2025-07-31 22:42:00
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Chapter 148. Rise of the Forgotten.
The fire didn’t start with a bang.It started with a whisper.One lone torch, raised in the cold night, trembling in a young boy’s hand. Then another, and another. Thirty rebels. Thirty faces half-covered in rags and soot. Thirty people who had nothing left to lose. They stood just outside the gates of a small Church outpost nestled near the Withered Cliffs, a sleepy corner of the continent where divine eyes rarely watched, and heresy was only a rumor.Until tonight.The Church guards, no more than eight old men and two green recruits, didn’t even raise the alarm in time.By the time they heard the boots in the mud, the rebellion had already begun.Dian watched the flames climb from the outpost tower, his hood soaked from light rain, his hands still bloody. Not from fighting—he hadn’t lifted a blade. But from dragging bodies into a line. From painting the Nameless sigil on the door with crimson. From making sure their first message wouldn’t be missed.The Children of the Nameless had
Chapter 147. Rain That Never Ends.
The rain never stopped.It felt like the sky had been crying for years, relentless, loud, cold. The ground was soaked to its bones. Trees dripped endlessly. Clothes stuck to skin like wet paper. And in the middle of all that misery walked Rhok, hood pulled over his head, shoulders tense, eyes fixed ahead. Each step squelched in the mud. The air smelled like mould, rot, and regret.He didn’t know the name of this place. No one did. Maps avoided it like it didn’t exist. Locals only called it “The Drowned Belt” or “The Weeping God’s Grave.” It was a region lost in time, cursed by something older than sin.But the rain… it spoke.It whispered through the trees, in the puddles, on rooftops. A kind of grief so thick it felt like you were breathing someone else’s sorrow. Rhok had been in dozens of battlefields, drowned in blood and ash, but this, this place was quieter. Sadder. Like the whole land had been abandoned by the gods, and even they were too ashamed to take credit for it.He passed
Chapter 146. The Mask Cracks.
The dungeons beneath Varn’s southern stronghold weren’t built for mercy. Cold stone, lined with rusted hooks and chains, reeked of blood long dried and freshly spilled. Sir Dave had been down there for hours, maybe days. Time didn’t work right in that place. It was the kind of silence that screamed. The kind that got under your nails and whispered cruel thoughts into your ears.His armor had been torn off the moment they dragged him in. His wrists bled from the manacles. His mouth was swollen from being struck too many times. His eye—just one of them now—was nearly sealed shut. But still, he didn’t speak.Above him, torchlight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the cracked walls. The door creaked open with purpose.Boots. Sharp. Heavy. Familiar.Varn entered like thunder. The golden crest on his cloak shimmered—a sun pierced by a spear—holy vengeance wrapped in silk and steel. He stood before Dave, arms crossed, jaw clenched like stone. The Saints flanked him, their faces hidde
Chapter 145. Fire and Silence.
The night was thick with smoke and ash. A storm had rolled through the mountain pass hours ago, but its echoes lingered in the dark. Cracked tree branches, the distant growl of thunder, and the smell of scorched wood hung in the air like a threat never fully delivered.Liora didn’t care.She crouched by a dying campfire, her boots muddy and cloak damp from the rain. She had stolen three scrolls from a shrine in the capital’s outer ring. Divine scrolls. Real ones. Glowing with enchantment, humming like they hated her. She wrapped them in old cloth, shoved them deep into her pack, and ran into the forest.She thought she was alone.Until a twig cracked.She stood quickly, hand moving to the dagger at her belt. “Who's there?”No reply.Just more silence.Until a voice broke through it like fire through dry grass.“You’re a long way from the temple, thief.”She turned.A man stood by the tree line. Red hair, wild eyes. Smiling without joy. His cloak was too clean for a traveler, his boots
Chapter 144. Cave of Crows
The cave didn’t look like much at first.Just a jagged mouth carved into the cliffside, half-choked by vines and shadow. But something about it called to Rhok, not in words, not even in feelings. Just a pull. A wrongness. The kind of silence that made your bones itch.He stepped in.The light died behind him immediately. No sun, no sound. Just the crunch of gravel beneath his boots and the hum of something ancient pressing against his skull.Caw!A single sound pierced the dark. Then another. And another. Soon, it became a symphony of whispers. Not voices—memories. The cave was alive with them. Crows perched on every ledge, every crevice, hundreds of them—feathers slick like oil, eyes white and gleaming with a sick intelligence.As he moved deeper, the air turned thick, like walking through molasses. His breath shortened. His thoughts began to fog.He could still hear the crows, but now... they were speaking in his voice.“You let Aby die.”“You burned with them and you liked it.”“Yo
Chapter 143. The Horns of Varn.
The sky bled orange over the southern towns, what was once wheat-filled country now smouldered like a dying forge. Smoke hung thick, crawling into lungs and choking prayers before they left lips. Screams were swallowed by the sound of galloping horses, boots stomping mud, and the crackle of burning roofs.Sir Dave had seen his fair share of horror, but this… this was something else.He sat atop his horse, armor scuffed with soot and sin, watching as Varn’s soldiers kicked down doors, dragged out families, and executed them in the name of divine cleansing.Children clung to their mothers, old men sobbed, and even the town priest, a man Dave remembered preaching kindness once, was now begging for his life on his knees, blood pooling at the base of the altar. The soldiers laughed. One drew a knife.Varn stood at the center of it all like a goddamn warden of hell. Cloaked in black and crimson, his horns gleamed like polished bone. He gave no rousing speeches, no justifications. He simply
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