loaf.

The boy stared.

"We can't pay."

"I'm not asking you to."

The girl looked at her brother with wide eyes.

He hesitated.

"P-Please..."

"...at least tell us your name."

"Hans."

The little girl smiled brightly.

"Thank you, Mister Hans."

They bowed awkwardly before running away, laughing as though they'd just been given a royal feast.

Hans watched them disappear.

His own meal had become much smaller.

Yet...

He felt strangely full.

---

"You always do that."

The voice came from behind him.

Hans turned.

Old Bram stood beneath an umbrella, breathing heavily from climbing the Temple hill.

"You followed me?"

"I had a feeling."

The baker sat beside him with a groan.

"My knees aren't what they used to be."

Hans chuckled.

"You shouldn't have climbed all these stairs."

"I wanted to see something."

"You already have."

Old Bram nodded toward the children disappearing down the hill.

"You gave away half your food."

"They were hungrier."

"And if you were?"

Hans looked at the rain falling across the pond.

"My grandmother used to say..."

"...that hunger passes."

"...but the kind of person you become stays."

Old Bram smiled sadly.

"She really did teach you too well."

For several peaceful minutes they sat without speaking.

The city bells echoed faintly in the distance.

Birds slowly returned to the trees after the morning rain.

Everything felt...

Peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Without warning—

Every bird took flight at once.

Hundreds of wings burst into the sky.

The pond rippled violently.

The wind vanished.

Not weakened.

Vanished.

Old Bram frowned.

"That's strange."

Hans slowly stood.

Every instinct inside him screamed that something was wrong.

The world had become unnaturally quiet.

No insects.

No birds.

No rain.

Even the distant city seemed to have fallen silent.

Then...

A single temple bell rang.

Once.

Its sound was unlike the peaceful morning bells.

This one was deeper.

Sharper.

Urgent.

A second bell answered.

Then a third.

Within moments every bell in the Grand Temple began ringing together.

Servants ran through the courtyards.

Knights shouted orders.

Priests abandoned ceremonies.

Citizens looked toward the Temple in confusion.

Old Bram's face turned pale.

"No..."

"It can't be."

Hans looked at him.

"What is it?"

The old baker swallowed.

"I've only heard those bells once."

"When?"

"...the day your grandmother died."

Before Hans could ask another question—

A deafening crack split the sky.

**BOOOOOOM!**

Lightning struck the tallest statue of the God of Judgment standing above the Temple gates.

The flash illuminated the entire city.

Stone dust filled the air.

People screamed.

When the blinding light faded...

The statue was still standing.

But something had changed.

A crimson crack now stretched across its left eye.

Like a tear of blood.

No ordinary citizen noticed.

They were too busy panicking.

But elsewhere...

High Priest Aurelius slowly lowered the ancient scroll he had been reading.

His hands trembled.

For the first time in over forty years.

He whispered a name that had not been spoken aloud inside the Temple for centuries.

"...Godslayer."

Deep beneath the Temple...

Beyond vaults sealed before the birth of the Kingdom...

Past doors forged from black metal no mortal smith could recreate...

An ancient chamber awakened.

Twelve colossal chains stretched into darkness.

One by one...

The runes carved into them began to glow crimson.

At the centre of the chamber rested a weathered stone altar.

Upon it lay a sword.

Its blade was black.

Its edge flawless.

Its surface covered in ancient runes that no living scholar could read.

For ten thousand years...

The sword had not moved.

Not once.

Not even when kingdoms fell.

Not even when gods waged war.

Now...

A single finger twitched.

Then...

From somewhere deep within the blade...

A heartbeat echoed.

**Thump.**

Silence.

**Thump.**

A crack spread across one of the twelve chains.

Miles above...

Hans pressed a hand against his chest.

For reasons he couldn't explain...

His heart had begun beating in the exact same rhythm.