Chapter 273: 273

“It won’t son, I won’t let that happen. We have our people out there who can relay news of things happening outside so we can quickly adjust to any changes. I believe soon, the humans will understand they are dealing with an uncontrollable force, they will then ask for our help, until then we stay behind and watch”

Looking at Zephyr, Ikem smiled “Besides, this situation is better for our people who are out to experience life and its challenges. With the chaos about to erupt in this continent, places to experience life, bloodshed won’t be lacking”

Zephyr sighed as he bowed to Ikem before leaving the palace room, after he was gone. Ikem’s expression turned serious as he looked off to the distance “Playing with the dead wasn’t enough for you? Now you want to play a more bizarre stuff”

Far away from the apeling kingdom and territory, a large territory ruled by the Omadi kingdom lay across the plain. The Omadi Kingdom’s territory unfolds like a vast tapestry, where golden grasses sway gently in the warm breeze under a boundless, azure sky. The land is alive with the vibrant hum of life, from the rhythmic drumming of hooves as herds of wildebeest and gazelle migrate across the savanna, to the distant roar of lions echoing from the rugged foothills of the northern mountains.

In the heart of this sweeping landscape, the Lifeblood River glistens like a silver thread, snaking its way through the plains. Its banks are lush and fertile, dotted with groves of towering acacia trees and clusters of villages, where the Omadi people tend to their crops and livestock. The air is thick with the scent of rich, tilled earth and blooming wildflowers, blending with the smoke rising from cooking fires as evening approaches.

On the horizon, the capital city of M’Tala rises majestically, its stone walls reflecting the golden rays of the setting sun. The sounds of bustling markets and the clang of blacksmiths’ hammers fill the air. Beyond the city, the plains stretch out in every direction, a seemingly endless expanse of wild beauty, dotted with the occasional patrol of Omadi warriors, their bronze armor gleaming in the fading light.

At the center of this capital city Was a huge statue of Ikenga, around the statue was a small thriving garden that gave out a lovely scent that spread across the surrounding area.

In the palace of the city where Nwadiebube stayed. A banquet can be seen going on as the nobles sat at a long table raising their wine to the priest who paid them a visit.

At the head of the long table sat Nwadiebube silent as he took in the surroundings looking lost in thought as he took in the priest expression and the nobles toasting the priest.

Nwadiebube the king skin is a rich ebony even seated he seemed tall and imposing, draped in robes woven from the finest silks, dyed with the rarest indigo and crimson hues, Upon his head rests a crown of gold, embedded with shimmering emeralds and sapphires.

His broad shoulders bear a mantle of lion fur, a testament to his triumph over the great white lions of the High Plains, creatures revered as near-mythical beings.

The priest, clad in the red robe adorned with the sigils of his god, Björn, radiated an aura of barely restrained ferocity. His wild eyes flicked around the room, taking in the grandeur of the palace, the opulence of the feast, and the curious stares of the nobles. He was a figure out of place, like a wolf among sheep, and it made the nobles uneasy even though they tried to hide it. The priest’s body smells like he took a bath in a blood pool.

One of the braver nobles, a man with a graying beard and a richly embroidered robe, raised his goblet towards the priest. “Tell us, priest of Björn, of the battles you have seen. We have heard tales of your god’s fury and the madness that takes hold of his followers. What wars have you fought in? What victories have you claimed?”

The priest’s lips curled into a grin that showed out his animalistic features. His voice, thick with a Norwegian accent, rumbled deep. “Wars? Aye, I have seen many, fought in more. I’ve marched through lands where the ground was so soaked in blood that it seemed the earth itself thirsted for battle. I’ve heard the screams of the dying mix with the war cries of the living until you could no longer tell one from the other. Björn grants us strength in the heat of combat, and madness… madness is our shield and sword.”

He paused, letting his words sink in, his gaze drifting across the table, locking onto each noble in turn. “In the north, where the winds howl like the cries of the damned at night, I fought against the people of the silver kingdom who worshiped the lady of the moon. They outnumbered us I believe, but they had never faced Björn’s wrath. We did not fight with strategy, with caution… We fought with fury, with abandon. We became the storm. And in the end, it was their blood that ran like rivers to the sea. It was in this battle that our god Björn ascended to his deity position”

The room grew still, the crackling of the fire in the hearth the only sound that dared to break the silence. The nobles, who had initially been intrigued by the priest’s presence, now found themselves drawn into the dark allure of his tale. His words painted vivid images in their minds, scenes of chaos and carnage that both repelled and fascinated them.

Nwadiebube hearing ascension was filled with curiosity but did well to hide it. Another noble, a woman with sharp eyes and a voice as smooth as silk, leaned forward, her fingers lightly tapping the stem of her goblet. Coincidentally her eyes crossed with Nwadiebube before she asked “This ascension of Björn,” she began, her tone measured, “how did it come to pass? How does a god of fury and madness emerge from such bloodshed?”

The priest’s grin widened, his canines glinting in the flickering candlelight. He leaned back in his chair, as if settling in to recount a story well-worn in his memory. “Ah, the ascension,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper, forcing the nobles to lean in closer. “It was in the heart of that battle, as our enemies fell beneath our blades, that Björn revealed his true nature. He had always been with us, a spirit of war, a whisper in the storm, but on that day, he became something more.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing as he recalled the moment. “As the moon reached its zenith, casting a cold, silver light over the battlefield, the lady of the moon herself appeared to protect her people. She was radiant, her power immense, and for a moment, it seemed as though we might be defeated. But Björn… he laughed. Laughed in the face of her light. He called upon the madness that had always lurked within us, the fury that knew no bounds, and we answered. We fought with a rage that transcended mortal limits, and as the blood of our enemies soaked the earth, Björn took that blood, that fury, and claimed it as his own.”

The priest’s voice grew stronger, more fervent, as he recounted the climax of the battle. “Björn rose from the blood-soaked ground, no longer just a spirit, but a god, born of battle, fury, and madness”

The nobles sat in stunned silence, the weight of the priest’s words pressing down on them like a physical force. The images of divine conflict, of a god born from bloodshed, hung in the air, refusing to dissipate.

Nwadiebube, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, his voice low and contemplative. “Your god, Björn, is one of fury and madness, but also of power, undeniable and raw. The Omadi do not worship such a god, but we understand strength when we see it. Yet I wonder, priest, what does it mean to serve a god born of madness? What becomes of those who follow such a path, where reason and sanity are cast aside?”

The priest’s grin faded, replaced by a solemn expression. “To serve Björn is to embrace the chaos within, to wield it as both weapon and armor. It is to walk a path where there is no peace, only the endless pursuit of battle, of glory, of the next challenge. We are Björn’s chosen, but we are also his instruments. We live in the fire of madness, and when that fire consumes us, we are reborn in it, stronger, fiercer, more devoted.”

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, captivated and horrified by the priest’s words. Another noble, younger and more impetuous, leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. “And what of this madness? Does it not cloud your mind in battle, make you reckless?”

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