Published at 9th of September 2025 12:34 pm

Book 5: Chapter 20 Sacrosanct [Part 2]

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Entering the building, I spotted several servants, as stunned and disbelieving as the first man I had killed. They gawped at me like idiots, then fled, screaming. There would be time to slaughter them all later.

Then I felt it, a small rumbling beneath my feet. A minor earthquake, I thought to myself with a mental shrug.

I headed down a long corridor lined with detailed mosaics depicting some epic battle of ages past. Delicate jade pots and other valuables that reeked of antiquity stood as a testament to the wealth of even this Minor House.

My appreciation for the artwork was cut short by a line of guards blocking my path. For the sake of expediency, I did not bother with hand-to-hand combat. This House was unprepared for a man who could wield the power of Entropy. My Rust spell burned them with ease—the void energy leaping from one guard to the next—until they formed a choir of screaming, burning corpses.

More experience.

Eventually, I reached the doors to the main hall, the loud music and laughter drifting through the thick wood. With Mana to spare, I cast Decay on the doors to weaken them. I waited a few moments for the spell to take hold, then drove my foot into the weakened, darkening wood, sending the doors flying open with a resounding crash that echoed through the grand chamber beyond.

The hall was a riot of color and light. Rich tapestries depicting the victories and triumphs of House Tammuzar lined the walls, and long tables laden with food and drink stretched across the room. Guests in elaborate silks and jewels danced and laughed, oblivious to the carnage that had unfolded outside.

For a moment, the sight was almost disarming, a stark contrast to the violence that still clung to me like a second skin. But slowly, even the drunken revelers began to notice. The music faltered before dying away as heads turned toward the intruder in blood-spattered plate armor.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, confusion giving way to recognition.

“It’s him,” someone half-shouted, their voice tinged with disbelief.

“The Salahaem,” another complained, their face pale.

The murmurs grew louder, panic creeping into the edges of the room. A man near the head of the hall—a minor lord of the city, judging by his ornate clothes—rose to his feet, his face twisted with fury.

“You dare desecrate this house on this sacred night?” he bellowed, pointing a jeweled finger at me. “Guards! Kill him!”

He looked vaguely familiar, a whisper from the past.

The doors on either side of the hall burst open, and more soldiers poured in, better armed and armored than the ones outside. Swords, maces, and halberds gleamed in the firelight as they formed a line between me and the lord’s table.

I tightened my grip on my weapon, feeling its reassuring weight in my hands. Zariyah hummed softly at my shoulder, eager for more blood.

This would be fun.

The soldiers rushed forward, forming a ragged line to defend their masters and the guests. At the edges of my vision, I noticed more servants—pale, trembling things—huddling near the far walls.

I considered incinerating the armed men with Rust again, but where was the challenge in that? I still had plenty of Mana to spare, but I wanted to feel the clash of steel and taste the terror in their eyes.

Gilgamesh would do this unaided, the old-fashioned way.

So instead of taking the easy option, I shouldered my hammer and braced myself behind a massive table. Grinning, I planted a gauntleted hand against its surface and heaved it forward with all my Strength. Dishes, cutlery, and goblets were scattered in a whirlwind of food and splintering wood as the table hurtled into the guards. Their formation broke in seconds; a few of them were knocked flat beneath the crushing weight.

Those who managed to dodge scrambled to their feet, weapons drawn. They engaged me, their desperate blows clanging and skittering across my Adamantine armor, leaving barely a scratch. In retaliation, my flying dagger struck at them, causing wounds here and there where she found a gap in their armor. In my eagerness, I had forgotten to sheathe Zariyah. Oh well, so much for doing this unaided.

The look in their eyes said they knew they were doomed, but still they came at me.

I swung for the nearest guard, but he ducked behind a servant at the last moment. My strike cleaved the poor wretch instead, cutting short his terrified shriek. Blood spattered across my visor. I offered the corpse nothing but a disdainful glance—he was not my true target, merely unfortunate enough to stand in the path of my blade.

A notification came which, of course, I dismissed.

Another notification appeared, which I promptly dismissed. Freed of that brief distraction, I turned my attention back to the surviving guards. No... no... they were not my real target.

Behind the arrogant man who had ordered my demise, several women in fine garments were bundling away a small boy. I reached behind my shoulder, grasped my dancing blade from the air, and hurled the dagger straight at the child. The magical weapon whirled through the air, paused momentarily midair, then accelerated forward as straight as an arrow. It deftly wove its way through the crowd before it found its target, ending the life of the small boy, the heir to this House.

You have slain a human. 2 experience gained.

As the child fell, the women wailed in horror and anguish. With tears in their eyes, the guards renewed their assault. The sound of their anguish was a sweet melody to my ears. A twisted part of me tried to rationalize that it was not truly I who slew the boy, but rather Zariyah—a poor excuse. Yet did I need an excuse at all? I was the living embodiment of Justice in this world.

My moralizing was abruptly cut short by a commotion at the other entrances to the hall. A horde of ragged, dirty, dark-furred creatures with long whiskered snouts and rusty, pitted weapons spilled in. Humanoid and low to the ground, they had clawed hands, feet, and grotesquely long tails—Beastkin of a rodent variety. Without hesitation, they began carving through guests and soldiers alike with frenzied glee.

I braced myself for the next phase of this level, but noticed something peculiar: I was gaining small amounts of experience even from the members of House Tammuzar whom I had not personally ‘tagged’ with any skill or special ability. Intrigued, I decided to observe rather than intervene for the moment. After all, the enemy of my enemy was, for now at least, my ally.

Corpses kept on piling up until the hall attained a measure of quiet—a stillness broken now and then by distant screams echoing through the manse. The foul vermin scuttled about, starting to finish off any survivors, and I gained fractions of experience points from their slaughter.

By then, I felt certain my mission was well and truly complete. In one corner, a small group of people huddled together, moments away from being murdered by the Beastkin. It was an opportune time to secure some secondary objectives—and possibly earn extra points.

“Enough!” I roared. Immediately, the fighting ceased. For emphasis, I snatched Zariyah from midair and shoved it back into its sheath.

Silence settled over the carnage once more. Deep within me, I felt the faintest thread of connection to these rodent-like creatures.

Before long, the ugliest thing I had seen since arriving in these strange lands approached. Draped in patchwork rags, filthy and tattered, it bore two heads—one white-furred and one black. All of its eyes were sewn shut, yet it regarded me as if it could see perfectly.

It bowed before, pressing its heads to the floor, made sacrosanct with freshly spilled blood. In a shrill, chittering voice, it spoke. “We-we come before the Father. What do you will of uz?” The words grated against its vocal cords, never meant for human speech.

I regarded the creature with disdain, but curiosity kept me from cutting it down. A pressing need to know more took hold of me, and I could not ignore it.

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