Chapter 92 - Movement

  In the vast emptiness of a dimension untouched by time, a colossal entity drifted through the void. It had no defined shape, no beginning, no end—only an existence so immense that even gods would struggle to comprehend it.

  For as long as time itself, it had remained undisturbed. It had seen civilizations rise and fall, watched as stars were born and devoured by the abyss, and felt the echoes of ancient beings who once thought themselves powerful. To it, all things were fleeting, insignificant. Nothing truly mattered.

  Yet, something had changed.

  A presence—small, barely noticeable—had brushed against its awareness. A mere speck, a flicker of existence that should have been meaningless. Countless creatures had been born and perished without ever catching its attention, yet this one… lingered. Not because of its power, not because of its will, but because it had seen it.

  It did not stir. It did not react. To acknowledge something so minuscule would be absurd. It had ignored far greater beings, forgotten entire realms that once roared with power. And yet… it did not disregard this one.

  A strange feeling settled within its vast consciousness—faint, unshaped, something it had not experienced in an eternity. Not curiosity. Not interest. Something even more distant, something it could not name.

  The silence of the void remained, undisturbed as always. It was still, unbothered, as if nothing had happened. But deep within its boundless existence, it knew.

  It would not forget.

  --

  Inside the grand Holy Cathedral, where divine hymns echoed through sacred halls and light poured through crystalline windows, Saintess Atasha sat alone in her chamber. The air carried the faint scent of incense, blending with the distant murmurs of prayers. Yet, despite the serenity surrounding her, her thoughts were anything but peaceful.

  She had been troubled ever since she received the report from the captain of the 7th Battalion Holy Scouts. The description of the unknown creature lingered in her mind, refusing to fade. It was unnatural—something beyond comprehension. The way the scout had spoken, the way his voice trembled ever so slightly, was enough to make her uneasy.

  She stood and walked toward the tall arched window of her room, her silk robes flowing behind her. The night stretched before her, the full moon bathing the sacred city in silver light. She gazed at it, her emerald eyes reflecting a quiet storm. Something was not right. The world had been in balance, ruled by divine order, yet now there was a ripple, a disturbance she could not ignore.

  Letting out a slow breath, she turned away from the window and returned to her bed. Lying down, she closed her eyes.

  But she did not sleep.

  She listened. Waited.

  The cathedral was vast, filled with layers of protective formations and divine wards, yet she knew she was always being watched. It was expected. A saintess was not merely a figure of faith—she was a symbol, a living vessel of divine power. Countless eyes, both seen and unseen, monitored her every move.

  This was not new to her.

  For years, the higher order of the church had worked tirelessly to suppress her growing influence. They feared her. Not for her power alone, but for what she represented.

  A saintess who was loved too much, respected too deeply, and followed too blindly became dangerous. She had seen it before. The last time she had openly acted on her own, the consequences had nearly destroyed her. The higher clergy did not need to kill someone to remove them; they only needed to break them, piece by piece, until they became just another obedient tool of the church.

  That was why she could not act openly.

  That was why she had to wait, to move in silence, to ensure that her enemies did not see her hand until it was too late.

  Minutes passed. An hour.

  Then finally, the presence around her faded. Those assigned to watch her had grown complacent, believing her to be at rest.

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  Only then did she move.

  In a hushed whisper, she spoke. "Come."

  A silent shift in the air. A ripple in the darkness.

  From the corners of the room, from the very shadows cast by the candlelight, two figures emerged. Clad in black, their forms barely distinguishable from the void they came from, they knelt before her without a word.

  Yeba. Vienna.

  Her personal shadows. Assassins who existed outside of records, trained since birth to act as her unseen hands. No one but her knew of their existence. No one ever would.

  "Subdue the abomination," she commanded.

  Neither questioned her. Neither hesitated.

  A bow. A whisper of movement.

  Then they were gone, dissolving back into the darkness.

  Saintess Atasha remained still, her fingers tightening slightly against the silk sheets of her bed.

  She had given the order. Now, all she could do was wait.

  --

  The night was alive with the sound of pounding hooves and the clatter of wheels over the rough dirt road. A horse-drawn carriage, finely crafted with intricate gold linings and the emblem of the Vinzl Kingdom engraved on its doors, sped through the darkened forest. The royal blue curtains, though drawn, could not hide the anxiety of the young man inside.

  Outside, a dozen knights in gleaming armor rode alongside the carriage, their swords drawn, their eyes scanning the trees and shadows. Their mission was clear—escort the young noble safely to the capital. But the task had become increasingly difficult.

  From behind them, a swarm of bandits, clad in tattered leather and darkened cloth, pursued with relentless aggression. Their horses, though not as finely bred as the Vinzlian steeds, had the advantage of familiarity with the terrain. The bandits rode low, their bodies hunched to reduce wind resistance, bows drawn and arrows nocked.

  Inside the carriage, Leonard Vinzl, second son of the Vinzl Kingdom’s Grand Duke Ermund Vinzl, was a mess of nerves. He fidgeted with his gloved hands, his breathing uneven. His sharp blue eyes, though carrying traces of noble dignity, flickered with uncertainty as he peeked through the curtains.

  "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, his usual composed demeanor breaking under pressure.

  He was not a warrior. He had never been trained in battle, unlike his older brother, who was the pride of the Vinzl family. He was a scholar, well-versed in politics, history, and diplomacy. Yet none of that mattered here—not when they were being hunted like prey.

  The carriage jerked violently as one of the wheels hit a rough patch. Leonard gritted his teeth, gripping the leather seat to steady himself. He turned his gaze toward Sir Garret, the knight commander leading the escort.

  "Sir Garret, how much longer until we reach the capital?!" Leonard called out, struggling to keep his voice from shaking.

  The seasoned knight, riding closest to the carriage, did not look back but responded in a firm, unwavering voice. "Two more leagues, Lord Leonard! We must hold out until then!"

  Leonard’s stomach twisted. Two leagues—roughly twenty minutes of riding at full speed. That would not be a problem under normal circumstances, but with the bandits closing in, those twenty minutes felt like an eternity.

  A whistling sound cut through the air.

  "Shields up!" Garret roared.

  A volley of arrows rained upon them. The knights raised their shields just in time, deflecting most of the deadly projectiles. A few arrows embedded themselves into the wooden exterior of the carriage, one narrowly missing Leonard’s face as it pierced through the window frame. He instinctively flinched, his breath hitching.

  The bandits were getting bolder.

  "Sir Garret! They’re flanking us!" a knight shouted.

  Leonard could hear the desperation in his voice. He peeked again, his heart pounding as he saw the bandits splitting into two groups. One continued their direct pursuit while the other veered off into the woods, taking advantage of the trees to move ahead. They were trying to cut them off.

  Sir Garret’s expression darkened. "Damn these dogs. They know what they’re doing," he growled before turning to one of his knights. "Marek, take three men and deal with the flankers! The rest of you, tighten the formation!"

  A knight with a crimson plume atop his helmet gave a firm nod. "Understood!" Without hesitation, Marek and three others broke off from the group, their horses charging toward the trees where the bandits had disappeared.

  The battle had begun.

  Leonard clenched his fists, his mind racing. Why were they being targeted?

  The Vinzl Kingdom was a powerful and wealthy state, but he was not the crown prince or a high-ranking official. He was merely a duke’s son sent on a diplomatic mission to a neighboring territory. Could it be simple banditry? Unlikely. The precision of the attack suggested otherwise.

  A sudden scream jolted him from his thoughts.

  One of the knights fell from his horse, an arrow lodged in his throat. His body hit the dirt road, and before the carriage could even pass, a bandit leaped from his steed, landing atop the fallen knight’s horse and taking control of it.

  Leonard’s breathing grew erratic. They were being overwhelmed.

  "Sir Garret!" he called out again, his voice carrying a desperate edge.

  Garret gritted his teeth. "Lord Leonard, stay inside the carriage and keep your head down!"

  Leonard swallowed hard. He hated this feeling—the helplessness, the reliance on others to determine his fate. But what could he do? He was not a fighter.

  Then, something shifted in the air.

  A chill ran down Leonard’s spine.

  The surrounding temperature seemed to drop, and an eerie silence momentarily overtook the chaos. Even the horses hesitated for a split second, their instincts sensing something unnatural.

  Then, from the darkness of the forest, something moved.

  Not a bandit. Not an animal.

  Something else.

  The knights felt it, too. Their horses neighed in distress, their eyes wide with primal fear. The bandits, despite their numbers, hesitated, their expressions shifting from confidence to unease.

  A deep, guttural growl echoed through the night.

  Leonard’s grip on the window frame tightened. He couldn’t see it—not yet—but he knew.

  Something was coming.