The priest staggered to his feet, face pale and twisted in desperation.
"You took a vow!"
He cried, voice cracking.
"You were chosen! Without the god’s grace, you’re nothing. A cursed soul damned to rot! You think you’ll find peace among humans who fear and hate you?"
The enforcer remained silent, staring at the blood on his blade. His jaw tightened, memories flashing behind his eyes—memories of pain, indoctrination, and being molded into a weapon for someone else’s glory.
"You owe your life to the god! He saved you from the streets. He gave you strength, purpose, power. And you think this stranger can give you salvation instead?"
The priest insisted.
Kyle stepped forward, placing himself between the priest and the enforcer.
"He doesn’t owe the divine anything. Especially not servitude for the rest of his life. If power means nothing but shackles, it’s better to live without it."
He said flatly.
The priest snarled and raised his hand to call upon divine magic again, but the enforcer moved first. In one clean strike, he ended the priest’s life, silencing him before he could spew another lie.
For a moment, the village square fell into complete silence.
Then came the screams.
The gathered villagers watched with wide, horrified eyes as the priest—their only link to salvation, their supposed lifeline—fell lifelessly to the ground.
Panic spread like wildfire. Mothers clutched their sick children, old men shook their heads, and one by one, villagers began to pick up stones, trembling with fear and anger.
"You ruined everything! He was our only hope!"
A man shouted.
"We needed him! My son... my son was going to be healed!"
Cried another, voice thick with tears.
Kyle stood firm, but the air around him grew thick with unrest.
Stones were thrown—small, desperate missiles of grief and hatred—and he raised his hand, letting out a controlled pulse of mana that sent the crowd stumbling backward. None were harmed, but the message was clear.
"Enough. You mourn the loss of comfort, but what you called salvation was a lie. Your families were never going to be healed. They were going to be fed to a god that sees you as fuel—nothing more."
Kyle said, voice laced with authority.
The crowd looked shaken but still wary, still lost.
Kyle turned to the enforcer.
"You can explain it to them. Tell them what was really going to happen. Or don’t. If you’re not ready, I’ll take the weight of their anger for you. That’s what I promised."
He said quietly.
The enforcer stared at the villagers.
Many of them had once spat at his feet, called him a monster, avoided his shadow.
But now, their lives had been tied to the same deceit that had bound him. They deserved to know the truth—even if they didn’t want it.
He took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"The priest lied to you. The donations, the rituals, the prayers—they were never for healing. They were offerings. Sacrifices. Every coin and heirloom you gave, every chant you whispered, brought the god closer to descending here."
He said, voice carrying over the crowd.
Gasps rang out. Several villagers dropped what they were holding. One man fell to his knees, shaking.
"And your sick?"
The enforcer continued.
"They were never going to get better. Their souls were going to be the final price paid—used to anchor the god’s form when it came into this world. You were never meant to survive."
A child clutched their mother, sobbing.
Silence fell once more.
Kyle placed a hand on the enforcer’s shoulder.
"That’s enough. You’ve done more than enough."
He said.
Somewhere in the back of the crowd, a woman began to cry. Others followed.
And then, without another word, the crowd began to disperse—shaken, broken, but finally freed from the lies that had gripped them for so long.
The enforcer let out a shaky breath.
"They’ll never forgive me."
Kyle looked out at the retreating villagers.
"They may not. But at least now, they get the chance to live. And you are free as well."
The enforcer nodded and whispered.
"Thank you."
Kyle didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Under the dim glow of the shattered temple’s remains, Kyle stood amidst the broken pieces of divine deception, his expression unreadable as he turned to the silent figure beside him.
The enforcer, now free from his shackles, looked lost for a moment, the weight of years of servitude pressing down on his shoulders.
His hands, once used to carry out divine commands without question, now trembled with uncertainty.
"You’re free now. What you choose to do from here... it’s up to you. I’ve done my part."
Kyle said calmly.
The former enforcer remained quiet, then slowly lowered himself to one knee in front of Kyle, his head bowed with both reverence and desperation.
"My name is Rudra. Once, I was the divine enforcer of Goddess Seraphina. I was her sword, her shield... her pawn."
He said.
Kyle frowned, not entirely pleased with the way the man lowered himself.
"Then be free of her. You don’t need to follow anyone anymore."
He said.
Rudra raised his head, eyes burning with something raw.
"I... don’t know how to live for myself."
He confessed.
"All my life, I’ve followed orders. I was taught that obedience was everything. Without direction, I am... nothing."
"That’s not true. You made your own decision tonight. You chose to think for yourself. That’s more than most people ever do."
Kyle replied, folding his arms.
Rudra shook his head.
"It wasn’t strength. It was fear. I was afraid of returning to that life. I want to believe in something else now. I want to believe in you."
Kyle stiffened.
"You’re choosing to serve another person again?"
"I am. But this time, it’s my decision. I won’t be a weapon used by divine hands. I will wield my own purpose. I will walk the path you carve, even if it is through hell. Let me serve under you, not as a slave, but as a follower of my own free will."
Rudra nodded.
Kyle exhaled, weary.
"You’re making a mistake if you think walking with me will bring peace. I’m not a savior, Rudra. I’m a man dragging everyone into a war against gods. There’s no glory in what’s coming."
"I don’t seek glory. I seek meaning. And in you, I see someone who stands for something real. That’s enough."
Rudra said.
There was silence between them, the night wind rustling the broken shards of faith scattered on the ground.
"Very well. If you’re so determined... then come. But know this, Rudra: you’ll bleed, you’ll suffer, and you’ll question everything before we’re done. The path ahead is one of fire."
Kyle finally said.
"I understand. Let the fire burn away what’s left of the man I used to be."
Rudra said, standing tall.
Kyle gave a half-smile, weary but accepting.
"Then let’s go."
They made their way back toward the camp, the sky slowly beginning to lighten at the horizon. When they arrived, Bruce and Melissa stood on alert, clearly waiting for Kyle.
Their expressions shifted to wariness when they saw the unfamiliar man beside him.
"This is Rudra. He’s with us now."
Kyle said simply.
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
"Another stray, huh?"
Rudra inclined his head respectfully.
"I am no stray. I am a blade that has chosen its wielder."
Melissa looked at Kyle, uncertain.
"Are you sure this is wise?"
"No."
Kyle admitted.
"But it’s necessary. He knows their tactics. He knows their rituals. And most importantly, he chose this path on his own. That makes him more trustworthy than half the lords we’ve met so far."
Rudra stood quietly, letting the tension pass over him without comment. He’d grown used to suspicion. In truth, he welcomed it. It was better than blind obedience.
Kyle placed a hand on his shoulder.
"This is the beginning. If you regret your decision, now’s your last chance."
"There’s nothing left to regret."
Rudra said.
Kyle nodded once.
"Then stay sharp. The real hardship starts now. We’re not just going to fight. We’re going to end this war—once and for all."
Follow current novels on freewe(b)novel.c(o)m