Chapter 473: Chapter 472- The truth(1)

Adrian’s first instinct upon seeing Nytharos was to attack him. After all, not only the face but even the presence felt identical to the being who was perishing right before his eyes, the aura so familiar that it made his instincts scream danger. Every sensation in his body urged him to strike first and ask questions later.

However, there was something about this new Nytharos—something subtle yet undeniable—that made him hesitate, if only for a fleeting moment. The hostility he expected was absent, replaced instead by an unsettling calm that clashed violently with Adrian’s memories.

Getting back on his feet, Adrian summoned his axe and held his ground like a vigilant sentinel. His grip was tight, his stance guarded, and his eyes never once left the figure standing before him. The System hovered on the edge of activation, fully prepared to hurl him into the Time Chamber should the situation spiral beyond control.

“What are you?” Adrian asked as the Fallen One stopped a few steps away from him, his expression composed and almost disturbingly serene.

“I am Nytharos, just a different part of him,” the being replied, his tone even, as though he were stating a mundane fact. The words only deepened the confusion swirling inside Adrian’s mind.

Nytharos continued calmly, “Before I was sealed away, I sent several fragments of my soul to different locations. Each fragment carried a portion of my original self—memories, emotions, intent.”

While pointing toward the fragment that was slowly fading away, he added, “The one who has been tormenting you until now? That was my fearful self. And that fear… led me to do things that were unbecoming of a God.”

Adrian let out a short, humorless snicker. “What is this? Another trick to lure me into a trap? Or did you send your underlings to hunt down Ariana and the others while you distract me?”

Nytharos did not answer immediately. He simply stood there, eyes empty of malice, and that absence was more disturbing than open hostility could ever be.

After a few moments, he finally spoke. “I don’t need anything from you, nor will I ask you to trust me. The truth is, I helped you only so we could talk—nothing more.”

Adrian narrowed his eyes but chose silence.

He trusted none of it. Not a single word. But with his left arm damaged, muscles screaming in protest, and several wounds still bleeding freely, he knew better than to take an unnecessary aggressive step. Recklessness now would only hasten his downfall.

The Fallen One began again, “This is going to be a long conversation, so why don’t you sit down—”

“I am fine,” Adrian cut him off coldly. “Just speak.”

Nytharos merely shrugged, not the slightest hint of frustration crossing his features, as if interruptions meant nothing to him.

Thus, he began.

Snap

Adrian’s vision shifted—or rather, the very fabric of reality twisted around him.

He was no longer standing amid the barren lands. Instead, he found himself levitating, his body suspended effortlessly in the air.

Several hundred meters below, the ground stretched out endlessly. The wind whistled past his ears, cold and sharp, carrying with it an unfamiliar scent of incense and stone.

Looking down, Adrian saw an unfamiliar city spread beneath him. At its center stood a colossal church, easily twice the size of Runebound Academy, its spires piercing the sky like accusing fingers.

Before the church, thousands upon thousands of people knelt, their foreheads pressed firmly against the ground in absolute submission.

Adrian focused his gaze, and the distance collapsed instantly.

Nervous faces. Anxious eyes. Some weeping openly, others trembling with fear. A few looked ecstatic, their expressions bordering on fanatic joy.

“I believe this sight isn’t unfamiliar to you,” Nytharos said softly. “My other fragment once showed your ally something similar. A glimpse of the past.”

Adrian clenched his jaw. Not only Annabelle—he himself had seen fragments like this buried deep within his own memories. Calling it a fabrication was impossible.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Adrian asked, his voice no longer sharp, but edged with reluctant curiosity.

Nytharos explained, “It is a well-established truth that a deity’s power grows in proportion to the number of its followers. As that following expands, so too does the deity’s influence over the mortal realm.”

Adrian said nothing, but the silence spoke volumes. He already knew this law well.

The Fallen God continued, “I once had millions worshipping me, despite being the youngest and least known among the Gods. And that devotion was not earned—far from it.”

Nytharos’s gaze darkened, sending a faint chill down Adrian’s spine. “I obtained those followers through coercion.”

As the words left his mouth, the world shifted once more.

“Aahhhhh! Nooooo!!”

Adrian nearly recoiled as a woman’s scream echoed behind him, raw and filled with despair.

He turned sharply and found himself inside an enclosed space—dark, damp, and suffocating.

A slaughterhouse.

A wet, sickening sound followed.

SQUELCH

Adrian swallowed hard as the severed head of a small child rolled across the blood-soaked floor.

The man responsible stood nearby, his eyes vacant, his expression hollow, as if his soul had long since fled his body.

Off to the side, a man and woman collapsed to the ground, wailing in agony—the parents, without a doubt.

Adrian’s blood turned ice-cold as he noticed more than ten children standing in a line, mouths gagged with cloth, hands bound tightly behind their backs, terror burning in their wide eyes.

“You see that?” Nytharos asked quietly. “That is what happened when someone dared to question those they were told to worship.”

A memory stirred within Adrian’s mind—of a blindfolded child, restrained by their own guardian, punished for asking questions about devotion.

Slowly, Adrian turned toward Nytharos. His voice was frigid. “Why are you showing me this?”

Nytharos snapped his fingers once more.

The scene dissolved.

They now stood before another massive church. Long rows of people waited patiently to enter, heads bowed, expressions devoid of individuality.

Nytharos gazed toward a distant sculpture and muttered, “Have you ever wondered why we were so desperate to secure mortal support back then?”

Adrian shrugged faintly. “Who wouldn’t want to be the strongest?”

Nytharos turned to face him. “There was no one above us to challenge. Why would we seek strength beyond what we already possessed?”

Adrian narrowed his eyes. “If you have an answer, then say it.”

Nytharos exhaled slowly. “We were preparing, Adrian.” His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “We were not always like this. My seven brothers and I never craved mortal devotion. But something happened—something that left us no choice but to prepare for an incoming calamity.”

Adrian didn’t hesitate. “Darkness. You all knew it was coming.”

Nytharos paused, then nodded.

“You knew what it was capable of,” Adrian continued. “That’s why you forced mortals to worship you. Why you created those mindless warriors you called Apostles.”

Nytharos nodded again. “We knew it would be a losing war. But rather than surrender, we chose to exhaust every resource we had—to change fate itself, to stop the world from being swallowed by the void.”

“But you failed,” Adrian said flatly.

Nytharos smiled faintly. “Not entirely. And it was all thanks to you, Adrian… or should I call you Avirin?”

Adrian stiffened. The revelation surprised him, though only briefly. After all, a being who existed before the creation of the world would naturally know such truths.

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