Alice continued to spar and train even when the exhaustion was pushing her not to. She needed to be ready for whatever may lie ahead. They had no clear next step. Alice realized it and so did the others. So far in their journey each step was clearly laid out and planned for. They had destinations to go to and people they needed to meet.
Alice found it a strange break in the life she had started getting used to. Ever since receiving the mantle of hero, she was sent to wherever she was needed. First, it was noticed by the guards due to her innate swordsmanship abilities. Then she met more people in the guard and military until she met Marcus. He was the first to see the ‘hero’ potential within her. It took a bit longer for them to confirm that she was the hero before she was thrust along to the next task and step. A sword master was needed, and Elias answered the call. Next, they had to go south toward the capital and so on. Her life was structured and clear in what she needed to do. Every step she needed to be a hero was clear.
Now though she felt herself treading the waters of indecision. They had already been at the Sword Temple for almost a week. She had formed a good understanding of the fifth and final moves. All she had left to do in that regard was test her sword against the corrupted monsters once more. Alice had even learned how to manipulate her Sword Breath so that it cleansed the area around her. It was a blessing that she was happy to receive now.
Now she had learned nearly all she could from the Sword Temple. She felt it was time to move on soon. The question was where. The corruption had spread everywhere and inched closer to the capital every day. And its effects could be felt far past the capital. Her first instinct was to head back to the Witch Coven. They had sheltered them and protected them when they needed help. Their people had the power to fight off some of the corruption. But they didn’t have enough power. They had died while she had left.
Alice's thoughts were heavy as she stood amidst the burgeoning life of the temple grounds, the greenery a stark contrast to the somber mood that gripped her heart. The Witch Coven, once a haven of mystical knowledge and power, now lay in ruins—a casualty of the spreading corruption she was fighting to eradicate. She remembered the faces of the witches, their voices, and their teachings.
It was a place she couldn’t return to no matter how badly she wished. All that was left was memories. She knew that she would not find solutions there. What she needed was to find the core of the corruption and destroy it. Only after it was gone could she cleanse the rest while sure that it could not continue to grow.
The capital was not the place to go either. It was clean of the corruption that she knew of and had been for decades. What she was searching for was not there. If she could find hints and the location of the source of the corruption then it would be in the library of the Sword Temple.
Alice entered the storeroom library. It had been rearranged a little since the last time she had entered. She had less time recently. However, that was self-imposed more than a requirement. Inside Thompson was set up in a corner reading. He had adjusted some book stacks and found a chair from one of the other buildings and brought it in to be more comfortable. He looked up from his reading.
“Do you need anything?” he asked.
“I am looking for some new reading material on corruption. Has anything stuck out to you? I am particularly interested in books about the recent present-day spread of corruption.”
“I have a stack over there,” he said while pointing over to a smaller stack. “I would search through the newer-looking books with less wear and dust.”
“Thanks.” She started searching through the indicated stack and carefully moved the older books that were on the edge of falling apart. Alice coughed and turned away as dust spread through the air. Two of the books stood out to her. They had fresher bindings and didn’t have peeling covers. She found a corner to read in and opened up the first book.
As a scholarly chronicler, I have to document these events, their roots deeply embedded in ancient prophecies long dismissed as mere folklore. These are the events that I know are true in a lens that I hope is as unbiased as I can make it. I do hope that these events can be remembered and understood.
The world, in its quiet complacency, scarcely noticed the initial signs. Whispers of corruption, once a distant threat, began to echo through the corridors of power. It was not until the Corruption Cultists, emboldened by their mysterious leader, emerged from the shadows that the true extent of the impending darkness was realized.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
I recall the first time I heard the Cultists' chant, a haunting melody that seemed to seep into the very soul of the land. Their philosophy was apocalyptic: through corruption, they sought a cleansing, a rebirth of the world from its own ashes. Such radicalism was not new, but the fervor and organization behind it were unprecedented. It was a new wave of change that was bigger than I could imagine.
Their leader, cloaked in enigma, was a figure of both fear and fascination. Rumors of his dark powers and persuasive charisma spread like wildfire, drawing the disillusioned and the desperate into the Cult's fold. They prayed not to their leader, but to some dark god that would usher to them a living embodiment of the corruption and a vessel by which to continue unabated.
As the Cultists' influence grew, so too did the unsettling parallels with the Great Prophecy of old. I took some time to review the materials I could on the subject. This ancient text, often relegated to the realm of myth, spoke of a time when the world would be engulfed in corruption, heralding an era of darkness before a new dawn.
It is a subject that is to this day shrouded in mystery, but the accuracy of these parallels was chilling to that which I know to be true. The increasing frequency of corrupted creatures, once normal beings twisted by the Corruption Cult's dark magic, mirrored the Prophecy's warnings. These abominations roamed the land, spreading terror and furthering the Cult's agenda.
It became increasingly clear that the Cult's leader was not just another ambitious warlord but perhaps a key figure foretold by the Prophecy. His sudden, mysterious death only deepened the enigma. It was a moment of temporary relief, quickly overshadowed by a disturbing realization: the corruption did not die with him. It continued to spread, seeping into the land, the water, the very air we breathed.
With the Cult leader's demise, the kingdom faced a new challenge: the corruption itself had become the enemy. It was no longer a mere tool in the hands of the Cultists but a living, growing force that threatened to consume everything. We have had to deal with the splintering cultist factions and the results of their actions.
The kingdom rallied its forces, both mundane and magical, in a desperate effort to stem the tide. Battles were fought, not for territory, but for the soul of the land. Each victory was hard-won, and each defeat a blow to the hope of salvation. I have chronicled these battles in other volumes, the heroism and the horror, the acts of bravery and the depths of despair. The kingdom's finest warriors stood against corrupted beasts that defied nature, their forms grotesque parodies of once-familiar creatures.
As the war has raged on, the connection to the Great Prophecy became undeniable to me and many of my peers. The Cultists, though leaderless, seemed driven by a force beyond their understanding. The corruption, now uncontrolled, took on a life of its own, reshaping the land into a nightmarish landscape.
My studies led me to ancient texts, seeking answers, and clues to halt the spread. The Prophecy, once vague and allegorical, now reads like a grim roadmap to our present predicament. It spoke of a "cleansing darkness," a "corruption unbound," and a "final stand at the brink of despair."
The kingdom, once a beacon of light and order, found itself on the edge of this abyss. The corruption had to be stopped, but how? The answer, it seemed, lay not in the strength of arms but in understanding the nature of the corruption itself.
I still have not found a way to understand the nature of the corruption. Even as more towns and people fall I don’t have an answer. Perhaps it connects with the mystery of why the ‘hero’ has not been identified. I still have many questions that I hope that later scholars may answer. Will the hero be able to understand the corruption? It is at the forefront of my mind right now. Even as I may soon die like many others.
As I pen these words, the battle continues. The corruption is not yet vanquished, but I hope that the hero may be identified soon. I fear that the corruption by its nature will target the Coven and Sword Temple soon after this is written. While the hero is not around the corruption has free reign to destroy the last remnants of possible salvation.
In these chronicles, I have endeavored to capture not just the events, but the spirit of these times—the fear, the courage, the desperation, and the flickering flame of hope. This is not merely a record of darkness, but a testament to the resilience of the human spirit in the face of the greatest of adversities.
Note from the Chronicler: These words are more than history; they are a warning and a beacon for future generations. May they find wisdom in our struggles and courage in our resolve.
Alice closed the book and sighed. The tale was an interesting look at the times but was more of a general overview and not one with the specifics she was looking for. Though she couldn’t fault the man for writing it that way. He was just one man looking at the growing issue of the corruption. It was meant to tell the story from his perspective and highlight the events most pertinent to himself, mainly the Corruption Cultists that had seemingly started this whole thing. She set the book down and opened up the next book.