Crimson Overlord-Chapter 299: Raised to the Ground 1

The forest floor was already bathed in shadow, the dense canopy overhead filtering the last rays of the setting sun into dappled light. Long fingers of gold stretched between the trunks of ancient oaks and firs, illuminating a carpet of emerald moss and fallen leaves in a thousand shades of amber, ochre, and rust. The air, heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine needles, held a hushed expectancy, the symphony of birdsong replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the chirp of crickets.

In this cathedral of nature, a stark contrast stood – a mammoth white tent, it’s modern lines and synthetic fabric seeming to defy the organic world around it. Its geodesic dome, a perfect sphere, stretched taut, catching the fading light and reflecting it in an ethereal glow. From a distance, it might have been a giant, otherworldly pearl nestled amongst the trees.

As you approached, the hum of activity became audible. Voices, though muffled by the canvas walls, carried the energy of anticipation. Floodlights, strategically placed around the perimeter, cast the tent in a soft, artificial light, banishing the encroaching darkness. Here, in this clearing carved from the heart of the ancient forest, a temporary haven had been erected, a bubble of human ambition and ingenuity poised against the timeless serenity of the woods.

A big tent, impossibly white and modern, had been installed in the heart of the forest. Its geodesic dome, a perfect sphere, stretched taut, catching the fading light of the setting sun and reflecting it in an ethereal glow. From a distance, it might have been a giant, otherworldly pearl nestled amongst the towering trees.

This magnificent tent was the personal property of none other than Leon himself. At this moment, Leon found himself in a state of frustration, sitting inside the tent, contemplating his current predicament.

Suddenly, a mysterious figure materialized beside him, swiftly dropping to one knee.

"Greetings, Your Highness. They have failed," the figure uttered.

Upon hearing this news, Leon’s anger erupted like a volcano. He impulsively hurled a mug at the figure, who, to his surprise, made no effort to dodge and allowed the mug to shatter against his mask.

"You are utterly useless! Incapable of handling a single individual. Hire more assassins!" Leon shouted in frustration, only to be met with silence, prompting him to inquire further.

"What?" Leon questioned.

The shadow hesitated for a fleeting moment before delivering a piece of shocking information.

"The Blood Hall has been utterly destroyed," the shadow revealed.

"What?!" Leon exclaimed, instantly springing to his feet. He could hardly fathom the gravity of the news he had just received. The sheer audacity of someone capable of wiping out such a powerful and sinister organization sent shivers down his spine. Although not the most dominant force, the Blood Hall ranked among the top three dark organizations. The fact that they could vanish after a few missions aimed at eliminating Orpheus was incomprehensible.

"Go back. I will reach out to my mother," Leon muttered, feeling his strength drain from his body as he dismissed his shadow.

°°°°

Let us rewind time by two hours.

Orpheus, ensuring that the others were soundly asleep, skillfully slipped away and made his way towards the empire. He was on a mission to eradicate a particular organization and satiate his insatiable thirst for blood.

Wratharis Empire, capital Neon.

The Rusty Nail wasn’t much to look at. From the corrugated metal roof, rusted a rusty nail, permanently claiming the bar’s name. The walls, if you could call them that, were a patchwork of mismatched boards, some painted in peeling blues and greens, others bare, revealing the splintered wood beneath. A single flickering bulb cast a dim, yellow glow over the scene.

Inside, the air hung thick with the smell of spilled beer, sweat, and woodsmoke. A rickety wooden counter, scarred and worn, ran most of the length of the bar. Behind it, Mama Jabari, a woman with a booming voice and a laugh that could crack concrete, poured drinks with practiced ease. Her customers were a motley crew: weary day laborers nursing cheap rum, young men with bravado in their eyes and trouble brewing, and a lone gambler nursing his sorrows at a corner table.

Music, if you could call it that, throbbed from a beat-up cassette player. Salsa one minute, reggae the next, the rhythm a constant counterpoint to the conversations, arguments, and occasional bursts of laughter that filled the air. The air itself was hot and sticky, thick with cigarette smoke curling towards the grime-coated ceiling.

Despite the rough exterior, there was a strange sense of community in the Rusty Nail. Here, everyone was equal – for the price of a drink, you could find solace, companionship, or a temporary escape from the harsh realities of life in the slum. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

Orpheus pushed open the old, squeaky door of the Forgotten Tavern, its dim amber light spilling onto the worn-out street like a feeble beacon. The abrupt transition from the pitch-black darkness outside was momentarily unsettling, but his piercing sapphire eyes quickly adjusted to the smoky haze that hung thick in the air.

The tavern was a cacophony of disorder. A motley crew of outcasts occupied the stools that lined the weathered wooden counter, each face etched with the tales of a rugged existence. Big Lucy, a formidable figure in a vibrant floral dress that strained against her robust frame, boomed a farewell to a departing customer, her voice resonating with hearty laughter. The music, a chaotic fusion of jazz and blues, emanated from a forgotten corner, barely audible amidst the hum of conversations and occasional bursts of boisterous mirth.

With his enigmatic sapphire eyes and an aura of quiet authority, Orpheus stood out like a peacock in a flock of chickens. Heads turned, conversations faltered, then resumed in hushed tones as the patrons sized him up with a blend of curiosity and suspicion. Unperturbed, Orpheus strolled towards the bar, his movements exuding an unsettling elegance.

"Good evening, Big Lucy," he greeted the bartender, his voice smooth as silk. "The usual, if you would be so kind, and make it a double tonight."

Big Lucy raised a skeptical eyebrow, her gaze lingering on Orpheus’ piercing eyes for a moment longer than necessary. "New face ’round these parts," she rumbled, her voice surprisingly gentle for someone of her stature.

"You better have enough coin for that ’usual’ of yours. This ain’t no charity establishment."

Orpheus chuckled a low sound that sent shivers down the spines of those nearby. Delving into his cloak, he produced a seemingly bottomless pouch, extracting a hefty chunk of gleaming gold even in the dim lighting. Big Lucy’s skepticism vanished, replaced by a glimmer of respect in her eyes.

"Welcome to the Forgotten Tavern," she said, accepting the gold and wiping it on her apron with practiced ease.

"What brings a gentleman like yourself to this fine establishment?"

Leaning in closer, Orpheus let his piercing gaze sweep across the room.

"Just passing through," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"In search of some information, perhaps a rare treasure that may be hidden away in your possession."

The air crackled with unspoken tension. Big Lucy, a woman who had witnessed it all during her years at the Forgotten Tavern, remained unfazed.

"Information comes at a price," she remarked, a knowing glint in her eye.

"And rare treasures come at an even steeper cost. Are you certain you possess the means to acquire what you seek?"

Orpheus smiled, a slow, chilling smile that did little to assuage the uneasy patrons.

"Let’s just say," he drawled, his crimson eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity, "I have a knack for making things... intriguing."