Chapter 118: Chapter 118: The Price of a Betrayal

​Mornings in Lamping Village always began with a thin, ethereal mist that clung to the Manaferum wheat fields like a silken veil. The calls of the golden-feathered Gallus-Aureum began to echo, their silver-bell-like crowing slicing through the heavy silence, signaling that the cycle of agrarian life must resume. However, for Eren, this morning brought no freshness, no sense of renewal. His heart felt heavy, scorched by a fire he had ignited within his own mind.

​Eren stood before the cracked mirror in his small, cluttered hut, adjusting his worn leather vest with trembling fingers. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen from a lack of sleep, plagued by recurring visions of Lyrielle laughing as she spoke with Dayat in the village square the day before. Every smile she gave that stranger felt like a dagger to Eren’s pride.

​”Damn wanderer,” Eren hissed, his voice rasping in the quiet room. He grabbed a leather satchel containing samples of grain to be delivered to the city. “He thinks he can just waltz in here, fix a couple of waterwheels, and suddenly become the hero? He’s nothing but a lucky outsider.”

​Eren stepped outside, carefully avoiding the groups of villagers beginning to gather for the day’s communal work. He didn’t want to see Dayat. He didn’t want to witness the man effortlessly lifting heavy loads or giving technical instructions that made the elders nod in silent admiration. Choosing a narrow back alley, Eren bypassed the main entrance and headed for the northern trail that led toward the great city of Sylvarin.

​The journey to Sylvarin took several hours of brisk walking. The path wound through ancient pine forests where the air was perpetually cold and smelled of resin. Along the way, Eren passed several merchant caravans moving in the opposite direction.

​”Morning, Eren! Traveling alone today? Usually, you’re with Thalor’s lot,” greeted a middle-aged merchant named Joren, a regular on the Lamping route.

​Eren merely gave a curt, bitter grunt. “Thalor is busy worshipping his ’honored guest.’ I have to handle the village logistics myself.”

​Joren raised an eyebrow, noting the sharp, acidic tone in Eren’s voice. “Honored guest? Ah, you mean the man rumored to have fixed your irrigation system? I heard he’s quite the artisan. You should be pleased; Lamping might actually have a surplus harvest this year.”

​”Great or not, he’s still a stranger, Joren. You know the rules in Verdia. Outsiders always bring trouble in their wake,” Eren snapped, quickening his pace and leaving Joren to shake his head in confusion.

​After a grueling trek, the horizon began to be dominated by a majestic sight. The city of Sylvarin stood with a cold, haughty elegance. Unlike Vaelith, which was integrated into the primary World Tree, Sylvarin was built upon a massive network of secondary World Tree branches that spanned nearly the entire valley. The architecture was a seamless blend of magically hardened white wood and soaring glass towers that reflected the midday sun like diamonds.

​Eren entered the city gates via a massive drawbridge made of ironwood. Here, the frantic energy of urban life stood in stark contrast to the serenity of Lamping. Horse-drawn carriages, cavalry mounted on Verdant Stags

, and traders from various sub-races bustled about in a chaotic dance of commerce.

​Eren headed toward the Logistics District to deposit his grain samples. However, as he passed through the central plaza, he noticed a massive crowd gathered in front of the royal authority’s proclamation board.

​”Three thousand gold coins? That could buy an entire small district in this city!” a man’s voice exclaimed, filled with greed.

​”Look at that Elven woman… doesn’t she look like she’s from a royal bloodline?” another whispered suspiciously.

​Eren’s footsteps faltered. His heart began to hammer against his ribs for no clear reason. He shoved his way through the crowd, using his lean frame to squeeze toward the front row. There, plastered across the board, were several large posters printed with shimmering gold ink—a sign that these were direct mandates from the Emerald Palace in Vaelith.

​Eren’s eyes widened. He froze, feeling as if the blood in his veins had turned to ice.

​On the topmost poster was a sketch of a face he knew all too well. Short black hair, a sharp jawline, and eyes that held a calm yet terrifying intensity. Hidayat Nur Mustafidl. Below it, the text read: WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE. REWARD: 3,000 GOLD COINS.

​Next to it was the likeness of a woman with electric blue eyes and an unnatural, haunting beauty. Dola. REWARD: 3,000 GOLD COINS.

​Then, there was the face of Lunethra. THE TRAITOR PRINCESS. REWARD: 2,000 GOLD COINS.

​And finally, the street urchin who had been playing so innocently with the children of Lamping. Kancil. REWARD: 1,000 GOLD COINS.

​Eren felt his knees go weak. “Criminals…” he whispered, the word tasting like copper. “They aren’t wanderers. They are high-profile fugitives of the Crown.”

​His hand trembled as he reached out to touch the edge of the poster. His mind spun with a dizzying speed. The jealousy that had consumed him from the start now found a solid, moral justification.

​”He isn’t just a nuisance,” Eren smirked, a dark, twisted expression settling on his face. “He is a calamity hiding behind a mask of kindness. And I… I will be the one to save Verdia.”

​Eren envisioned the mountains of gold coins. Three thousand. He could build the finest mansion in Lamping. He could buy Lyrielle jewelry made of pure mana-crystals. He could cast Dayat out forever and reclaim his position as the most valued man in the village.

​Yet, a cold sliver of fear pricked at him. Dayat possessed strange, inexplicable powers. If Eren made a wrong move, he could be dead before he ever saw a single coin.

​”I have to report them,” Eren muttered. “But not right now. I need to make sure they don’t suspect anything when I return.”

​As Eren stood there, lost in thought, a man in a dark green uniform with light silver plate armor approached him. He wore a badge shaped like a silver leaf—a city administrator or perhaps a low-level intelligence officer.

​”See something interesting, citizen?” the man asked, his voice heavy and investigative.

​Eren startled. “Ah, no… sir. I was just… shocked by the bounty. It’s immense.”

​The officer narrowed his eyes, scanning Eren from head to toe. “Where are you from? Your clothes… you look like you’re from the northern outskirts.”

​Eren swallowed hard. “I am from Lamping Village, sir. I’m just a logistics runner for the grain harvest.”

​”Lamping, eh?” The officer tapped his fingers against the hilt of his sword. “If you see anyone matching these posters, report immediately to the Governor at the Spire Tower. Do not try to be a hero. These people are extremely dangerous. Especially the man… rumors say he can summon weapons from the very depths of hell.”

​”Weapons from hell?” Eren’s pupils dilated. “I understand, sir.”

​Eren immediately turned on his heel, abandoning his plan to deposit the grain. He needed time to think, to plan. He walked toward a small, dimly lit tavern in the corner of the market district called The Rusty Spore. He needed a drink to steady his frayed nerves.

​Inside the tavern, the atmosphere was murky and smelled of stale ale. Eren sat in the darkest corner. There, he encountered a hunched old man cleaning mugs with a dirty rag.

​”You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, lad,” the old barkeep remarked.

​”Worse than a ghost, old man,” Eren replied, tossing a few copper coins onto the table. “I’ve just seen a ticket to a life of luxury, but that ticket is trapped in a dragon’s den.”

​The old man chuckled, a sound like sandpaper on wood. “The bounties, right? Everyone in Sylvarin has been talking about nothing else since dawn. They say those people destroyed the gates of Vaelith with a single explosion. Queen Verene is beyond furious. The entire Paladin Order has been mobilized to sweep the forests.”

​Eren downed his beer greedily. The bitter, cold liquid did little to ease the trembling in his hands. “Why are they worth so much? What did they actually do?”

​”Who knows for certain?” The old man leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “The rumor is that the blue-eyed woman is a messenger of the Maiden of Steel. You know the legends, don’t you? An entity that nearly turned all of Verdia into a wasteland of iron centuries ago. If that’s true, then the man with her must be some kind of demon-worshipper or an ancient sorcerer.”

​Eren fell silent. Maiden of Steel. That was a bedtime horror story used to scare Elven children into obedience. If Dola was truly a harbinger of that entity, then Dayat was an existential threat to all living races.

​”So, I’m not wrong,” Eren thought, his mind racing. “Exposing them isn’t just about the money. It’s about the safety of the world. Lyrielle is in grave danger as long as that man is near her. He must have bewitched the entire village to make them like him.”

​Eren’s jealousy had now completely metamorphosed into a sense of “holy righteousness.” He felt as if he were carrying a grand responsibility. He imagined himself standing before Queen Verene, receiving a medal as a model citizen who had successfully unmasked the Calamity Architect.

​”I have to report this,” Eren said, standing up. His eyes no longer showed fear, but a dark, jagged resolve. “I’ll make them regret ever stepping foot in my home.”

​Eren stepped out of the tavern. Outside, the sun was beginning to set behind the Great World Tree of Sylvarin, casting long, skeletal shadows that seemed to swallow the city whole. Eren walked back toward the Spire Tower, passing the bounty posters once more.

​He stopped briefly in front of Dayat’s sketch.

​”You took Lyrielle’s attention from me,” Eren whispered to the ink-and-parchment face. “Now, I will take your life from this world. We’ll see who’s laughing when your head is mounted on the city gates.”

​Eren marched toward the Spire Tower. He did not know that every step he took was weaving a destiny far more horrific than he could imagine. He did not know that his betrayal would be the very spark that ignited the awakening of the apocalypse goddess he so feared.

​Meanwhile, in the distance, perched upon one of the highest branches of Sylvarin, a pair of sharp eyes watched Eren’s movements. A royal intelligence agent, tasked with monitoring the public’s reaction to the bounties.

​”A suspicious one,” the agent murmured, scribbling a note on a small piece of parchment. “He looks deeply disturbed.”

​The seeds of destruction had been sown. And Eren was the water that would nourish them until they grew into a tree of tragedy that would burn everything to the ground.

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