CHAPTER 85: A GOD DESCENDS

It would have been far easier to become a tyrant. One just needed enough raw strength to crush any opposition that blocked their path.

Rhys could become a tyrant.

His current power was more than enough to shatter the great families of the Azure Province and plant his rule upon their ashes.

But he had no desire to rule through fear.

No tyrants’ rules lasted long.

An empire built on oppression was an empire built on sand. The people living under tyranny would always be dissatisfied; their resentment would be a constant poison that would severely hinder the growth of his future empire.

Rhys refused to build the foundation of his legacy on something so unstable.

After all, it was always better if the people were happy; a willing populace was a true source of strength.

He envisioned an empire that would stand with him, a self-sustaining power, not a dead weight he had to drag forward by force.

Sure, he had his Ashen army, and its ranks would only swell as time passed.

If he planned to spend the rest of his infinite life in the backwater Azure Province, then his legion of the dead would be enough. But the world outside was not as simple.

There were individuals out there whose power could rival an entire army. The memory of Kaelen was still fresh in his mind.

That demon, with his horrifying control over blood, could have wiped out his whole legion if given enough time.

With his own limitless potential, Rhys would one day face opponents even more terrifying. Having the unwavering backing of a living, breathing empire would always be a greater advantage than an army of puppets.

He wanted the people of this province to become loyal to him of their own volition, to choose him as their leader.

The recent beast tide, and the despair it left in its wake, was the perfect opportunity to present himself as their salvation.

With his path now clear, Rhys slipped out of the sleeping town before the first light of dawn. He had already spent the previous night scouting every street and alley, confirming that the great families had truly abandoned this place.

There was no city lord, only a handful of demoralised soldiers clinging to their posts and a few budding gangs of bandits planning to take control of the desperate streets.

He had already dismantled the schemes of those evil men.

Now, all that remained was to make his grand entrance and convince the desperate people of Silverwood to willingly accept him as their new lord.

Sera held Rhys’s hand, happily humming a random tune as she bit into the candy she had ’taken’ from the inn. The absence of Seduction had put her in a wonderful mood.

"It would be better if she never returned."

Rhys chuckled as they moved through the forest paths, leaving the dying town far behind them.

They finally stopped in a secluded, rocky clearing surrounded by a dense wall of trees. It was a place where no one could see them.

Rhys closed his eyes, his will reaching across dimensions into his personal world. He sent a command, pulling his servant from its duties within Cinderfall.

A swirling vortex of starlit void tore open the air, and from its depths, a heavy, thudding footstep emerged. The ground began to tremble.

A massive, four-legged creature made of living starlight and shadow stepped out of the portal. The Ashen Behemoth had arrived in the mortal world.

It was the size of a small mountain, its presence so immense it seemed to bend the very air around it. It lowered its colossal head, its swirling galactic eyes focusing on Rhys with a look of absolute loyalty.

"Climb on," Rhys said simply, lifting Sera and placing her on the Behemoth’s broad, star-dusted back.

The Behemoth turned, its massive form moving with a surprising agility. It began its walk back towards Silverwood.

The return was not quiet. The ground shook with every step the Behemoth took. A great shadow fell over the town, blotting out the morning sun as if a second night had come.

The people of Silverwood looked up from their miserable daily routines, their faces contorting with primal terror.

They saw a mountain moving towards them, a monster pulled from their darkest nightmares.

They screamed. They ran.

The two old guards at the gate simply collapsed in a dead faint, their rusty spears clattering uselessly to the dusty ground.

"Why are they making such a fuss, Papa?" Sera pouted from her high perch, genuinely confused by the panic below.

"They’re just not used to guests this big," Rhys laughed, patting her head. He had planned a grand entrance, but even he had not fully anticipated this level of sheer terror.

[I doubt it...]

’Tsk.’

The Behemoth stopped just outside the crumbling town walls, its head looming high against the sky.

Upon its head stood a figure, clad in a simple grey cloak, his hands hugged behind his back.

A featureless blur of shadow concealed his face, transforming him into an anonymous, terrifying god.

Sera had been shape shifted into the miniature version of behemoth, so attention of people were mostly on Rhys.

"People of Silverwood!" Rhys’s voice boomed across the town. He infused it with the mutated element of sound, using wind as its base.

The sound was not a sharp, painful blast like the one he had used on the disciples; it was a smooth, resonant force, a sound that was not just heard but felt, a calm and powerful wave that washed over the town and settled the rising panic.

The panicked screams died down. The townsfolk froze, their faces turned upwards, their terror now mixed with awe.

"Your town has been forgotten. Your lords have abandoned you. You have been left to rot," the voice from the sky declared.

"That ends today. From this moment forward, the authority of the great families is now void. I am your new lord."

Silence.

The entire town held its breath, trapped between the fear of the monster before them and the shocking promise in the stranger’s words.

A lone figure stumbled out from behind the dilapidated city wall. His legs trembled with each step, but his back was straight, and the fierce, defiant look in his eyes was enough to tell Rhys that this man would not back down without a fight.

’Sigh.’ This was why being a tyrant had its advantages. Some people just did not know when to bow.

Several more brave soldiers emerged from the walls, their faces pale with terror but their hands steady on their worn weapons.

They formed a thin, fragile line behind their commander, ready to die.

"Fellow Daoist," the commander shouted, his voice shaking but loud.

"I don’t know who you are, or what you seek in this small town. But if you are thinking of forcing your way in and exploiting us because of our current situation, then you are in the wrong place. I, Derin the Abandoned, will die protecting this town!"

"We will die protecting this town. All hail the great Silverwood."

’Abandoned...’ Rhys’s eyebrows rose.

He knew that name. It was not a family name; it was a brand, a mark of shame. When the great families cast someone out, they stripped them of their surname.

They became the ’Abandoned’ unless another family took them in, an almost impossible occurrence.

Technically, he was Rhys the Abandoned.

A slow, predatory smile curled Rhys’s lips, hidden beneath the Shroud. This was far more interesting than a simple conquest. He gave a mental command to the Behemoth.

With a silent, graceful movement that defied its immense size, the massive creature lowered its head, creating a ramp of living starlight that extended from the sky and stopped directly in front of Derin.

Rhys slowly stepped onto this ramp, like a god stepping down to the mortal world.