Chapter 1194 A Cruel Twist
Chapter 1194 A Cruel Twist
Their prison room's window overlooked a city that seemed unable to find peace. The Knight of Courage, usually restless, now stood quiet, her eyes tracing the streets teeming with activity.
"This war…it's not just chaos," she finally said, her voice quieter than usual. "It's calculated. There's something holding them here, trapping them in this conflict…"
Oriole ran a finger over the faded lines on the city map. "They worship a fragment of something…a relic. It's in the old cathedral, a twisted symbol of their desperate hope."
The Knight considered this. "It's the key, then. A direct assault would be madness, but…there might be another way."
His mind raced. Deception, not brute force, was his strength. "The chaos of battle. I can vanish within it, unnoticed. The perfect cover to reach their treasure."
Their planning became a dangerous dance. Oriole moved among the city's defenders with purpose, his advice tactical and true, yet always edging him closer to his hidden goal. He learned the routines, the patterns of patrol, the macabre moments when their half of the relic was displayed for desperate crowds.
Then, the horns – that dreadful signal that meant another battle was upon them. This time, the chilling anticipation outweighed any lingering dread. As the defenders marched out to face the enemy, he was swept along, the 'Earth-born strategist' whose presence might change the tides of war.
The battlefield was pure mayhem. Steel clashed against steel. Oriole wove through, not a warrior, but a manipulator. With a quick gesture, an attacker stumbled on treacherous ice. A flick of a finger summoned a shield, just in time to save a trembling defender. His guards watched him, suspicion replaced by a desperate faith in his power.
The moment arrived – a sudden surge by the enemy, a weakness in the lines! Fear spread like wildfire. Oriole seized his chance.
"They're flanking us!" he yelled, feigning panic. "I must find a different vantage point to assess the situation!" With a burst of telekinetic speed, he sprinted away, not towards safety, but directly into the swarming enemy ranks.
He dodged blows, stumbled over barricades. An echo of the fissure's energy thrummed beneath his skin, a reminder of the Ancestor's gaze, a chilling weight that pushed him even harder.
Then, it loomed in front of him – the cathedral, broken and shattered. Images danced in his mind: stained glass shards, a ruined altar, and the pulsating fragment – a twisted beacon of stolen power.
Hesitation warred with determination. This was about more than escape. This was deciding the fate of a world born of unintended creation. Yet, he couldn't fail. He triggered a carefully hidden rune, a blast echoing down an empty street, a distraction to buy him just a few more precious moments. Then, he slipped inside the desecrated space.
There it was. Not some grand artifact, but a shattered shard pulsating with an unsettling, familiar energy. It tugged at him, a chilling reminder of the world he'd unknowingly birthed. He reached out…
A gasp escaped his lips. Guarding the relic wasn't just any soldier, but a man who looked exactly like the scholar, his face marred by a horrifying scar that ran from his temple to his jaw.
The Knight, her usual composure shattered, slammed a fist on the table. "Dead or not, that thing…it was powerful! Who was he? What was that magic?"
The scholar sank to his knees, his voice a broken sob. "My brother. He was twisted…corrupted by this war, by the relic itself. He tried to take it all for himself, but I…we fought, he was banished…or so I believed." He raised tear-stricken eyes to Oriole.
A heavy silence fell over the scholar's makeshift haven. The relic fragment lay nestled in a plain wooden box, its pulsating glow a constant, unsettling presence. The doppelganger's death was no simple victory, but rather the ominous herald of a greater darkness, a threat that now echoed in the scholar's despairing eyes.
"We can't rest," he finally whispered, his usually gentle voice rough with newfound urgency. "If my brother wasn't just an echo from the past…if the power of this relic corrupts even those you trust … then every moment is precious."
Oriole nodded grimly. "We need the other half," he said, "The lord has it. Then, we find a way out of this dungeon, away from everything that has been poisoned."
The Knight paced the cramped room. "That gilded snake won't give it up willingly. If brute force is out, then we need a plan. Something clever, misleading…"
The scholar's gaze flickered towards the relic fragment. "Perhaps…if we offer him the whole. To believe he holds the key to absolute victory…"
It was a dangerous gamble, one that filled Oriole with unease. Yet, the weight of the relic in his hands, the thrum of the energy that whispered of both salvation and doom, pushed him on. The next day, under the pretense of strategic discussions, they confronted the lord.
The audience chamber was oppressive, its opulent furnishings a grotesque reflection of the brutal realities beyond its tapestried walls. The lord eyed them warily, his victory-earned confidence tinged with a newfound wariness.
"The scholars speak of a…possibility," Oriole said carefully, keeping his tone level. "If the relics were reunited, perhaps then we might unlock this dungeon's true secret."
The lord leaned forward, his eyes glittering with greed. "The means to escape? To hold victory not just over this city, but over…" he paused, savoring the thought, "…over the world itself?"
The scholar stepped forward. "Indeed, my lord. With your bravery and Earth's wisdom, imagine what we could accomplish." It was a masterfully woven lie, and the lord fell for it entirely.
The vault was a place of grim contrasts. Candelabras cast flickering shadows upon bare stone walls, and within the heart of this fortified chamber sat a gleaming pedestal – their prize. The two relic fragments seemed to pulse in unison, a chilling testament to their fractured origin.
"This is it," Oriole murmured, his voice barely a whisper. The moment the second fragment left the pedestal, the room surged with energy. The relics spun towards each other, drawn by an irresistible force.
With a flash of blinding light, the fragments merged, becoming not a relic, but a key – intricate, and pulsing with a golden radiance. Oriole lifted it, a strange familiarity settling over him, a memory from a world he barely knew, where such an item was merely a concept.
"It's… beautiful," the Knight breathed, a glimmer of hope replacing her warrior's scowl.
Hope, however, was short-lived. A blast of darkness swept through the chamber. The lord stood transfixed, eyes burning with a terrible hunger. But it was the scholar who had moved, a cruel twist to his lips.