To Duke Vistrias, the title didn’t amount to much from the start. He was always a devout follower of Lord Theyios. For him, even if it was to delve in to a pool of lava to burn his mortal husk, he’d do it gladly if it was for Theyios. His eyes narrowed in displeasure as he regarded Chernakoff.
The Head of the Holy Knight Order himself, Chernakoff set a poor example as the head of the unit that was regarded as the ‘Hand of Theyios’, carrying out the Lord’s will in the world. A position Vistrias greatly envied, but did not desire as much. Although to do the bidding of the Lord was something Vistrias greatly wanted to do, his own position as Duke was much more important to him. Dukes were meant to serve the Lord himself, to be lucky enough to be graced with his presence. Even above the Dukes were the Priests, who were almost always in close proximity to the Lord. The one person the Vistrias loved more next to the Lord was the Oracle. The tongue of the Lord.
The entirety of the Ars continent bent their knees towards Lord Theyios. The entire continent was controlled by the Conclave. The Conclave dominated the Ars continent, even the Emperor himself. The Imperial Capital was where they operated out of. Vistrias turned back to look at the abysmal ice sea stretching out beyond the cliff they were on. The sight was surely fantastic to see. On the icy coast, lay the giant corpse of the Frost Horn. They had recovered some of the meat for their dinner. Beyond the coast was an icy surface that looked as smooth as a mirror. It stretched on for miles and miles, until it met with the sky at the end. The treacherous Glaca-Muer. Vistrias thought, regarding the infamous death trap.
After the God’s death here, the entire space had become inhospitable to humans, to the extent of the entire area being frozen to the core. Only the crystals were keeping Vistrias and the rest alive from the biting cold. If not, they would’ve already been ice sculptures.
As he bit in to the tough, undercooked meat, Vistrias turned to look at the camp. It was a shoddy couple of tents which seemed extremely fragile next to the frigid landscape. The Golden Sun, or what was left of it, sat around the flickering fire, staring into the dying embers. There was barely any firewood here, and even that took magic to burn. Vistrias sighed as he remembered Chernakoff’s words. ‘Does Lord Theyios really care about us?’ Abruptly, his memories from his visit with the Conclave emerged in his mind.
“Duke Vistrias.” The ancient sounding voice emerged from the shadowy recesses of the Conclave’s Chamber. Vistrias kept his head down and remained silent. He had only been there once before in his life, when he had been made Duke. When he had left then, he had only managed to catch a glimpse of the powerful Conclave. “Raise thine head, Duke Vistrias.”
Elated that he was able to look at them, he turned to look up. When one enters the Conclave Chamber, it was an unspoken order that one should never look up and always look down at the floor. It was an enormous domed chamber, with inscriptions all over the walls, radiating powerful power. Near the top of the dome, stained glass windows decorated with intricate designs surrounded the apex. Vistrias guessed that they sat within the glassed rooms.
“Has Lord Theyios spoken to thy?” The ancient voice continued. Vistrias nodded solemnly. “Good. Now tell us what he has said to thy.” Vistrias took a deep breath and narrated his experience with the Oracle. His voice echoed throughout the enormous chamber. The loneliness Vistrias felt, standing in the middle of a dome, being scrutinized by the most powerful people of the continent, gave him an unexpected chill down the spine.
Vistrias had heard that the Conclave consisted of the Head Priest and the Primo Apostle. Other than that, there were rumors that other powerful members of the Clergy, the Church of Theyios were also present. It was one of the most religious groups, and Vistrias felt humility in front of them. As he finished, the silence continued. Unable to see who he was speaking to, Vistrias shifted uncomfortable. “Very well. If our merciful Lord has given thy this mission, then carry it out with pride.”
As Vistrias began to leave, noises of protest echoed down, and the ancient voice, now a bit panicky, struggled to control the commotion. Puzzled, Vistrias stopped and looked back up. The ancient voice, filled with anger, had expelled him from the chamber for stopping.
The Conclave is weakening. Vistrias thought, twisting around a piece of the bone in his hand. On the mainland, it would’ve been priceless, but in this dismal hell, Vistrias only felt contempt for it. Funny how coming here can change your perspective… If the Conclave falls due to infighting, then Vreede will invade, and it will only be a matter of time before my blood dyes the ground. Vistrias clenched his fist in frustration. If only I was more powerful!
The Ars and Vreede continents were always at each other’s throats, with frequent skirmishes occurring near the borders of the two giants. The only thing that prevented an all out war from occurring was the Viriel mountain range, a giant system of mountains that separated the two powerful entities. If it hadn’t been for the fact that crossing over to one would essentially be weakening their own strength, the two continents would’ve become one by now. Vistrias sighed again, a fine mist forming before his mouth.
It had been a month since they set off from the Ars continent, traversing across the cold peaks of the Guardian mountain range, across the icy Glace-Muer and finally ending at the edge of the world, the God’s graveyard. For weeks they travelled with haste, losing three of their comrades as they headed to the edge of the Graveyard. And after days of continuous battles and difficulties, the Golden Sun arrived at the edge of the world, the top of a sky high cliff. As they peered down the cliff, Chernakoff gasped with surprise, mirroring the others’ expression.
Just beneath one of the coldest points of the coldest areas of Redorias, was a lush green forest. It spread for miles beyond, with five mountain peaks rising far away, covered with trees. Birds flew near the mountains, indicating life. And they weren’t monster birds, but rather normal birds, the first ones they had seen in a month. Vistrias gaped at the sight, unable to believe his eyes. He wondered if it was a hallucination, but the fact that the others saw it too confirmed it. A gust of wind buffeted them, the first hint of actual warmth. But as soon as it passed them, it seemed to turn ice cold.
“Th-this… this is the end of the world…?” Chernakoff stammered. His eyes were trained on the expansive forest, not taking them off. Vistrias mutely nodded, still feeling too overwhelmed by the sight. “The edge of the darkest place is a paradise…” One of the knights, Luhteran said. Vistrias rested his hand on the pommel of Bloodweaver and shook himself of his disbelief. Straightening, he managed to bark. “Let’s go. Our Lord obviously wanted us to come here.” Saying so, he set off down the cliff, followed by the still astounded knights.
As they got to the base of the cliff, a sudden change came over the atmosphere. The previously stone cold air suddenly turned pleasantly warming, shocking them. With trembling fingers, Vistrias retrieved his spell crystal and deactivated the protection spell, letting the heat fully wash over him. They were soon sopping wet as all the ice that had accumulated on them completely melted away.
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“Vistrias… This is surely a powerful enchantment.” Chernakoff observed. Vistrias nodded as he replied, “Not just an enchantment. This… the air itself is powerfully saturated with mana. There is no doubt that at least a thousand enchantments are working together to reproduce the effects of a God level magic…” “God class?!” Chernakoff staggered backwards. Vistrias waved him off as he replied. “A God class magic is not as rare as you think. The Floating Mountain in Maoin is a complicated piece of natural magic. The power used to maintain that enchantment is surely God Class. And don’t get me started on the Dark Fortress’s Reh-gia Cannon Arsenal. That monster might even be an upper tier God class, or a lower tier Transcendental. Although Apocalypse is the only single piece of God class magic, several spell networks can reproduce the strength of higher spells.”
“Is it… Synergy, Duke Vistrias?” Arytus, another one of the knights questioned. “Yes. Complementing a spell with another to enhance its effect. Even our Magic unit is developing some. What do you think the last explosion was?” Vistrias said. They proceeded towards the forest, pondering Vistrias’s words.
As they silently walked towards the gigantic embrace of the greenery, Chernakoff broke the silence. “Vistrias… How could such a secret be hidden? Such a forest at the edge of the world… It’s impossible for it to be hidden…”
“Chernakoff, you should remember, we used about 70 Antifreeze crystals to travel through the coldest areas, facing against a Frost horn and all the other horrors of this god forsaken land. And that was because it was the Lord’s command. Do you think anyone with a sane mind would begin such an expedition here just for simple curiosity?” Vistrias questioned back. Chernakoff mutely nodded as they finally reached the edge of the forest.
“Wh-what’s that?” Luhteran yelled, drawing his sword. Like the air above a flame, the space a mere five feet away from them suddenly begin shimmering. As if responding to their tensing, the air vibrated even faster until it broke like a pane of glass-
Revealing a man.
He wore a grey cloak, completely covering his figure. The cloak spread out around him, making him look exceptionally large. The hood of the cloak covered most of his figure, but Vistrias managed to catch a glimpse of the shriveled chin just beneath the peak of the hood. The figure immediately bowed its head, hiding even that. “We are the Golden Sun, unit of the Holy Knight Order, the Hand of God. We come here with a mission from our lord to slay the Chaos in the north. Who are you?” Vistrias questioned. An old voice emanated from beneath the hood, giving an appearance of extreme age.
“Boys? No. Mere babes. What are you doing here? Did you get lost? I’m sorry, but I don’t have any candy.” The voice spoke, with an apparent trace of haughtiness. It sounded tired, like he was exasperated with the world, and that Vistrias was merely a distraction. Although he was not one to be irked to soon, Vistrias, annoyed with the dismalness of the land, immediately went for his sword. But before he could even draw it out an inch, Chernakoff jumped forward, uttering a savage growl. The others knights seemed to be the same as they drew their swords. His sword at the ready, Chernakoff prowled closer to his prey with surprising sloppiness. But Vistrais did not care to advise him. After all, he felt very much the same. But some part of rationale arrested him, stopping him from jumping to action. Wariness overriding his eagerness, he watched.
“Eh?” Vistrias blinked once more, for what he saw, there was no way that it was true.
Within the span of his blinking, the sight that was revealed to him was two headless corpses. Chernakoff appeared to be bound by fear as he stopped his advance. A voice in the back of Vistrias’s head snorted in derision as he realized that the only reason Chernakoff hadn’t died was because he was too scared to head into the fray. Slowly, Vistrias raised his eyes.
The shriveled, long fingers of the old man clutched at the hair of the heads of the two knights. Their expressions were fierce and bloodthirsty. With a chill, Vistrias realized that they must have died without even realizing why. Dangerous! Vistrias’s instincts screamed, telling him to run. But he could not. His muscles felt deadened, like his whole body had turned to lead. His hand still on the pommel of the BloodWeaver, Vistrias watched on. Chernakoff seemed to be in a similar situation, fear soaking his pants.
The old man got to his feet at his own leisure, like he had all the time in the world. Vistrias’s eyes widened as he realized that the blood that spilled from the corpses seemed to be moving-moving towards the man. It flowed into him, vanishing into the voluminous folds of his robe. The corpses whitened to the shade of chalk, devoid of blood. With a sigh, the man dropped the heads. His hands, now noticeably less shriveled, moved up, drawing back the hood.
It was not the hint of an old man that Vistrias had seen. It was a man of incomparable beauty, with ceramic like skin and a lean face. His eyes were angled, holding two of the most wonderful jewels in the whole world- one blue and the other red- which seemed to radiate unearthly light. Vistrias, unprepared with this development, could only watch on.
“During war, the blood boils… I never knew my powers were publicized to this extent…” The man muttered, his voice nothing like the previous ancient one. It was mellifluous, like honey that flowed smoothly into their ears. The man regarded them with his eyes, the heterchromia of his eyes unnerving Vistrias. “For years I have been chained here, restrained by the gods and their lackeys, to forever guard this infernal place from outsiders. They took my power from me, cursing me.” He walked forwards, and slowly raised his hand, pointing it towards Chernakoff.
Chernakoff froze. Vistrias knew what would happen. Another head would be taken. But no matter how much he held Chernakoff in contempt, to Vistrias, he was his lifelong comrade.
With a yell that seemed to shatter the bonds that held him, Vistrias dove forward. The Bloodweaver flew out of its sheath, cutting an arc as it cleanly sliced off the man’s arm. With a spray of blood, it flew into the air. The man’s eyes widened as he stared at Vistrias. However, he pushed out once with his other hand, sending Vistrias smashing into a tree. Feeling that something within him broke, Vistrias yelled with what he could, “Run Chernakoff!”
He felt a bit disgusted when he saw that the one he had risked his life to save, had already ran away. Watching the situation, the man laughed out loud. It was a laugh like none other, a laugh that was so unearthly that it seemed to wash away Vistrias’s pain. He struggled to his feet, trying to hoist his sword. The man regarded Vistrias with amusement, and a trace of admiration. “The mainlanders seem to have grown! Very good child! You have impressed me. As a reward, I shall tell you my identity.”
Coughing out blood, Vistrias managed to muster up a reply. “Come at me, you vampire dog.” The man smirked in amusement as he began walking towards Vistrias. A similar feeling enveloped Vistrias as he once more turned immobile. The man waved his hand, and the detached hand flew through the air, connecting with his stump. “Very good! You recognized me. I would’ve thought that my.. unique powers would shield my identity more.”
As Vistrias watched, he observed that the man’s skin was turning dry again, his beauty fading once more. He winced noticeably as he discovered Vistrias’s observation. But he did not comment on it. “I am Radmien El Triestoren. Not exactly a vampire, but the vampire. I am the father of vampires. I am the Vlad.”
Dread filled Vistrias as he remembered the tales his mother used to tell him before he slept. The Vlad. The terror that plagued the lands, the Lord of Blood. The Conclave… They sealed such a monster here?! Vistrias was blinded by shock. “I see you’ve at least heard of me. And you can observe… my condition. You see, the primordial forces created me, and for great power, they took something away from me. Unless I continued to feast on life blood, I would turn frail, and weak. I could not hold on to my power for long. And so I had to live like that, to depend on human blood every few minutes, lest I die.” The man stopped, taking a deep breath. He was mere inches away from Vistrias, yet he couldn’t move a muscle.
“You might wonder, why I have survived till now then. Well, luckily for me, a diet of life essence can support me… to a certain extent. However, back to where I was. Well, there was a great smith during that time, the Blacksmith is what he called himself. With his transcendent control over the arts of smithery, he crafted for me a weapon. A weapon that would hold blood for me, make me self sufficient. A weapon so wonderful, I took my title after it.”
“I am Radmien El Tiestoren, the Weaver of Blood.” He declared solemnly as his hand plunged through Vistrias’s heart. He felt his blood being drained away, his life being drained away. Trembling he looked up to see the man take the Bloodweaver. He gazed at it lovingly, like a father would his daughter. Gasping, Vistrias collapsed. The blood formed a trail as it led into the sword, its glow strengthening as it rejoined its master. “And this is my blade, the Bloodweaver.”
His joyful smile was the last thing Vistrias saw before he faded into oblivion.
Stroking his beloved blade, Radmien turned his sites to the south. In his eyes burned complex emotions, and he spoke with difficulty. “You have returned to me my blade and fulfilled your promise. I… I owe you a favor.” The southern sky flashed and rumbled, seemingly in response.
“The Weavers shall rise again. Last time, we failed. This time, we will surely awaken Father. Whatever the cost.” Radmien declared as he began moving south.
Miles away from the God’s Graveyard, above the Padziel Sea that separated the Central continents and the demonic continent of Grimoi, a figure flew through the turbulent clouds. His blue hair whipped about with the rush of the wind, but a calm smile played on his face. A faint smirk appeared as he thought out loud. “Those priest idiots will learn to not underestimate us. They will never see it coming. To be your dogs? Not for long!”
He sped towards the Ars Continent, the gigantic head of a snake floating behind him, its eyes lifeless.