R-a - Volume 3 - Chapter 9

R-a - Chapter 167 (In editing-v2)

Simone, naturally, was still wary of Micheal. He had, after all, just attacked her. Still, the fact that he called off his attack and explained what he’d been ‘told’ won him a great deal of credit.

There was a short back and forth as they talked, with Simone asking pointed questions and Micheal explaining them rather succinctly.

Instead of holding the information he knew over her head like an ax, refusing to give an inch unless she gave a mile, he decided to be completely open about what he knew.

“Opening that door is actually rather simple.” Micheal explained with a calm nod, trying his best to put her at ease. It was the least he could do, given the past few minutes.

“How do you know that, or any of this?” Simone crossed her arms as she interrupted him with a studying gaze.

“Hmm… well, it’s not a secret.” Micheal shrugged as he began to lie through his teeth,

“I first heard of this place from a group of elderly Byrens. Apparently, this place used to be treated like a holy site, long ago. That’s where I heard that a group of bandits had taken control of the area.” Micheal waved his hand around, motioning at the camp.

Simone’s mouth twitched as she smiled wryly,

“Well… I suppose the men are a bit… anxious, and we probably give off that type of air. We are all slowly dying, after all. They won’t do anything drastic, but it can get pretty heavy around here.” Her smile faded halfway through her reply, a dour look appearing on her face.

“I gathered that.” Micheal had picked up on the unusually serious edge that governed the warriors here, but had attributed that to discipline, something that was at odds with the lax security inside the camp.

The outer layers of sentries were strict, but apart from that, the camp was practically defenseless. The Rury Group was caught between a mix of eager self-defense and despairing acceptance of impending death. It was a confusing place to be in, one that had earned Micheal’s pity.

They reminded him a bit of himself, when he was younger. Caught again and again between a rock and a hard place, oftentimes the only blades Micheal could use to fight his way out were double-edged, stained with the blood of those he was forced to sacrifice.

For a brief moment, his eyes flashed red as an image of a beautiful Farian girl appeared in his mind, stabbed in the chest by a long, black sword. An image of this girl lying in his arms, dying as she stared back up at him dully.

With an almost inhuman display of willpower, Micheal forced the image from his head. Despite that, his heart physically shuddered as emotions threatened to overwhelm him, crashing against barriers he had raised long ago.

‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ For a single moment, shock filled his heart at this lapse of control. Memories tried to swarm up in his mind, feelings he had let go of long ago crashing down on him.

“Are you alright?” Simone’s concurred voice dragged Micheal back to the present, freeing him from the torrent of pain that had risen in his heart. Micheal looked back up, his face returning to its ever-present calmness as he nodded,

“Ah, yes. My apologies, just a bad memory.” Internally, Micheal shoved those memories of pain to the side, grimly regaining control of himself. He would have time to face all of that later, right now, he had a mission to complete.

He took a deep breath and then let it out.

“So. Getting past those doors.” He motioned at the window, pointing to the entrance to the Fallen Deity’s Inheritance as if nothing had happened,

“It’s not actually that complex.”

“What do we need to do?” Simone re-crossed her arms as he looked at Micheal, unsure.

“First, the door can only be opened at dawn.” Micheal began to explain,

“And when we do go to open it, the door itself will require a sacrifice.”

“A sacrifice?” Simone’s eyes narrowed,

“Yes. A sacrifice.” Micheal nodded,

“A living sacrifice.”

.. .. .. .. .. ..

Meanwhile, to the North of the O’Shack Grove, within the territory of the Silent Sword Sect…

.. .. .. .. .. ..

A thousand mountains spread out into the distance, forming an enormous stone barrier full of vast, jagged pillars pointed high into the sky. The mountains towards the center of this enormous range were covered in meandering swaths of gleaming fog.

The fog wasn’t ever-present and often moved about in random patterns, leaving most of each mountain exposed to sunlight. Still, a very clear dividing line was visible separating mountains that had the fog, and those that didn’t.

Two furtive figures could be seen standing on the side of one of the mountains that held no fog. These figures, clad in grey robes and doing their best to remain hidden from sight, were currently talking to each other on a small stone outcropping, behind a set of large boulders. The darkness of night surrounded them, giving them the privacy they desired.

“Myla, if you can’t find a way to track down these killers soon, my hand will be forced.” The first speaker had a deep voice, one that echoed quietly in the air, full of majesty and confidence. The speaker had a lean, but masculine figure, visible even through the robes that hid his appearance.

“Gregor, you need to give me more time! I told you, they aren’t like normal humans. Most humans aren’t evil!” The second speaker’s voice was dainty and pure, despite the anger held within it. Listening to the woman speak was like listening to the fresh, clear tones of a waterfall, uplifting even when she was mad.

“Some of these killers operate almost in unison across great distances. A few of them seem to be more independent, but all of them are abnormally strong.” The woman sighed in frustration.

“Magic Messaging?” The male figure raised a question, though it was more of a statement than anything else.

The female figure shook her head,

“It shouldn’t be possible. The Laws of Reality here are too restrictive, even our highest tier Magic Messaging Systems no longer works beyond a few Denim (~0.6 Kilometers). Maybe they have some of their weird Artifacts helping them.”

The male figure stood there silently, crossing his arms in a stalwart posture that gave away nothing.

“Has the Silent Sword Sect said anything?” The woman added, her voice hopeful.

The stern male figure shook his robed head.

“The Byrens value the human’s Artifacts too much. As long as their own don’t start dying, they don’t care about us. The humans are cunning like that, too. They’ve only targeted our own, and maybe the other non-Byren races.” The male figure clenched his fist.

As he did so, the air around him flashed blood red. Raw energy congregated around him in a wild torrent, an Aura of power that caused the ground beneath his feet to crack.

“Gre-Gregor!” The woman gasped out loud, holding up a hand.

The powerful force of presence abruptly vanished, but the stern figure remained unapologetic as he continued,

“I won’t wait like this much longer, Myla. If you can’t find a way to track down these killers, then we will have to do things my way.”

“You would drag us into war, Gregor.” The woman’s voice was accusatory.

“They are attacking us, Myla. Do you ask me to let our people die for nothing?” The bloody air began to rise again around him as the male figure replied, his words cutting.

“The Kowalsi Tribe operates beyond your control. Do you think our entire race should be blamed for their actions? It is your duty to seek reason in all things, Lord Justiciar.” The woman replied back, her own words equally sharp as she continued,

“Why should we listen to the decrees of whatever vile creature dragged our people here? Who says we must murder innocents? How dare it try to force that blood onto our hands!” Bloody light began to gather around the woman as her voice rose, causing everything she said to boom out loud.

“That being dragged our entire species here, Myla. I have a responsibility to protect our own.” The male figure’s voice turned equal parts dark and grim,

“If the only way out for our people is to kneel down…” The man gritted his teeth, his voice trembling as if he could barely control himself,

“Then I will do what I must to ensure our people survive.” The man’s overwhelming Aura returned, bloody light cascading around him like a meteor crashing down into the earth.

The woman’s face was hidden, but her back stood proud as she weathered that inferno, her voice cool,

“I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees.” A weaker, but equally pure Aura of bloody light spread out around her, rebelling against the stronger man’s power.

The clash of energy caused the ground to split between them, bits of rock and dirt flung up into the air. Several loud creaks and groans echoed out as the earth shifted beneath them, looking as if was bearing an enormous burden.

The woman began to sway, as if she was about to faint.

When the man saw this, his Aura immediately vanished and he turned away, exhaling in a long sigh.

“Just find a way to track down these human killers, Myla. I have a bad feeling about all of this.” The man pulled back his robe cover as he looked out into the darkness, revealing a stunningly handsome visage.

He had warm, light golden skin, green almond-shaped eyes, long blond hair that fell around his shoulders, cascading off his strong neck and square chin. His features could only be described as a thing of beauty by human standards.

And that was for a good reason.

As the man spoke, a pair of faint, delicate-looking wings flicked out from two slots in his cloak, appearing on his back. These wings gave off faint particles of light, chasing away the nearby darkness.

He wasn’t a human.

He was a Farian.

“What did you say you called these killers again?” Gregor Mantorel, the Lord Justiciar of the Farian Race, asked one last question as he looked back at the female figure, preparing to leave.

The woman had recovered from her near-fainting spell in a heartbeat, resuming a cool, controlled posture. She replied without hesitation,

“It was my assistant who came up with the name, not me, and it’s for the ones that all act in unison.” The woman paused briefly before continuing,

“Seeds. She thinks we should start calling them ‘Seeds.’”

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