Published at 9th of September 2025 12:34 pm

Book 5: Chapter 20 Sacrosanct [Part 1]

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The Everdark is not merely a labyrinth of shadows beneath the known lands—it is a realm where night itself is born and perpetually thrives. In the endless gloom below, ancient caverns coil like serpents, twisting and turning in labyrinthian confusion.

Within these colossal chambers and winding tunnels, giant fungi grow in eerie clusters, their luminescent caps casting a ghostly glow that flickers across the stalagmites. Such light offers only fleeting comfort—here, monstrous creatures slither and prowl, silhouettes of the unknown hungry for flesh and fear. Pale spiders the size of horses spin traps that glitter with poisonous dew, while chittering reptilian hordes patrol the gloom, awaiting the unwary. There are things with too many eyes, far too many limbs, and a cunning so alien that they defy comprehension. And there are too many by far for me to document.

Yet the Everdark’s terrors extend beyond mere beasts. In the heart of its blackest caverns lie the ruins of civilizations long lost to time—cities carved from obsidian by hands both mortal and dread.

The Everdark, the Great Below, is the realm of Iasis the Mother of Monsters.

- The Fanciful Travels of Beron de Laney 376 AC.

Idris had been an indirect and irritating old man, prone to rambling that frayed one’s patience. But he was efficient, I would give him that. It was thanks to his planning that House Tammuzar—the troublesome Minor Holder House resisting the new Sultanate—was now cornered like a snake in a jar.

The occasion for their downfall? The fifth birthday of their precious heir. In Al-Lazarian culture, where a child’s death was common, the second, fifth, and tenth birthdays were milestones and marked with great celebration. And tonight, the walled Tammuzar estate was alight with music and revelry.

Outside, however, the mood was far from festive. Grim-eyed soldiers surrounded the estate, their expressions stony but their weariness visible to those who knew how to look. Though they were not there to play the ignoble role of butcher, none relished their duties.

Oh well, their loss, I mused. More glory, more experience points for me.

I had told Larynda nothing of my plans. The half-elven girl would have understood, I knew her well enough to be sure of that, but I had learned that sparing certain truths was its own kindness. Her empathy was a gift, and I would not taint it unnecessarily.

From our position, the muffled sounds of flutes, drums, and laughter drifted over the walls. Farzan gave me a curt nod, signaling it was time. Reflexively, I almost gave him a thumbs-up before catching myself. A childish, foreign gesture, and worse, a rude one here. Instead, I settled for a sharp nod and slammed down my visor, and the world narrowed into a singular focus.

This would be easy. A chore. A mere sidequest.

With my enhanced Strength and my magical warhammer, it was almost farcical how easily I brought the gate’s doors crashing down. Each of my swings had been timed to the beat of the heavy drums inside, a parody of rhythm. No doubt, the revelers remained oblivious, their festivities masking the sound of the assault.

As I stepped into the courtyard, a lone guard stumbled forward, his features slack and unprepared. A bulbous man, he reeked of indolent complacency. For a moment, he simply blinked at me drunkenly, as if his sluggish mind could not comprehend the figure in black and gold armor before him.

Zariyah the Dancing Blade whispered for release, her voice a seductive hum in her sheath. I obliged. One clean thrust, and the guard’s life spilled out in a dark, wet bloom across the flagstones. A pitiful offering, barely worth the effort.

But the guard was not alone. His companion stood a few paces away, frozen in place, his wide eyes betraying the storm of fear within. In moments like these, the world divided itself into two kinds of people: those who acted and those who froze.

Unfortunately for him, he was the latter.

Zariyah seemed to sing as I let her fly with a throw. The blade spun through the air, a streak of silver that found its mark. It sliced through the guard’s throat in a wet, ugly arc, and the man dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.

The dagger returned, hovering just above my right shoulder, eager and expectant, like a predator savoring the scent of fresh blood.

A flying dagger, who would have thought?

It was the first time I had killed with Zariyah, and this new property of the weapon was most welcome.

The sounds of steel scraping against stone echoed as I moved through the courtyard, Bellringer resting heavily in my grip. My armored boots crushed the gravel path beneath them, each step filled with murderous thoughts.

The first wave of guards came as I passed into the inner courtyard. Four of them, armed with spears and short swords, their shields emblazoned with the sigil of House Tammuzar—a coiled serpent clutching a golden sun in its jaws. Their armor was of good quality, a collection of boiled leather and mail. Still, they were common guards, and only one among them was wearing a proper steel breastplate. The House had grown complacent.

The man in the steel breastplate stepped forward, raising his spear. His eyes darted to the crumpled bodies near the gate, and I saw fear flicker across his face before duty hardened his resolve.

“Stop where you are!” he barked, his voice trembling slightly. The others fanned out behind him, attempting to flank me. I almost pitied them.

The Shocksteel weapon came alive in my hands as I surged forward, closing the distance faster than they anticipated with Improved Dash. The first strike was devastating—a horizontal swing that caught the lead guard in the chest. His breastplate crumpled like tin beneath the force of the blow, the sound of breaking ribs punctuating the impact. He crumpled to the ground, gasping wetly for air.

You have slain a Human. 10 experience gained.

The notification flashed briefly in the corner of my vision and I quickly dismissed it. Just more numbers to add to my glory. Another guard lunged at me from the side, his short sword aimed for my visor, his shield protecting his side. A deft twist of my head turned the blade aside, the sound of steel scraping against Adamantine alloy filling the air.

Zariyah hissed with delight, the dagger launching itself at the hapless man and slicing clean through the leather strap holding his shield to his arm. The shield clattered uselessly to the ground, and the spike of the hammer found his throat. Blood sprayed in a hot arc, and the man fell back with a gurgling cry.

More numbers filled my vision, an ode to their worthlessness. Still, it filled my Asura gauge by an infinitesimal amount.

The third guard—young, barely old enough to grow a beard—let out a panicked yell and thrust his spear at me in desperation. The weapon struck my breastplate, glancing off harmlessly, and I caught the haft with my gauntleted hand. With a sharp tug, I yanked him forward, unbalancing him. Bellringer came down in a brutal overhead arc, caving in his skull.

More numbers.

The last guard hesitated, his sword trembling in his grip. He looked between me and his fallen comrades, his resolve breaking with each passing second. I stepped forward, my boots splashing in the blood pooling beneath the young man I had just felled.

“Run,” I snarled, my voice distorted by the confines of my helm.

He needed no further urging. The guard turned and bolted for the main building. Unfortunately for him, I sent Rust after him, and the black lightning of the spell caught and roasted him just before he reached the heavy wooden doors. A small mercy I had given him, hope at the end. The smell of roasting pork might go unnoticed, but his screams certainly would not.

I followed, resting my hammer on my shoulder, with Zariyah hovering just behind me like a patient ghost. It’s often at the strangest moments that the most errant thoughts intrude—I found myself thinking of Harun, or whatever his name was, and what I should do with him.

The heat from the burning guard washed over me as I reached the doors. To my surprise, he was still alive, so I ended his suffering with a swift kick to the head.

The heat reminded me of the desert. Yes… I would send my new flock in search of Cordelia. It might be a fruitless mission, but better them than me wasting my time. So it was decided. So it would be.

Now, to finish the task at hand.

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