Chapter Fifty-Seven: Arson

As the inner gates of Cecil City swung open, it signaled the fall of the last line of defense within this ancient stronghold—no further obstacles remained in Athys’ path. Without hesitation, Athys led his followers through the gates.

Within the inner city, a number of nobles still mounted a desperate resistance, attempting to reclaim the gates, but they were soon overwhelmed by the relentless tide of believers pouring in. Even among the nobility, not all chose to resist; some had already, over the decades, secretly embraced the faith of the God of Nature. Now, summoned by their devotion, they openly rebelled, throwing open the gates at a critical moment and delivering a fatal blow to the royal family.

By the next day, under the suppression of the faithful, the enemy’s resistance waned. Athys, leading his men, halted before a palace, his gaze settling on its façade, a frown creasing his brow.

Ahead, Carter stepped forward and bowed deeply. “My lord, we have completely surrounded the royal palace. However, many nobles, upon hearing word of the assault, fled inside with their followers, making the resistance fiercer than anticipated.”

“How many men do you need?” Athys inquired, his expression unchanged.

“At least four thousand!” Carter replied without hesitation, his voice grave.

Athys sighed softly, his eyes lingering on the palace. Red threads of fortune drifted and coalesced within, drawn by a deep black aura pressing in from beyond, converging upon a central strand tinged with blue, which stubbornly resisted the outside force. Deep within, as fortune and lifeblood were channeled into a blood-red shadow, a being of immense majesty was stirring from slumber.

Athys sneered at the sight. The scene left no doubt—the royal family and nobles within were performing a blood sacrifice, hoping to awaken their ancestral deity.

He could sense the monumental power gathering—unlike the avatar once awakened by the king, the entity within the palace was the deity’s true form, its might grown formidable after centuries of offerings. Even Athys found it troublesome.

“But why should I contend with you head-on?” he murmured, turning to Carter with a cold demeanor. “Take a good look at this palace—have you noticed anything?”

Carter, puzzled, studied the palace closely.

“It’s not like the outer walls—the palace is mostly wood,” Athys observed. “Given that, isn’t it simpler just to burn it down?” His expression remained impassive.

A stunned silence swept through the assembly.

“My lord,” Carter stammered in shock, “there are thousands inside! Not only adult men, but also the families and children of the nobles!”

He knelt. “Besides, given the situation, many are inclined to surrender. If you grant me half a month, once the palace’s stores run out, we could capture Cecil City intact!”

“There’s no time,” Athys replied with a sigh, tossing him a written order. “Yesterday, the royal family already dispatched envoys to the neighboring city-states for aid. We must pacify Cecil as swiftly as possible, or we’ll have no time to prepare for the armies that will soon descend upon us.”

Carter opened his mouth, but said nothing.

Soon after, at Athys’ command, all the priests assembled. Led by the frail, elderly high priest, they bowed their heads in silent prayer. With their devotions, pure divine power responded from the ether, surging into the high priest’s body.

At last, the high priest opened his eyes, a glimmer of divinity flashing within, and unleashed a tremendous sacred spell. Before the awestruck onlookers, a colossal sun began to coalesce in the sky, gathering flames from the air, swelling under divine force until it reached its limit—and then, suddenly, it plummeted.

Nobles watching from afar blanched as the sun exploded, shattering into countless fireballs, engulfing the palace in a sea of flames.

A scream tore through the crowd. Witnessing the palace consumed by the inferno, many stared at Athys’ back with wordless horror, as if beholding a monstrous fiend.

Soon, desperate cries echoed from within, mingled with the shrieks of women and children, turning the scene into a vision of terror.

Amid the hellish flames, Athys remained serene and composed, his calm unaffected, sending a chill through all who observed him.

“What a terrifying man! Is he truly just fifteen years old?” the nobles wondered, faces ashen.

With a dull crash, the great gates, long shut, burst open from within. Guards led by knights charged out, their eyes hollow with despair and the resolve of the doomed.

“Nadir,” Athys called, his tone unchanging.

Nadir nodded, and from the rear ranks, a volley of crossbow bolts arced forth, faintly shimmering with the glow of sacred magic.

This was the fruit of Athys’ fifteen years since his reincarnation.

In this world, bows and crossbows were not well developed and posed little threat to armored knights. After his rebirth, Athys had gathered craftsmen to improve their design. The result: crossbows capable of piercing armor within a hundred paces, and bolts imbued with sacred power—deadly weapons indeed.

As the first volley struck, the warriors pouring from the palace fell in heaps, startling the watching nobles.

The palace gate, narrow and easily defended under normal circumstances, now became a fatal bottleneck. The chaos within produced only a trickle of escapees, and they were cut down by volley after volley.

As the flames intensified, shouts echoed from inside, and the stench of roasting flesh wafted out, causing those nearby to retch. A few knights, the smell reminding them of roasted meat, barely stifled their urge to vomit as they looked upon Athys’ ever-calm expression, their faces turning ashen.

“My lord, something’s wrong!” a voice called from afar, causing Athys to pause.

He looked forward and saw mothers leading their children, joined by the elderly and infirm, emerging from the gates. Fear writhed in their eyes as they faced the soldiers with crossbows.

From a higher plane of perception, Athys could see a dying noble knight in armor, a flicker of hope in his gaze as he looked toward a certain child in the crowd. Among the children, beneath the layers of despair, tiny sparks of hatred flickered.

Above, wisps of resentment rose into the sky, coiling around Athys’ own fortune, only to be suppressed by its overwhelming force, unable to erupt.

It was resentment, a web of cause and effect. Thousands had perished at Athys’ command, and so the world responded—their resentment gathered, encircling him.

Athys sighed, and with a shift of will, a brilliant light of merit flared in the ether, its unseen ripples canceling the resentment, dispelling all the lingering malice.

“Cease fire—let them pass. If any adult men are among them, kill them at once.”

A collective sigh of relief swept through the ranks. “Yes, my lord!”

Only the priests of the God of Nature remained impassive, their eyes burning with irrepressible fervor as they gazed upon Athys’ back.

As the fire raged on, some attempted to escape disguised among the weak and frail, but Athys showed no mercy, slaying them alongside the women and children. At last, as the furious, hate-filled curses faded to silence, the palace was fully consumed by flames.

In the ether, the soul of a king in crown and regal robes raged, desperate to flee the inferno, but an overwhelming divine force pinned him in place. As the flames devoured him, his black-blue fortune weakened, tainted by the mounting resentment, growing ever more deranged, until at last, with a final snarl, it vanished.

At that moment, within Athys’ true self, a thread of blood-red divinity flared, swelling and growing stronger as it drew upon the surrounding source energy.