An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege-Chapter 11: The End of Pride...2

A surge of warmth spread through him, an unfamiliar energy filling his veins—a strength he had never possessed before. He had never felt such comfort, even as his skull felt on the verge of splitting apart.

Whatever had happened before was of little consequence, so long as it granted him this fleeting sense of ease.

If others could endure their own mediocrity, surely he could choose to ignore everything and live as he pleased. He could remain the little count his parents had brought into this world, embrace the life his nobility afforded him, govern his territory, worship the Eternal Flame, and offer unwavering loyalty to Astrea and the Emperor.

But he refused to resign himself to such a life of mediocrity.

Though born among the lowest of the noble strata, fate had granted him far more. Soon... all of Astrea would kneel beneath his feet, his every word shifting the winds and commanding the rain.

If only that damned—

His thoughts were abruptly cut off as his mind trembled, struck by terror.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

"Careful now, little pride."

The voices slithered into his ears, both broken and whole, so vastly different that they might as well have been the same. It felt as though they had always been there, lurking in the depths of his mind.

He wanted to retort, to declare that he was no one's dog and that he would bark as he pleased. But fear gripped him, and shame followed swiftly after.

"Fuck."

"Why?"

"Why wasn't I born stronger?"

"Why must I be at the mercy of some deranged being?"

His words were nothing more than a feigned protest, a hollow resistance he knew would amount to nothing.

Lost in thought, he barely registered the distant shuffle of movement. It had to be Adler—that scoundrel. As if the entity tormenting him were not enough, he had to endure the agonizing presence of his so-called butler.

A man so perfect Krael wondered whether he was truly as foolish as he wished him to be.

Why have all that power if all you were going to do with it was to serve another?

A powerful man... a very powerful being.

Adler claimed they were close in age—scoff! As if Krael would believe such a blatant lie.

Adler was a man who simply overestimated himself by choosing to play the long game.But Krael would soon reveal the true reality. Now that he had signed that damned contract, all the power meant for him would be his.

In Astrea, where the lines between races blurred beyond recognition, origins were often untraceable. Adler was stranger than most, his oddity impossible to pinpoint—a fact that only fueled Krael's distrust.

Adler professed lifelong loyalty, vowing to serve even beyond death, his devotion unwavering. Yet, despite his honeyed words, Krael remained wary. The man had a way with speech that made him tolerable, even likable at times, though his words often felt laced with hidden derision. Krael chose to ignore it, but he would never let his guard down.

Loyal or not, Adler was a serpent—cunning and patient, waiting for the opportune moment to strike; he didn't need to be the smartest person in Astrea to say that much.

It would soon be time to face his subjects before his sly uncle unraveled all that his parents had painstakingly built.

The Town of Maesta stood strong despite the relentless pressures of nobility, a testament to their efforts.

Reputation—no, the mantle of influence—was everything to the Walkers, though he was not truly a Walker yet.

But with this contract, things will soon fall into place. All he has to do was survive the awakening.

He glanced at his transformed appearance and sighed. No matter how he looked at it, these were the markings of a slave claimed by the highest bidder.

And he had simply sold himself to madness incarnate.

But no matter... all roads have the same purpose. To get you where you were going.

It does not matter whether it was of the shittiest quality or whether every inch was inlaid with diamonds and rubies. The matter at hand was that you reach your destination.

Krael might have remained oblivious to the treacherous game his uncle played, manipulating the influence left behind by his parents to serve his own ambitions.

Should his uncle succeed, his claim to Krael's title would have solidified, leaving Krael titleless and powerless.

And how had he come to learn of all this?

The power of influence, the things he once thought of less impostance, due to his own ego and arrogance? Well...

Whispers. Maddening whispers from the entity that ensured his ignorance was never an option.

To this being, Krael was nothing more than a form of entertainment, a mere pawn to be toyed with at its leisure. Time and time again, it had proven as much.

Perhaps that was why he had never accepted the contract it offered—a contract that promised unfathomable power with just the least of efforts.

Glory. Authority.

Yet his pride would not allow him to take the easy path.

He had told himself that he would carve out his own destiny, proving that he alone was enough. That he had never needed the entity's handouts.

But then it had spoken words that haunted him still.

"You think I care for the contract?"

Laughter, mocking, and cruel.

"Hahaha... You are more naive than I thought, little pride."

"You never had a choice in the first place."

"All I'm doing is letting the flames simmer, waiting for your fury to boil over until your own pride becomes your greatest burden."

"Then you will accept my terms, one way or another. Until then, good luck clinging to your pathetic arrogance."

Years had passed, yet those words still gnawed at his mind.

To be handed power was something he could not stomach—even in his own weakness.

But in the end, all that boasting was for nothing. A pathetic victory, a beaten body, a beaten soul, a shaken will, a powerless struggle. Was all he needed to understand that pride was only worth it if you had a mountain to bear its weight.

Back to the matter at hand.

The mantle of influence was an elusive, enigmatic force. Like an unseen halo. It required cultivation just as much as personal strength.

Few understood it, but all could feel its presence. It was instinctual.

And this was why many guarded their public image so fiercely, more so those with noble status—for the mantle of influence could shape the trajectory of one's very existence.

The knowledge came to him in whispers, trickling into his ears unbidden, never ceasing. At times, he questioned what was real and what was illusion. He remembered everything, yet nothing at all. The paradox drove him to madness, overwhelming him with its ceaseless torrent.

The voice tormented him, yet he craved it all the same—awaiting its revelations like a beggar desperate for a noble's favor.

It sickened him.

How far had he fallen without even realizing it?

And yet, he accepted it. He could not refuse. He absorbed every morsel of knowledge without complaint, his mind pried open to truths he should never have known.

He knew of the malevolence that enveloped Astrea, severing it from greater reality. To many, Astrea was the only world—the only existence. But those in power understood the vastness beyond.

He knew of the vast truths about the Surge that struck every five years, of the Silent Lurker and her cursed offspring, and of the sorrow that consumed Astrea in each cycle. He understood why so many perished, yet Astrea's light only burned brighter.

He knew why the Diearch was revered and the mysteries his lineage presented.

He knew how the city of Astrea had come to be, the truth buried beneath its shadows.

He knew so much that, at times, he forgot it all.

Perhaps, in more ways than one, he was broken.

Just like the Weeping Sisters—puppets, forced to dance upon the strings of cruelty.

No mercy had ever been shown to them.

And now they would all suffer for the sins of others.