The Guardian gods-Chapter 560

They sat up, heaving and drenched in sweat, blinking in the dim light of their warrens, the lingering shadows of their terror slowly receding. Meanwhile, the guards on the ramparts, their faces pale with recent fear, blinked rapidly, their gazes sweeping over the empty spaces where phantom figures had danced. They realized, with a profound sense of relief and lingering unease, that nothing had been there at all.

Among the ogres, the tension that had bristled between them evaporated as if by magic. Their raised weapons slowly lowered, and a deep flush of embarrassment spread across their rugged faces. They averted their gazes, unable to meet each other’s eyes, the echoes of their harsh words and suspicions hanging heavy in the air.

It was at this precise moment, cutting through the lingering silence of realization and the murmurs of recovery, that Kaelen’s voice resonated, clear and accurate, in the ears of every soldier, every mage, every ogre, and every ratfolk.

"Listen closely!" Kaelen’s voice boomed, imbued with a magical resonance that carried it across the entire encampment. "You were not imagining things. You were not weak. We have been under a direct, psychic assault from the demons. This land, corrupted by their presence, amplified their vile influence, turning our own minds against us. This was an enemy attack, as real as any blade or claw."

"Stay calm, and don’t fret. The mages have already taken action; the enemy’s attack has come to naught," Kaelen’s voice boomed, attempting to project unwavering confidence. "Just stay calm, keep your guard up, and trust in me and your comrades. The enemy’s goal is to sow division."

As Kaelen spoke, a deep frown creased his face. The atmosphere, which had momentarily cleared, was subtly returning to its previous oppressive state. He glanced towards Gorok and the fifth-tier mages. They, too, wore grim expressions, their brows furrowed as they instinctively began to recast their protective spell.

Clarity washed over the camp once more, but the mages weren’t relieved. Their frowns deepened, a silent understanding passing between them. The attack hadn’t gone away; it was merely pestering. The spell they’d woven, powerful as it was, only offered a fleeting respite, lasting mere minutes before needing to be cast again.

This dire news was relayed back to Kaelen, leaving him in a profound dilemma. He couldn’t tell his army they were facing a situation beyond their immediate control, that their sanity hung by a thread, contingent on constant magical intervention.

Yet, Kaelen didn’t have to say a word. The army felt the truth of their predicament with chilling immediacy. They were caught in a horrifying cycle, a constant oscillation between clarity and muddiness. One moment, they were perfectly fine, minds clear and focused. The next, they found themselves face-to-face with a comrade, eyes bloodshot and veins bulging, on the verge of succumbing to another terrifying hallucination or a fit of rage.

The entire camp spiraled into a state of disorder. Trust, so recently reaffirmed, began to fray. Soldiers instinctively recoiled from one another, suspicion lurking in their eyes, unsure if the person beside them was truly themselves or a monstrous figment of their twisted minds.

High above, veiled by the clouds, one of the sixth-tier mages had been observing. While the others maintained their aloof detachment, this particular Arch-Mage, attuned to the subtle flows of magical corruption, felt the disturbance. It wasn’t an overt spell, but a pervasive psychic resonance, an infection of the very ether. The growing chaos below, the sporadic cries, the tangible aura of fear and distrust rising from the fortress, confirmed the Arch-Mage’s suspicions.

With a silent sigh that echoed through the arcane layers of reality, the sixth-tier mage descended. Her form, usually a blur of distant power, became sharply defined as she plunged towards the afflicted fortress. Landing with a barely perceptible shimmer within the fortified perimeter, the mage wasted no time.

With a complex, flowing series of gestures, Her hands weaving intricate patterns in the air, a profound wave of energy emanated from them. This wasn’t an attack, but a cleansing. A shimmering, almost invisible barrier began to expand outwards from the mage, encompassing the entire fortress. This was a field of psychic inhibition, a powerful ward designed to cut off the fortress from the corrupting influence of the surrounding land. The air within the barrier immediately felt lighter, the oppressive psychic weight lifting. The ringing in Rattan’s ears subsided, the ogres’ paranoia seemed to recede, and the ratfolk’s frantic twitching lessened.

Kaelen, now a mere speck against the vast sky, locked eyes with the formidable Sixth-Tier Mage who quickly took to the sky, vanishing into the clouds once more. From his vantage point high above the fortress, he observed the immediate and potent activation of the magical shield. It shimmered with an intensity far surpassing the defensive spell conjured by Fifth-Tier Mages.

Ordinarily, such a robust defense would bring a surge of relief, but Kaelen’s heightened senses told a different story. The psychic assault, a relentless, unseen torrent, had not ceased. Despite the shield’s impressive display and the apparent calm it brought to the fortress below, the insidious attack continued to pound against it without mercy. The presence of a Sixth-Tier Mage at the helm instilled a false sense of security, leading many to believe that all was well.

Kaelen, however, felt the constant, unyielding pressure of the psychic force. He knew that even this powerful shield, born of high-tier magic, had its limits. His instincts screamed a grim truth: they had, at most, a week—perhaps even less—before the shield’s integrity would be compromised and it would inevitably fail. While the Sixth-Tier Mage could potentially prolong its effectiveness by frequently recharging it, doing so would directly contradict the very mission they had been assigned by the Empire. Their mandate was clear, and sacrificing it for constant shield maintenance was not an option.

The Sixth-Tier Mage’s dedication to maintaining the shield, while seemingly heroic, would inevitably leave her vulnerable to a surprise attack. This constant focus on defense also threatened her carefully cultivated image. While some might hail her as a savior for her efforts, to the mage herself, this was merely a fleeting act of kindness, a necessary action to ensure her ultimate objective was met. She harbored no illusions of being a servant to those she considered expendable pawns sent to their deaths.

Kaelen descended, landing softly on one knee. His hand instinctively reached out, gripping the corrupted earth. It pulsed ominously, filled with grotesque, dark-energy-infused flesh. A construct of pure energy shimmered into existence around his hand, encasing the vile sample. Time was of the essence; he had to decipher this enigma before it was too late.

"Gorok," Kaelen gestured, beckoning his companion closer. "Send word to War Councilor Vellok. I require some of my equipment back, vital for researching something that could be crucial to achieving our final goal." He paused, then added, "You can explain what transpired tonight if he questions my request." Gorok nodded, a dark, smoke-like energy swirling around him as he leaped into the air, transforming into a crow that quickly vanished into the gloom.

Kaelen was mid-sentence when a figure flashed through his mind. He looked down at the pulsating construct in his hand. Using his connection with the mages, he sent a message to Rattan: "Meet me in my tent. I have something that requires your presence."

Rattan, still reeling from the shock of the psychic assault, stared at the shimmering energy dome encasing the fortress. Kaelen’s words filled him with apprehension; this was their first official contact since his arrest. Yet, for some reason, the fear he expected wasn’t there. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t imagine how Kaelen could possibly make his life any more miserable than it already was, short of killing him.

As he walked toward Kaelen’s tent, Rattan straightened his attire. He felt conflicted: should he bow and kneel as he once had, or stand and await Kaelen’s purpose? Ultimately, he knelt, head bowed. "You requested for me, milord," he said, addressing Kaelen’s back. Kaelen was looking intently at something on a table.

"You still know how to bow before me," Kaelen’s voice was slightly cold. "I thought you might have forgotten that by now."

Rattan, calm within but feigning panic, replied, "This should be the least I can do for you, milord. It was I who put us in this position because I doubted you."

Kaelen’s hand clenched at Rattan’s words, and a heavy pressure momentarily filled the tent before vanishing as quickly as Kaelen exhaled. He then gestured for Rattan to approach. As Rattan drew closer, he saw a disturbing sight: a piece of moving soil intertwined with flesh. He recoiled, looking away sharply as the sheer malice emanating from it impacted his mind.

Kaelen pointed at the abhorrent sample. "This," he stated, "is the source of the trouble the fortress is facing right now."

Rattan’s eyes widened in horror. "But milord," he stammered, "the very land the fortress is built on, and the land we step on, is filled with this corrupted soil!"

Follow curr𝒆nt nov𝒆ls on freew(𝒆)bnov𝒆l.(c)om