Becoming the Supreme God

10

King Oric paced the length of the royal war room. His heavy leather boots clicked an anxious rhythm against the polished marble floor. He kept shooting nervous glances toward the open balcony doors.

Duke Alaric stood by the stone railing and stared down at the lower districts. The usual pitch black of the slums was gone. A vibrant emerald glow pulsed from the outer fields and bathed the entire valley in an unnatural light. The distant sound of chanting drifted up the mountain on the evening breeze.

"Halrik has not stopped shaking since he returned," Oric said. He stopped pacing and rubbed his temples. "He claims twelve armored cavalrymen were dismantled by unarmed giants. He said the men in silver crushed iron broadswords with their bare hands."

"Halrik is a coward trying to excuse his own incompetence," Alaric replied. He did not turn away from the glowing horizon. "He was likely ambushed by a coordinated group of mercenary thugs and panicked."

"Mercenaries do not grow magical trees that cure diseases," Oric argued. He walked over to the heavy oak table in the center of the room and poured himself a goblet of wine. "The peasant network is calling him a god. The lower rings are in open rebellion. They are refusing to acknowledge the crown's tax collectors."

Alaric finally turned away from the balcony. His face was a mask of cold fury. He walked toward the king and slammed his palm onto the oak table. The wine in Oric's goblet sloshed over the rim.

"They are starving animals clinging to a parlor trick," Alaric said. "This is not divine intervention. It is a calculated siege on our economy. If we lose our monopoly on the grain supply we lose the kingdom. The moment the peasants realize they do not need us to eat they will march up this hill and tear us apart."

"We cannot send the army down there," Oric protested. "If the rumors of his silver giants are true we will spark a civil war we might lose. The royal guard is already terrified."

Alaric sneered at the king. Oric wore the crown but he lacked the stomach for true rulership. The king feared the shifting tides of peasant gossip while Alaric understood the simple mechanics of power. You did not fight an unknown army in the open streets. You cut off the head of the snake in the dark.

"You will keep the royal guard stationed at the upper gates to maintain order," Alaric commanded. He walked toward the heavy wooden door of the war room. "I will handle the false prophet."

"What are you going to do?" Oric asked.

Alaric did not answer. He stepped out into the stone corridor and closed the door behind him.

The Duke walked down a spiral staircase into the windowless levels of the central keep. The torches sputtered and cast long shadows against the damp stone walls. He stopped before a solid iron door and produced a brass key from his tunic. He unlocked the heavy deadbolt and stepped inside.

The room was bare except for a small wooden table and a rack of specialized weaponry. A man sat in the corner sharpening a curved steel dagger.

Nyrik did not look up when the Duke entered. The shadow inquisitor wore fitted black leather and kept his face obscured beneath a dark hood. He was Alaric's personal executioner. He did not exist on any royal payroll or military roster. He specialized in making problematic nobles and loud dissidents disappear without a trace.

"I have a target," Alaric said. He tossed a heavy pouch of gold coins onto the wooden table.

"I heard the commotion in the courtyard," Nyrik replied. He tested the edge of his dagger against his thumb. "The men are talking about glowing fruit and silver monsters. They say a boy claiming to be a god is camped under a magical tree."

"The boy is a fraud using illusion magic to incite a riot," Alaric stated. "He is camped in the dead fields. He is surrounded by large men in heavy armor. I want you to bypass his guards and slit his throat."

Nyrik sheathed his dagger and picked up the gold pouch. He weighed it in his palm and nodded.

"Heavy armor means slow reflexes," Nyrik said. He walked over to a stone basin and began to coat the blade of his dagger with a thick purple paste. "I will be in and out before his guards even realize he is bleeding."

"Make it public," Alaric ordered. "Do not hide the body. Leave his corpse at the base of his trick tree so his new followers can see he is just a mortal."

Nyrik slid the poisoned dagger into a sheath strapped to his forearm. He did not say another word. He slipped past the Duke and vanished into the dark corridors of the lower keep.

The descent into the lower rings took nearly an hour. Nyrik moved across the slanted slate rooftops of the merchant district. He possessed an uncanny sense of balance and moved without making a single sound.

The atmosphere in the slums felt entirely wrong to the veteran killer.

Usually the lower districts were dead silent after sundown. The citizens hid in their shanties to avoid the roaming patrols of the royal guard. Tonight the narrow streets were packed with people. Bonfires burned in the intersections. Men and women sat on wooden crates and shared massive pieces of golden fruit. They were singing and clapping their hands.

Nyrik paused on a chimney stack and observed the celebration. The stench of open sewage was gone. The people did not look gaunt or sick. The chronic coughing that usually echoed through this sector had vanished entirely.

The inquisitor felt a brief flicker of unease. He pushed the feeling down and continued his advance toward the northern boundary. He was a professional. He did not care about miracles or cured diseases. He only cared about the gold waiting in his quarters.

He reached the edge of the shantytown and crouched on the roof of a dilapidated tavern. The dead fields stretched out before him.

The Genesis Tree towered over the landscape. It radiated a soft green light that illuminated the entire clearing. Nyrik spotted his target immediately.

Leo sat cross legged on the grass near the massive, twisting roots of the tree. The boy wore simple clothes and had his eyes closed in quiet meditation.

Nyrik shifted his gaze to the perimeter. Fifty Systemic Templars formed a wide circle around the tree. They stood ten paces apart. Their silver armor reflected the emerald light.

The inquisitor studied their movements. He waited for one of them to shift their weight or adjust their grip on their sheathed swords. He waited for five minutes. The silver giants did not move a single muscle. They did not even appear to breathe.

Nyrik decided to strike from above. The gaps between the guards were wide enough for a skilled infiltrator to slip through.

He leaped from the tavern roof and landed silently in the tall grass just outside the perimeter. He moved on his stomach like a hunting snake. He navigated the blind spots between two Templars and crossed the boundary line undetected.

He reached the base of the massive tree and crept around the thick wooden roots. Leo was only ten feet away. The boy still had his eyes closed. He was completely defenseless.

Nyrik drew his poisoned dagger. The nightshade paste glistened on the curved steel. A single scratch from this blade would stop a man's heart in seconds.

The assassin pushed off his back foot and lunged forward. He aimed the fatal strike directly at the side of Leo's neck.

He closed the distance in a blur of motion. The blade was inches away from flesh.

A silver gauntlet materialized out of the shadows.

The movement was too fast for mortal eyes to track. A Systemic Templar had crossed thirty feet of open grass in a fraction of a second. The giant stepped between Leo and the assassin.

The Templar did not reach for Nyrik's wrist. He opened his armored hand and caught the blade of the dagger directly in his palm.

Nyrik gasped in shock. The sharp steel bit deep into the joints of the silver gauntlet but no blood dripped onto the grass. The Templar did not flinch or grunt in pain. The giant simply locked his fingers around the poisoned steel and stopped the assassin's momentum entirely.

Nyrik tried to yank the dagger free. The weapon would not budge. It felt like it was embedded in solid bedrock.

The Templar reached out with his free hand and grabbed Nyrik's right wrist. The silver fingers clamped down like an industrial vice.

Nyrik tried to twist away. The Templar squeezed.

The sound of shattering bone echoed loudly over the quiet field.

Nyrik unleashed a bloodcurdling scream. He dropped to his knees as his radius and ulna were crushed into jagged splinters beneath the silver gauntlet. The pain radiated up his arm and sent a shock of nausea through his stomach.

The Templar released the shattered wrist and kicked the assassin in the chest. Nyrik flew backward and crashed into the dirt. He clutched his mangled arm to his chest and whimpered in agony.

Leo opened his eyes. He lowered his hands and stood up from the grass. He did not look surprised or frightened. He walked over and stood beside the silent Templar.

Nyrik stared up at the boy. The assassin's hood had fallen back to reveal a face pale with shock and pain. He looked at the silver giant standing motionless with the poisoned dagger still lodged in its metal palm.

"You are not human," Nyrik gasped. He spat a wad of blood onto the grass. "What are you?"

Leo looked down at the assassin with absolute indifference. He did not access his combat miracles. He did not need to spend any Power of Faith to handle a mortal killer.

"Who sent you?" Leo asked.

Nyrik gritted his teeth and refused to answer. He rolled onto his side and tried to push himself up with his good arm.

Leo signaled the Templar. The silver giant took a single step forward and placed a heavy metal boot onto Nyrik's right ankle. The Templar applied downward pressure. The bones in the ankle began to creak ominously.

"Duke Alaric," Nyrik screamed. He slammed his good hand into the dirt in submission. "The Duke paid me. King Oric is terrified of the rebellion. They wanted to display your corpse to break the cult."

Leo nodded slowly. He understood the political landscape now. The king was a figurehead and the Duke controlled the wealth. They were applying the same tactics Trent used in the City of Gods. They relied on fear and violence to maintain their hierarchy.

Leo knew that responding with a simple execution would not solve the problem. He needed to send a message that would shatter their confidence completely.

"Let him up," Leo commanded.

The Templar removed his boot and stepped back into his rigid defensive stance.

Nyrik scrambled backward through the grass. He cradled his ruined arm against his chest. He expected the silver monsters to cut him down as he ran but they did not pursue him.

"You are going to walk back to the central keep," Leo said. His voice carried the same cold authority that had crushed the royal cavalry. "You will tell Duke Alaric that his assassins are useless. You will tell King Oric that his reign is over."

Nyrik nodded frantically. He just wanted to get away from the emerald light and the silent giants.

"Tell them to look out their windows tomorrow morning," Leo continued. "Tell them that Ashguard belongs to me now."

Nyrik turned and ran. He stumbled through the tall grass and disappeared into the alleyways of the lower district. He left a trail of blood behind him.

Leo watched the assassin flee into the darkness. He turned to the Templar and pulled the poisoned dagger from the silver gauntlet. The metal surface was scratched but whole. The system units did not possess biological vulnerabilities.

Leo dropped the dagger into the dirt. He looked up toward the central keep perched on the high mountain. The ancient stone walls looked imposing but Leo knew they were hollow inside. The ruling class was bankrupt of faith and their soldiers were breaking.

The thirty day tutorial timer was ticking down. Trent was amassing an army of fragile iron in the heavens. Leo was forging an unbreakable empire in the mud. He would use the wealth of Ashguard to fund his war and he would not stop until the entire pantheon knew his name.