CHAPTER 419: CH 419: THE VOICES - PART 4

The battlefield had gone silent, but the curse left behind by the god of justice continued to fester.

It started small. A farmer knelt in a field drenched in monster blood, trying to sow seeds in the newly tilled soil—only for the seeds to wither before they sprouted.

The soil had turned black, lifeless, as though the land itself had rejected growth. Word spread quickly.

Dozens of villages reported the same: fields tainted by the blood of monsters no longer bore crops, and rivers that had carried the black ichor left fish belly-up along the banks.

Fear followed in the curse’s wake.

"What do we do now?"

"The gods are punishing us!"

"They followed Kyle Armstrong into blasphemy—and now we suffer!"

Whispers became accusations. Accusations became shouting. And soon, every region affected turned its eyes to the man who had slain a god.

Kyle stood on a raised platform outside the central war camp. All around him, people gathered—soldiers, nobles, peasants, clergy.

The battlefield was now quiet, but the unease in the air was louder than ever.

He let their shouting die down before he spoke.

"I know the land has been cursed. But that is not divine punishment. It is a parting blow—a last curse from a broken god who failed to control you."

He said, his voice carrying across the square.

The crowd murmured, uncertain.

"There is a way to cleanse this. A large-scale purification ritual. It will require time, effort, and power—but it will work. The land will return to us. Not as a gift from the heavens, but by our own hands."

Kyle continued.

Hope flickered. But then Kyle raised his hand again.

"However, doing this will not go unnoticed. Once we cleanse the god’s mark, we will sever ourselves fully from divine mercy. The heavens will see this as rebellion. The gods—what remains of them—will view us as enemies."

He said,

He let the weight of that truth hang in the air.

"I will not lie to you. This path is dangerous. It demands courage. And more than anything, it demands a choice. You must decide—will you cling to the old order, worship gods who curse you when you fight back? Or will you join me and build a world where humanity stands on its own, free from divine shackles?"

Kyle said.

For a long moment, the square was silent.

Then, the shouting began.

"You’re mad!"

"This is your fault!"

"The gods are angry because of you! Because you killed one of them!"

"He’s trying to drag us into a war against heaven!"

The unrest turned to violence in some corners. Clerics called him the root of the corruption. Devout soldiers burned his banners.

In the outer cities, protests turned into riots—people looting temples, others burning effigies of Kyle. Chaos surged.

Kyle did not fight it.

For the next two days, he locked himself away. No statements. No clarifications. Just silence. His closest aides—Melissa, Nigel, even Amana—were kept at a distance.

He needed time to think.

It was on the third day that a summons arrived.

Kyle entered the Crown Prince’s private tent without announcement. He didn’t need one.

The guards let him through with quiet bows, their expressions strained. The unrest outside had touched everyone—even the palace.

Crown Prince Mikalius sat at his war desk, papers spread in front of him, brows drawn tight. He looked up when Kyle entered, eyes sharp with something between worry and calculation.

"You took your time."

"I figured if the world was ending, it’d at least wait a few days for me to rest."

Kyle said dryly.

Mikalius didn’t smile. He gestured to a seat.

"It’s bad."

"I know."

"No, you don’t. They’re trying to storm the churches. The temple of fire was burned to the ground in the north. In the east, the zealots declared a holy war against the rebel provinces. And the south—"

He sighed.

"The south has stopped responding altogether. I don’t even know what they’re doing."

Kyle sat down and crossed his arms.

"So?"

Mikalius narrowed his eyes.

"So?! Are you telling me you expected this?"

"I did. I told them the truth. I gave them the choice."

Kyle said simply.

"And they chose to hate you for it."

"I never asked for their love."

Mikalius stood, slamming a fist down on the table.

"You’re playing with fire, Kyle! You made yourself the villain in half the continent’s eyes."

"I don’t care."

"You should!"

Kyle’s gaze didn’t waver.

"They’ll calm down."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because they’re angry now—but eventually, they’ll be hungry. When their fields don’t grow. When the fish don’t return. When their priests fail to answer them, and no divine light shines down to help. They’ll remember what I said."

Kyle leaned forward.

Mikalius was silent.

"They’ll realize the gods are gone. What’s left are echoes and curses. But I’m still here. And I can fix what they broke."

Kyle continued.

The prince sank back into his chair, tension draining slowly.

"You’re asking for a lot of faith."

"I’m not. I’m giving them time. Once desperation settles in, they’ll believe in whoever brings results."

Kyle said.

Mikalius ran a hand through his hair, looking older than his years.

"You always were terrifying when you talked like this."

"You mean honest."

"Same thing."

There was a long pause before the prince finally nodded.

"Fine. We’ll wait. But if this turns worse—if the riots spread into a civil war—"

"I’ll end it. Either by giving them a future to rally around or by burning the corruption out myself."

Kyle said.

Mikalius exhaled.

"Do what you must. But don’t forget—this kingdom still belongs to its people."

"I never did. But I also remember that sometimes, people must be saved from themselves."

Kyle said as he stood.

He turned and left, leaving the prince staring after him.

Outside, the fires of unrest still glowed in distant villages. But in the distance—faint and fragile—a new wind began to stir.

It carried not divine will, nor the cries of a god.

But the first breath of a world that might one day be free.

_____

True to Kyle’s words, the rage that once burned through the cities began to sputter and fade—not because the people forgave him, but because desperation had crept in.

It hadn’t rained for days.

Crops planted in haste withered beneath the scorching sun. Wells dried up faster than expected, and no matter how fervently the priests prayed, the skies remained silent.

The once-loyal followers of the gods began to glance upward with uncertainty, their whispered prayers turning into frightened questions.

"Why haven’t they answered?"

"Why do the gods remain silent?"

Food stalls ran empty. Families fought over spoiled grain. Even the high priests, once proud and defiant, began to lose confidence in their own sermons.

Those who had scorned Kyle now muttered his name with hesitation. They didn’t love him. But they couldn’t deny that he had warned them.

That he had offered a path—dangerous, yes—but one that gave them control.

The shift in public sentiment was quiet, slow, but real. Fear had replaced rage.

And in that fear, the people began to look not to the heavens for salvation, but toward the one man who had dared to stand against them.