Chapter 489 One Bathed In Blood

In preparation for the Culling of the Voiceless moments from starting, countless Voiceless gathered inside the Pit of Culling.

The sodden sand had not yet recovered from the previous Culling, which created several small crimson puddles whenever the Voiceless shifted their weight.

The lack of absorption told Kieran the previous Culling had either included more victims, meaning the followers of the Order gathered large amounts of unfortunate children, or… the Pit of Culling had reached a saturation point.

The bloodthirsty grains of sand could no longer absorb blood anymore.

Compared to his two other experiences, Kieran was deathly still and undisturbed by the scene before him. His presence gave off the impression of a sheathed blade, whose dangerous qualities remained tucked away from notice.

Only Cardinal Weiss and perhaps a few other vigilant followers were aware of the frightening power slumbering with Kieran, kept at bay by the deliberate Furthered Scale of Balance.

The Syllable — Further — acted as a gear inside the apparatus, perpetually and languidly revolving to ironically hasten the balance it provided.

As Kieran’s gaze shifted dispassionately in every direction, he gained a loose understanding of his peers’ emotions. It was a mishmash of dark and morbid emotions caused by the desire to live and fear that they may not realize the aspiration.

Every Voiceless was not created equal, and Kieran learned that with a glance. To whom these thoughts were directed, their grim understanding was likely the starkest.

Some of the Voiceless had lost their will to fight entirely after coming to grips with the terror they would face. Their eyes were dull and listless, and an air of gloom loomed near them.

Death was calling out to them, providing its chilling embrace.

Not long after Kieran searched through the Voiceless fated to battle to their deaths, Cardinal Weiss approached and placed an alabaster podium with an august presence. He was dressed in the robes he always wore, but there was something significant and regal about him today.

He felt no different from a high member of a sacred faith, a consecrated person fit to perform the holiest of ceremonies.

Kieran was indifferent toward that change despite its gripping allure.

Some eyes turned toward Kieran because of Cardinal Weiss’ appearance. He had yet to speak, but members of the Order were already igniting with mindless faith and reverent glee.

Once Cardinal Weiss spoke, cheers erupted.

“Today, inside these consecrated grounds before us, an Unspoken will be crowned. The Voiceless that await the Culling have fought with bloody valor, emerging the survivor soaked in the fallen. Before it begins, give them your cries of approval and roars of adoration!”

Howls, shrieks, and throat-rupturing exclamations exploded throughout the amphitheater seats.

Cardinal Weiss waved his hand, requesting for and obtaining silence with a gesture. Then, he continued speaking.

“We have seen much slaughter and conducted countless Cullings in search of the One Who Bathes In Blood. Today… that bath will be taken. The Order shall welcome a Firebearer whose only purpose is to ferry to Great Flame’s majesty. But before that can happen, those responsible for the Pit’s saturation must ensure it overflows.”

Unlike before, the crowd of followers grew quiet with fanatic anticipation. The beginning of something grand was upon them, and they felt incomparable delight.

Yet they did not speak it.

They couldn’t let their sounds detract from the brilliant serenade of the notes perilous battle sung. When everyone fought brutally with reservation, clawing for life with their every remaining breath… that desperation achieved something uniquely sublime.

But…

‘Only these lunatics could view it that way.”

“Cull, Voiceless. Cull to thrive. Cull to survive. Cull so that you may exchange your won glory for a name! Trade your glory for a new life!”

Cardinal Weiss’ words cued the cruel start of the Culling. But the Voiceless didn’t react like mindless beasts. Every Voiceless in this Culling earned their place by honing their skills, sharpening their instincts, and learning the nuances and caveats of barbarous battle.

You need not move first to win.

Anticipate your enemy and then deliver a fatal strike. End it cleanly, but savagely so your actions are not mistaken for mercy. Mercy did not belong in the Pit of Culling unless that mercy was death.

Kieran stepped from his corner and drew his blade with a resonant cry. Where he strode, the blood seemed to thrum then seethe as if it wanted to attach itself to his body, but he ignored it with cold indifference.

His sword flashed, and seconds later, a disturbing mix of a squelch and thud echoed beside him. Flicking the longsword clean of the unfortunate Voiceless’ blood, Kieran stared at everyone.

Survival and disregard burned in his dark eyes as Kieran condemned these Voiceless to death in his mind. There were only two outcomes — either they died, or he did. And he would not let the latter become his fate.

However, Kieran was the proverbial snow that accumulated momentum. Or, he was the blade that incited hysteria. That comparison seemed apt for the situation he had caused.

Everyone viewed each other as mortal enemies and meant to reap lives.

Despite their identical situation, there was no trust, camaraderie, or empathy. The cruelty of their fate and the influence of the Flame had morphed their minds and distorted their moral code.

Meanwhile, Kieran’s sword bit into Voiceless after Voiceless.

Once he empowered himself with the Flame’s vigor, his sword rived a Voiceless in half from crown to pelvic floor. In a gush of blood, the lifeless body fell in opposing directions.

The others didn’t conclude nearly as quickly. Kieran was the exception, not the rule. When it came to other Voiceless battling amongst themselves, their fights consisted of a probing period where glancing blows were exchanged to gauge their opponent.

Once an understanding of combat ability had been reached, things grew gruesome. The Voiceless were taught to be savage to all, forgoing caution to ensure the death of their opponent.

But… what happened when two people wielding identical combat styles clashed? Either an impasse or… a pyrrhic victory.

Many Voiceless killed their opponents, but the sacrifices they made to achieve that were alarming, even cumbersome for some. Except for Kieran, who drowned himself in however much of the Flame’s power the apparatus could balance, the other Voiceless were in tatters.

Unwillingness drove them to keep going as their blood spilled and their movements grew sloppy.

Kieran sidestepped their attacks with impunity, parrying with a sudden thrust to disarm and then a swift cleave to end their miserable lives. Every cleave contained abundant power and continued well until the sword pierced the pit, leaving a small fissure that sodden sands refluxed to fill.

His sword and body never stopped moving. Those powerful blows sent his opponents reeling. While they careened, Kieran chopped them down like a dutiful lumberjack chopping wood.

Despair took hold, and that panic redoubled the Voiceless attempts to slay this beast that claimed a life with an infallible stroke of their artistic blade.

The blood of the fallen Voiceless accumulated quickly, rising until it dyed Kieran’s ankles red. When he moved, omnidirectional sprouts of blood rose and fell.

And by the time those droplets fell, more blood was added to the grisly scene.

Soon, only Kieran remained. The last remaining Voiceless slid down the length of his longsword, sleek with blood. It cleaved many bodies and rent many hearts today.

When it was all said and done, Kieran stabbed his sword into the Pit, closed his eyes, and fell back into the crimson pool with a pungent metallic scent.

“Baptise in the blood of the slain. Rise anew.”

Those were the last words Kieran heard before the Pit of Culling swallowed him.

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