Kieran strode past broken bastions, which was why the Followers of War were forced to prepare a chain of patchwork palisades welded together with a daunting flame.

He didn’t read too deep into it, for he had already suspected many parallels between the Fiends and the Followers of War. One notable difference, however, was the follower’s lack of a Fiend’s evil aura that felt almost villainous.

Caught up in his thoughts, Kieran walked through the inlaid stone pathway of the broken citadel’s gatehouse, all bearing strange markings foreign to his knowledge. He wished to inspect it and glean its details, but his spent eyes didn’t allow that desire to traverse the bridge of thought and become reality.

Luckily, Kieran wasn’t without a way out. 

‘As soon as I find a place to sequester, I’ll finish my initial project. It’s time I used the Flame’s given gifts to stitch my soul back together and increase the accumulation of essence.’

It was a daunting task, but Kieran felt his mind was par for the course. If it weren’t, then he’d have to opt for repetition. Kieran had already accepted that his role was not one of paramount destiny. While his role and presence were irrefutable, else he would not be here, this Trial was someone else’s tale, not his own.

Kieran could do precious little to alter the grand outcome; his purpose was to internalize the journey, face its trial by fire, and see what he emerged as. 

Well… that’s what he believed initially.

Now, he was more inclined to seek another path to success — learning history and the weight of it, which is perhaps why he experienced the accumulation of Valdu’s relevance.

As he learned, every aspect of the Trial had meaning. It was woven expertly to where he could no longer fault the one that ripped the episode for an unfathomable tapestry. The lesson learned trumped his suffering in a way that left Kieran questioning the future.

Setting those thoughts aside, however, Kieran walked the corridors of the citadel, passing through unoccupied chambers, antechambers, chapels, and other quarters. None of those locations inspired interest. 

He was looking for something that could snag his attention.

An area where he could harvest past knowledge or solitude could be found, but that was an enormous ask. The Followers of War numbers in the thousands, and if they expected extended stay, they’d require lodging. 

The areas he passed would be the first to be claimed. Though he was not averse to conflict, Kieran didn’t want to be the reason for thinned forces when a calamity was coming.

‘Right… no need. I can just be the calamity after the fact.’

Kieran’s grin morphed into something menacing and sinister but also playful and unfeeling, like the meaning of the lives outside were inconsequential — which they were.

Even the Fiends were inconsequential, all except him. He had a purpose, which deemed him superior to the others. That superiority hummed on his spirit as the maddening voices spoke to unanimous agreement.

“You are greater than all. They are puppets, but you are a vessel. They can not compare.”

“They are food for the exemplary, their destinies inferior but ancillary.”

“It is a relationship of convenience, nothing more. They tout strength but are approached by death. You welcome death and herald its chilling embrace, yet you bleed strength. Superior on all fronts.”

The voices stoked Kieran’s ego, deepening his grin as he walked the halls. He soon entered the citadel’s great hall where, much to his chagrin, the commanders of the war effort convened.

As he suspected, Adeia was not alone. If he went off of impression alone, Adeia felt inferior to Cardinal Weiss. Not to say she wasn’t tremendously powerful, simply… the air of experience surrounding her was thinner than the old man.

Her strength still remained at the upper limits of what Kieran could fathom, like a high-caliber Master if he had to gauge her strength. 

But aside from Aerys and Adeia, two more figures sat at a table, discussing matters grimly. One spoke their mind, and the other… seemed absent or out of sorts. 

“Who goes there?”

As soon as he entered, his presence was noticed. His earlier actions of shielding himself with a shroud of resentment found little success against the eyes of those who had seen war and bested it. 

The question came from a woman beside Adeia, whose voice carried a cutthroat timbre. The words, neutral in nature, somehow attempted to reave Kieran’s mind. It became a matter of Will to resist his confidence being crushed. 

‘What in the…’

An Archmaster. Kieran could tell. Another Master could not muster the same effect, not according to the Flame’s frequent boastings. 

‘Is she the leader then?’

Kieran appeared from one of the many dark corners in the shaded hall with his arms raised in surrender, which afforded him a better grasp of the one responsible.

Like Aerys, the woman had hair the color of blood, but whereas Aerys’ tufts of hair resembled fresh blood, this woman’s hair was a darker sheen, like oxidized blood, and braided in a large plait. Her piercing eyes were the color of lustrous, dark steel — silver-black and gleaming like polished blades in the sunlight.

Adeia looked at Kieran before raising a hand to the woman.

“It’s okay, Rhaenys. He is one of the wild men that have offered cooperation to aid in thwarting the dark.”

Kieran gave a look of surprise after learning of the woman’s name. It was somewhat strange. Then again, he had discounted his presence in ancient times, where names symbolized power.

That said, he wondered what it meant… these names. Adeia, Aerys, Rhaenys — were these names they acquired at birth… or were they like him, gaining an identity through rite?

Rhaenys pursed her lips but stopped whatever ability she was channeling, an immediate weight lifting from Kieran’s mind. 

“Wild men? Those that inhabit these ruined lands? Wasn’t it rumored that the Old Corruption drove them mad and that they borrow upon the power we seek to destroy?”

Adeia met Rhaenys’ question with a grimace.

“The same.”

Rhaenys scrutinized her underling with a critical gaze. 

“And you would have them here as the dark falls? What of their possible betrayal?”

Though questioned and doubted, and speaking from a lesser position, Adeia didn’t second guess her decision.

“In the end, we are here to persist. That was our duty handed to us. If we overcome, that is a bonus in itself. Should we fail to, it’ll be a tolerable consequence. Eradication is the duty of those presiding above our roles. This makes the wild men a containable threat. Wouldn’t you agree, Draegerys?”

Kieran’s attention fell on the recipient of Adeia’s question. 

It was a man with a physique estimated to be larger than his own. He had a thick mane of coarse brown hair, donning sleeveless armor that revealed muscled arms wrapped in dark chains. His eyes had been closed the entire time as if uninterested in the discussion taking place, but once they opened, Kieran felt a wave of crushing pressure deluge him.

The burning blue eyes of a primal, draconian beast locked onto Kieran. It stymied all reason, slowed all thought, and crippled his defenses. He felt like a helpless infant before this pressure.

It was then Kieran understood.

He stood before the real force behind this entire effort.

A stentorian voice came a deep rumble from the man’s chest.

“Any design to hinder our warpath will be crushed. That is all I  deign to say. Heed my words of caution.”

Then, the pressure restricting Kieran vanished, reined in effortlessly like it had never existed.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep