THE LAST GODSLAYER

Chapter 3 - THE HUNTERS IN WHITE

The heartbeat vanished.

The underground library became so quiet that Hans wondered if he had imagined it.

No...

He knew he hadn't.

He had felt it.

Not with his ears.

With something far deeper.

The sound had echoed inside his chest.

His pulse slowly returned to normal.

Across from him, the three White Inquisitors stood without moving.

Their porcelain masks revealed nothing.

Their silence somehow carried more weight than a shouted threat.

Father Cassian took one deliberate step forward, placing himself fully between Hans and the newcomers.

"The Royal Writ grants you the authority to investigate."

His voice was calm.

"It does not grant you the authority to accuse."

The lead Inquisitor inclined his head slightly.

"Correct."

"Then leave."

"We cannot."

Cassian's eyes narrowed.

"Why?"

The masked figure slowly raised one gloved hand.

Around his wrist hung a silver chain supporting a crystal no larger than a fingernail.

The crystal was perfectly clear.

At first.

Then...

It pulsed.

Once.

A faint crimson light flickered within it before fading again.

The Inquisitor lowered his hand.

"Our relic has not reacted in eight hundred and thirty-one years."

"It reacted the moment we entered this chamber."

Cassian's expression remained composed.

Inside...

His thoughts raced.

*The Resonance Crystal...*

*It shouldn't be responding.*

*Not unless...*

The Inquisitor turned his masked face toward Hans.

"It isn't responding to the room."

"It's responding to him."

---

Hans remained silent.

His grandmother had taught him something else.

*"When you know less than everyone around you..."*

*"...listen more than you speak."*

He had lived by that lesson for years.

It had saved him more times than he could count.

So he listened.

The second Inquisitor finally spoke.

Her voice was calm and surprisingly young.

"We're not here to harm the boy."

Cassian didn't move.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"No."

"Then don't ask me to."

The honesty surprised everyone.

Even the lead Inquisitor turned slightly toward his companion.

She continued.

"If he truly is who we believe..."

"...then harming him would be the greatest mistake imaginable."

Hans finally spoke.

"I don't understand."

The female Inquisitor looked directly at him.

"I know."

"That's precisely the problem."

---

Above them...

High Priest Aurelius stood alone in his chambers.

He hadn't sat down since the Inquisitors arrived.

Instead, he watched the rain begin falling once more over the capital.

Soft.

Steady.

Almost peaceful.

Three knocks came at his door.

"Enter."

Temple Knight Garrick stepped inside.

He knelt immediately.

"Your Holiness."

"Rise."

The knight obeyed.

"You wished to see me."

"I did."

Aurelius turned from the window.

"I have a task for you."

Garrick bowed his head.

"Anything."

The old priest studied him for several moments.

"You've served this Temple for twenty-three years."

"Yes."

"You've sworn your life to protecting its people."

"I have."

"You've never broken that oath?"

A flicker crossed Garrick's eyes.

Gone almost instantly.

"No."

Aurelius nodded slowly.

"Good."

"Then you'll understand why I must ask."

The room felt colder.

"Did you ever meet a woman named Elara?"

Garrick's breathing stopped.

Only for a heartbeat.

But Aurelius noticed.

Everyone would have missed it.

Everyone except the High Priest.

The knight lowered his gaze.

"I don't know anyone by that name."

Aurelius said nothing.

He simply looked at him.

Eventually...

Garrick spoke again.

"...I knew someone."

"What happened to her?"

Silence.

"She disappeared."

"When?"

"Sixteen years ago."

Exactly sixteen years.

The same year Hans had been born.

---

Deep beneath the Temple...

Cassian slowly lowered his hand.

"I'll ask one final time."

"Why are you really here?"

The lead Inquisitor answered immediately.

"Because history has started moving again."

The words meant nothing to Hans.

Cassian understood them instantly.

"No."

The priest whispered.

"It cannot be."

"It already has."

The Inquisitor reached into his cloak.

Hans instinctively tensed.

Instead of drawing a weapon...

He removed a rolled parchment.

Ancient.

Yellowed with age.

He carefully opened it across a nearby table.

It wasn't a map.

Nor a document.

It was a painting.

A battlefield.

Mountains had been reduced to rubble.

The sky itself appeared split apart.

Hundreds of colossal figures lay scattered across the land.

Some wore crowns.

Others possessed wings.

Some had forms that barely resembled anything human.

Every one of them...

Was dead.

Hans couldn't look away.

At the centre of the battlefield stood a single man.

His back faced the artist.

A long black cloak fluttered behind him.

In his right hand rested a jet-black sword.

The ground around him was empty.

No bodies.

No enemies.

Only silence.

The female Inquisitor asked quietly,

"What do you see?"

Hans answered honestly.

"A man."

"What else?"

"He's alone."

The three Inquisitors exchanged almost imperceptible glances.

The lead Inquisitor nodded.

"Most people answer..."

"'A warrior.'"

"'A conqueror.'"

"'A monster.'"

"You answered..."

"'Alone.'"

He slowly rolled the painting closed.

"Interesting."

---

Cassian folded his arms.

"You still haven't answered my question."

The lead Inquisitor sighed.

"No."

"I haven't."

He turned toward Hans once more.

"What is your earliest memory?"

Hans frowned.

"My grandmother."

"Before her."

"I don't remember."

"Nothing?"

"No."

The Inquisitor looked almost disappointed.

"As expected."

He glanced toward the journal inside the sealed display case.

"Has he touched it?"

Cassian remained silent.

The pause was answer enough.

The Inquisitor's masked head slowly turned.

"So..."

"It has already begun."

---

Without warning—

Every lantern inside the library dimmed.

A freezing wind swept through the chamber.

Ancient books slid from shelves.

Thousands of pages turned by themselves.

Not randomly.

Together.

As though guided by invisible hands.

Hans looked around in disbelief.

One book fell open at his feet.

Its pages were written in faded crimson ink.

He couldn't understand the language.

Yet...

One sentence slowly changed before his eyes.

The unfamiliar symbols twisted.

Shifted.

Until they became words he could read.

> **When the Last Blood awakens...**

>

> **He must choose whether Heaven deserves to survive.**

Hans froze.

"What..."

The writing disappeared.

The page returned to its original language.

Cassian rushed forward.

"What did you see?"

Hans repeated the sentence.

Every word.

The room fell silent.

One of the Inquisitors whispered,

"...Impossible."

Another quietly stepped backwards.

For the first time since entering the Temple...

The lead Inquisitor's calm composure cracked.

His gloved hand tightened around the scroll he carried.

He stared at Hans for several long seconds.

Then...

Very slowly...

He bowed.

Not deeply.

Not ceremonially.

Just enough to acknowledge someone.

Cassian's eyes widened.

"What are you doing?"

The Inquisitor never looked away from Hans.

Speaking almost to himself...

He whispered,

"The Library remembers him."

And somewhere...

Far below the Temple...

One of the twelve ancient chains cracked a second time.

The sound of the second chain breaking did not echo through the Temple.

No servant heard it.

No knight reached for his sword.

No priest interrupted his prayer.

Yet every White Inquisitor in the underground library felt it.

Not through their ears.

Through the ancient oath branded into their souls.

The female Inquisitor instinctively placed a hand over her heart.

"...Another one."

The youngest of the three stepped backwards.

"Commander..."

"We should leave."

The lead Inquisitor remained motionless.

"No."

"We should observe."

"Observe?"

The younger man's voice dropped.

"The Chains have never broken."

"They're breaking now."

"Because we're here."

"No."

The Commander looked directly at Hans.

"They're breaking..."

"...because **he** is."

---

Hans frowned.

"What chains?"

No one answered.

He had begun to notice a pattern.

Whenever he asked the questions that mattered most...

Silence followed.

His grandmother.

The black sword.

The dreams.

The Godslayer Clan.

Now these chains.

Everyone seemed to know fragments of a story.

Everyone except the one living it.

He took a slow breath.

"I won't ask again."

Cassian looked at him.

"Hans—"

"No."

Hans's voice remained calm.

"But I deserve the truth."

The Commander nodded.

"You do."

Cassian immediately turned.

"You will tell him nothing."

The Commander replied quietly,

"I wasn't planning to."

Hans almost laughed.

The conversation would have been amusing if it weren't about his own life.

---

Above the library...

Temple Knight Garrick hurried through the eastern corridor.

His boots struck the marble floor with measured rhythm.

He had carried out countless missions for the Temple.

None had unsettled him like this one.

Not because of danger.

Because of the name.

**Elara.**

Sixteen years.

He hadn't heard it spoken aloud in sixteen years.

He stopped outside a narrow stone balcony overlooking the city.

Rain drifted through the cold air.

He closed his eyes.

Against his will...

The memories returned.

---

A burning village.

Screams.

Temple banners.

A woman holding a newborn child.

Black hair soaked by rain.

Blood running down one arm.

She stood surrounded by Temple Knights.

Not frightened.

Defiant.

"Move."

Someone had shouted.

"You cannot protect him."

She had smiled.

A tired...

Almost pitying smile.

"You still don't understand."

One knight lunged.

Everything after that became impossible.

The air itself had shattered.

Dozens of warriors had been thrown backwards without anyone touching them.

The ground had split open.

Buildings had collapsed.

And somehow...

The woman had escaped.

Not by winning.

By surviving.

Only one person had followed her.

Garrick.

---

His eyes opened.

His breathing had become uneven.

"I never found you."

He whispered into the rain.

"...or the child."

Behind him...

A voice answered.

"No."

"You didn't."

Garrick spun around.

High Priest Aurelius stood quietly beneath the archway.

"I..."

The knight began.

The old priest raised a hand.

"You don't need to explain."

"You already know."

"I suspected."

Aurelius walked onto the balcony.

"The question is..."

"...why didn't you report it?"

Garrick stared at the rain below.

"Because she spared my life."

The confession hung heavily between them.

"I couldn't repay mercy with betrayal."

Aurelius nodded slowly.

"So you've carried that burden alone."

"For sixteen years."

---

Deep beneath the Temple...

The library had returned to silence.

Cassian carefully closed the ancient book that had translated itself.

It shouldn't have been possible.

Every language expert who had ever entered this library had failed to decipher those pages.

Yet Hans had read them effortlessly.

Not by studying.

By looking.

Cassian's thoughts raced.

*The awakening is beginning too early.*

*He hasn't even received the inheritance.*

*How can the Archives recognise him already?*

The Commander interrupted his thoughts.

"You've realised it."

Cassian looked up.

"I have."

"The Bloodline remembers before the mind does."

Hans caught that sentence immediately.

"My bloodline?"

Again...

Silence.

The Commander almost seemed apologetic.

"If I answer now..."

"...you'll ask a hundred more questions."

"Then answer those too."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because half the answers are wrong."

Hans blinked.

"What?"

The Commander slowly removed one glove.

Across his palm was an enormous scar.

It stretched from his wrist to the tip of his middle finger.

Old.

White.

Perfectly straight.

"I've hunted the truth for thirty-eight years."

He looked at the scar.

"I've learned something."

"The first story you hear..."

"...usually becomes the one you believe."

Hans listened carefully.

"So?"

"So I'd rather you discover the truth..."

"...than inherit someone else's version of it."

For the first time...

Hans felt that the Commander wasn't lying.

He wasn't hiding the truth out of cruelty.

He genuinely believed revealing it now would do more harm than good.

Hans wasn't sure whether that made him feel better.

Or worse.

---

A sudden tremor shook the library.

Not violent.

Gentle.

Dust drifted from the ceiling.

Shelves creaked.

One of the enormous globes rotated on its own.

Everyone froze.

Another heartbeat echoed.

**THUMP.**

This time...

Everyone heard it.

The younger Inquisitor's mask tilted upward.

"It came from below."

"No."

The Commander corrected.

"It came from everywhere."

The sound rolled through the stone like thunder trapped beneath the earth.

Books vibrated.

Lantern flames bent sideways.

Even the air seemed heavier.

Hans instinctively pressed a hand against his chest.

His heartbeat...

Had synchronised again.

Exactly.

One beat.

One echo.

One rhythm.

The Commander stared.

"...He's resonating."

Cassian's expression darkened.

"It shouldn't be possible."

"Not until the First Trial."

Hans frowned.

"The first what?"

Before anyone could answer—

A deafening crack echoed through the chamber.

Not from beneath them.

From the sealed display case.

Everyone turned simultaneously.

A thin fracture had appeared across the glass.

Impossible.

That glass had been forged with Divine Silver.

It had survived wars.

Earthquakes.

Even dragon fire, according to Temple legend.

Now...

A single crack spread slowly across its surface.

Inside...

The black-sword journal opened by itself.

Its brittle pages turned one after another.

Not quickly.

Patiently.

Stopping at the centre.

Blank pages.

Every one of them blank.

Hans stared.

A drop of crimson appeared on the empty paper.

Then another.

Not falling from above.

Seeping...

From within the page itself.

The drops moved.

Stretching into letters.

Words.

A sentence.

This time...

Everyone could read it.

> **THE HEIR HAS BEEN FOUND.**

The library fell into absolute silence.

Then a second line began to appear.

Much slower.

As though written by an invisible hand.

> **THE GODS...**

The writing stopped.

Every lantern in the chamber went out at once.

Darkness swallowed everything.

In that endless black...

Hans heard a voice.

Not outside.

Inside his own mind.

Ancient.

Calm.

And unbearably lonely.

> **...You finally came back.**

Hans's eyes flew open.

But he couldn't move.

Because somewhere in the darkness...

Something had just opened its eyes.

Darkness.

For a heartbeat, Hans couldn't tell whether his eyes were open or closed.

The voice lingered inside his mind.

> *...You finally came back.*

It wasn't loud.

It didn't command.

It didn't threaten.

It simply... existed.

Old.

Weary.

As though it had spent countless ages speaking to no one.

Then—

The library erupted into motion.

Blue flames roared back to life inside the lanterns, chasing away the darkness.

Cassian immediately drew a small silver talisman from beneath his robes.

The three White Inquisitors spread apart in perfect coordination, their movements so precise that it seemed rehearsed over decades.

The Commander raised one hand.

"No one moves."

His voice echoed sharply through the chamber.

Everyone obeyed.

Not because of authority.

Because something was changing.

The ancient journal inside the cracked display case trembled.

Its pages turned faster.

Faster.

Until they became a blur.

The crack in the Divine Silver glass widened.

Another thin fracture appeared.

Then another.

Cassian's eyes widened.

"It shouldn't be possible..."

"The seal is weakening."

The Commander corrected quietly.

"No."

Cassian answered immediately.

"The seal is still intact."

"The journal is responding."

"There is a difference."

The Commander looked at Hans.

"I hope you're right."

---

Hans stared at the journal.

His heartbeat had finally returned to normal.

The strange voice was gone.

Only one question remained.

"Did anyone else hear it?"

The Commander frowned.

"Hear what?"

"A voice."

The female Inquisitor shook her head.

"We heard nothing."

Cassian looked closely at Hans.

"What did it say?"

Hans hesitated.

He wasn't sure why.

Perhaps because the words somehow felt... personal.

"It said..."

He swallowed.

"...'You finally came back.'"

Silence.

The younger Inquisitor instinctively stepped backwards.

Cassian slowly closed his eyes.

The Commander didn't react immediately.

Instead...

He walked toward the display case.

Stopping only a few feet away.

"You spoke first?"

Hans shook his head.

"No."

"It spoke to me."

The Commander remained still.

Then, almost under his breath, he whispered,

"So it remembers."

---

A deep horn suddenly echoed through the Temple.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Cassian's head snapped upward.

"The western alarm."

The Commander looked towards the ceiling.

"We're too late."

"Too late for what?"

Hans asked.

Neither answered.

A Temple acolyte came sprinting down the stone staircase, nearly falling in his haste.

"Father Cassian!"

The young man was pale.

"They've breached the lower archives!"

Cassian frowned.

"Who?"

"We don't know!"

"They're wearing Temple armour!"

The Commander immediately understood.

"They're impostors."

The younger Inquisitor cursed under his breath.

"They used the investigation as cover."

"For what?"

Hans asked.

The Commander's answer came without hesitation.

"To steal something."

---

High above...

Chaos spread through the Grand Temple.

Temple Knights rushed across the courtyards.

Servants were hurried into secure halls.

The great bronze bells rang continuously.

Not to call worshippers.

To call defenders.

High Priest Aurelius stood at the centre of the Hall of Judgment.

Dozens of senior priests surrounded him.

One anxious elder stepped forward.

"Your Holiness..."

"...shall we evacuate?"

Aurelius slowly shook his head.

"No."

"Seal every eastern passage."

"Protect the civilians."

"What about the relic vaults?"

The High Priest's expression hardened.

"They're already too late."

The room fell silent.

One priest whispered,

"They've already reached it?"

Aurelius looked toward the Temple floor beneath his feet.

"No."

"They've reached..."

"...where we wanted them to go."

Several priests stared in confusion.

Only Garrick understood.

His eyes widened.

"You used a decoy."

Aurelius looked at him.

"I used the truth."

"The lower archives do contain what they're searching for."

"They simply contain..."

"...the wrong one."

---

Back inside the underground library...

The Commander finally drew his weapon.

Hans expected a sword.

Instead...

He produced a narrow staff carved from white stone.

Silver runes spiralled along its length.

At the tip rested a small colourless crystal.

The moment it touched the ground—

A clear wave of light expanded across the chamber.

Every bookshelf.

Every staircase.

Every hidden doorway shimmered for an instant.

Then...

Three figures appeared.

They hadn't entered.

They had been invisible.

Each wore Temple Knight armour.

Each held a curved black dagger.

Their disguises dissolved beneath the light like smoke.

Cassian's expression turned cold.

"Shadow Disciples."

One of the intruders smiled.

"So..."

"...the old tricks still work."

Before anyone could react—

The nearest assassin lunged.

Not toward the Commander.

Not toward Cassian.

Toward Hans.

Steel flashed.

Hans moved instinctively.

Not forward.

Not back.

He shifted one step to the left.

The dagger passed harmlessly through empty air.

The assassin's eyes widened.

He hadn't expected the boy to evade.

Hans hadn't expected it either.

His body...

Had moved on its own.

The assassin immediately changed direction.

A second strike.

Faster.

Lower.

Again...

Hans moved.

A perfect half-step.

The blade missed him by the width of a finger.

Time itself seemed to slow.

Hans could see every muscle in the assassin's arm.

Every drop of sweat beneath the mask.

Every tiny shift of weight.

Without understanding why...

He knew exactly where the third strike would come from.

The assassin froze.

For the first time in years...

His confidence faltered.

"Impossible."

He whispered.

"He's reading me."

"No."

The Commander answered calmly.

"He isn't reading you."

The assassin glanced toward him.

"Then what?"

The Commander never took his eyes off Hans.

"He's remembering."

The final word echoed through the chamber.

Hans heard it.

But before he could ask what it meant—

The second assassin attacked.

This time...

Not with a blade.

He hurled a small black sphere onto the stone floor.

It shattered instantly.

Dark crimson smoke exploded outward.

The room disappeared behind a wall of swirling mist.

Cassian shouted,

"Don't breathe!"

Hans held his breath immediately.

Around him...

The library vanished into silence.

No footsteps.

No voices.

Nothing.

Then...

A hand gripped his wrist.

Hard.

Someone whispered beside his ear.

Not the lonely ancient voice.

A different one.

Urgent.

Human.

"Don't resist."

"We're getting you out."

Hans twisted instinctively.

His elbow drove backwards.

The unseen figure released him with a muffled grunt.

At that exact moment, a powerful gust swept through the chamber.

The crimson smoke tore apart.

Light flooded back into the library.

The assassins were gone.

The hidden passages stood open.

Books lay scattered across the floor.

One shelf had completely collapsed.

Cassian looked around frantically.

"Hans!"

"I'm here."

The priest hurried over.

"Are you hurt?"

Hans shook his head.

"No."

The Commander surveyed the room.

His eyes settled on the shattered display case.

The Divine Silver glass now lay across the floor in glittering fragments.

The journal...

Was gone.

No one had seen who had taken it.

No one had seen when.

Only one thing remained inside the empty case.

A single strip of black cloth.

Stitched into it with silver thread was an unfamiliar symbol.

A crown...

Pierced by a sword.

The Commander picked it up carefully.

His posture stiffened.

Cassian noticed.

"You recognise it."

The Commander nodded once.

His voice became almost inaudible.

"I was afraid of this."

"What is it?"

The Commander looked directly at Hans before answering.

"The first move."

"The war..."

"...has already begun."