NOVPUB
Chapter 342: 342
As she surveyed the farmland, the princess spoke quietly but firmly, her gaze intense. "This land has yet to taste bloodshed, and I won’t allow that to change now." With that, she sank into the earth, leaving one final command behind: "Take care of these nuisances while I handle the priest."
Meanwhile, the priest, unburdened by the tree on his shoulder, moved quickly, retracing his steps. He went back beyond the boundary of the farmland, his sight shifted. Soon, he reached the town, only to find the bodies of his soldiers scattered across the ground, a familiar deep red mist curling over them. He felt a heavy dread at the sight of the Terra clan army amassed before him.
Looking at the army of Terra clan in front of him, The priest roared out loud to hype himself up as he ran towards them but instead of charging him, they parted, creating a clear path.
"Such arrogance," he muttered, taking their gesture as a sign of weakness, perhaps even an opportunity to escape. But after only a few steps, he stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching. A grim realization took hold, and a hollow chuckle escaped him, his voice tinged with bitterness.
There she stood in the center of a vast clearing that seemed crafted just for this confrontation. Walls of earth rose up around them, seamlessly formed by the clan’s magic, and as he looked closer, he saw the faces of the Terra warriors melding into the walls, watching him with solemn, almost mournful eyes.
The princess remained still, a formidable presence in the quiet. Her stance was relaxed, but there was a charged tension in her posture, like a coiled spring. She tilted her head as she studied him, and he tightened his grip on the apple tree. Her voice, soft but laced with authority, cut through the silence. "You took what was never yours to take. Did you truly think you could plunder this land and leave unscathed?"
The priest clenched his jaw, forcing himself to ignore the trembling in his hands. He was a high priest, a leader of the faithful, and he would not be cowed by these heathens, no matter how powerful they were. Yet, a sliver of doubt gnawed at him. The circle of warriors, the faces in the walls, the eerie silence—it felt as though the land itself had come alive to judge him.
Taking a deep breath, the priest removed his blood-stained robe, each layer peeled back as he wrestled with a whirlwind of thoughts. When had his devotion wavered, his purity been tainted? He had once held unshakable faith, but now, faced with a moment every devout follower of Björn would covet, he felt no joy—only dread.
Memories surfaced of the woman who had been reshaping their beliefs. She had spoken of coexistence, of lives beyond war and bloodshed. Was she right?
Had he been so far away from his culture and people that he began adopting the behaviors of humans, a behavior that his people once looked down upon.
When did politics become so alluring to him, One by one, he stripped off his rings, his human disguise fading. His true form emerged—massive, not lacking in size compared to the Terra clan and pale skin filled with muscle and a slightly bloated stomach but bearing a thick horn resembling a rhino, an unmistakable symbol of his heritage. His gaze drifted upward, the red dome receding, Signifying the death of the mages but his attention was snagged on a red star in the sky, a distant reminder of the god he served.
The princess watched the priest with newfound respect. She couldn’t quite understand what had shifted within him, but his aura now reminded her of the zealots she had just encountered and Killed—though this priest possessed a clarity they lacked, a control over the madness that simmered within.
Nonetheless no matter how the priest had changed, this was an honor he most certainly deserved "Why do you do all this princess, you could have had your army rush me?" She heard the priest asking her.
The princess regarded him carefully, her gaze sharp and calculating. She hadn’t missed the shift in his demeanor, the way he had shed his human-like guise to reveal his true form, and for the first time she felt a strange resonance of respect. He looked at her now, not without the arrogance he had displayed earlier but with a controlled fervor, a zeal tempered by self-reflection.
She met his gaze, her voice calm yet resolute. "Because some battles," she replied, "demand to be fought with honor."
She continued, "This was my father’s vision, a tradition he conceived after years of safeguarding this land. If ever an outsider—someone beyond the cursed clans—managed to escape the farmland with one of its treasures, we would reclaim what was taken. But as a mark of respect, my father believed such a person deserved an end befitting their own culture."
The priest blinked, surprise breaking through his hardened expression. He had known of theapelings reputation for unyielding loyalty to their traditions, but he hadn’t expected this... this honor.
"I’ve heard of the Björn people’s love for battle and the god you serve," she continued, her words deliberate. "It seemed only right to grant you that respect—a farewell that honors your beliefs, a glimpse of understanding between us. I know I would hate to meet my end far from the soil of my homeland. Perhaps, in this battle, you’ll find a piece of that closeness."
"I go by the name Myrrha, what’s your name warrior?" The princess asked the priest who hesitated before answering "Kjoric"
The priest lowered his head, his grip tightening around his weapon, and with a voice that was half a whisper and half a battle cry, he began his prayer to Björn.
"Oh, Björn, Lord of Madness and warfare, hear me now, In this moment far from home, surrounded by earth and iron. I stand not as a conqueror nor thief, but as one who knows the pull of battle’s edge.
Grant me madness in this final hour, the clarity of fury that sears all fear"
"Let the pulse of war pound through me, as it does in your veins. May my mind break its bindings and my body shed its limits, That I might be a vessel worthy of your reckless strength. Björn, be with me in the frenzied dance of blade and blood, So that when I fall, I fall not in silence but with the roar of the faithful".
"Witness my spirit, my god, for this is my offering: A soul that knows the beautiful madness of war and will never turn from it."
As the priest offered his fervent prayer, Björn, for the first time in years, felt pure faith energy flow toward him—a sensation that brought a rare, soothing clarity to his mind. Intrigued, he cast his gaze downward to discover the source of this devotion.
His expression shifted as he recognized the situation. For a moment, he thought he had found a priest who truly embodied his teachings, someone whose faith might persist. But now, as the scene unfolded, he realized that the priest stood at the edge of his own mortality, likely taking his last breaths.
Just as Björn began to draw back, his attention snagged on a faint connection—a thin, glistening thread visible only to him. It stretched from the princess to the priest, intertwining their fates. The priest, even in his final moments, had bound himself to this battle as an offering, his devotion manifesting in the form of this intangible thread. And now, as the princess prepared to engage, she too seemed to join in this worship, her focus unwittingly amplifying the faith directed at Björn.
Björn watched the impending battle with renewed interest, recognizing that regardless of the outcome, the surge of faith energy he would receive would offer a precious respite for his mind, warding off the creeping madness for a while longer.
The priest’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of fervor and delirium as he pressed his hands together, his whispered invocation to Björn filling the air with intensity. In response, a thin, golden shimmer enveloped his body, clinging to him like molten armor, pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. His breasts grew heavier, fueled by exhilaration. Across from him, the princess stood steady, her gaze solemn, a subtle tremor beneath her feet as if the earth itself awaited her command. The ground pulsed with her resolve, ready to spring to life under her control.
With a roar, the priest launched himself forward, closing the distance with alarming speed. His golden shield gleamed as he swung his fist, reinforced with power and shimmering with divine energy, aiming straight for the princess’s chest. She twisted gracefully to the side, and the earth responded to her unspoken command. A wall of stone surged upward to block his path, and he crashed into it with a thunderous impact, splintering rock and shaking the ground.
