CHAPTER 293: 293

The group gathered near a narrow alley beside a run-down tavern, where drunken laughter spilled into the street. The night was thick with heat and distant shouting from nearby fighting pits. Kael stood with arms folded, eyes scanning the street as Ariana adjusted her cloak beside him.

Vic leaned against the wall with a groan. "My Lord, can I ask again—are you sure this isn’t some idiotic plan that ends with me getting beaten by muscle-bound maniacs?"

Kael raised an eyebrow. "You think I’d let that happen to you, Vic?"

"Yes," Gare and Barret answered in unison.

Vic scowled. "I hate this group."

Barret narrowed his eyes at Kael. "You’ve been acting strange since we got here. What exactly are you planning,My Lord?"

Kael gave them a sly grin. "A small detour. Me and Ariana have some business to attend to."

Gare crossed his arms. "You’re not heading to the Church, are you?"

Kael’s smile thinned, but he didn’t answer directly. Instead, he pulled out a folded set of clothes from his cloak—an exact copy of the attire he was wearing.

"You three are going to the pub. But not just to drink." He handed the disguise to Vic. "Wear this. Pretend you’re me. Act drunk. Loud. Stupid. Start a minor scene. Just enough to keep eyes away."

Vic blinked. "You want me to play you?"

Barret let out a dry chuckle. "Oh, this is going to be good."

"I’m flattered you trust me with this, My Lord," Vic said, bowing dramatically. "But I’ll warn you—if I’m attacked by a six-foot-tall berserker with knives on, I will scream your name in terror and beat the shit out of him."

Kael rolled his eyes. "Please don’t. Keep it light. Don’t make trouble for Lord James or the city guards."

Gare stepped closer. "And if something goes wrong where you’re going?"

Kael’s voice dropped. "It won’t. But if it does... you’ll know. Be ready to move."

Barret frowned, then gave Kael a subtle nod. "Understood. Don’t die."

Kael turned to Ariana, who was already adjusting her veil and checking her daggers. He gave his men one last look.

"Remember, no heroics. I need you to be visible. We’ll slip into the shadows."

Vic clicked his tongue. "Yeah, yeah... Have fun sneaking around while I babysit a bunch of drunkards."

Kael smirked and patted his shoulder. "That’s the spirit."

Then, like flickering wraiths, Kael and Ariana vanished into the narrow alleys, leaving the other three behind.

Vic looked at Gare and Barret. "So... who’s buying the first round?"

Barret cracked his knuckles. "The one pretending to be the Lord, of course."

Gare just sighed. "This is going to end in bruises."

The three of them turned toward the pub with resigned expressions, playing their part in Kael’s calculated misdirection.

..........

The streets of Cantilever shimmered with torchlight and echoing laughter as Kael and Ariana slipped into the denser part of the city, their footsteps soundless against the worn cobblestones. A faint breeze ruffled the hems of their dark cloaks, their faces obscured by thin illusionary veils woven with soft mana threads—enough to blur identity but not enough to draw attention from warding spells.

Kael tugged his hood lower and murmured, "Stick close. No sudden movements."

Ariana, walking beside him in perfect step, replied coolly, "You don’t need to tell me that."

The deeper they went, the more the city’s air changed. The noise of taverns and merchants faded. In its place rose the heavy scent of sweat, oil, and dried blood—a sign they were entering the fighting wards, the outskirts of the War Quarter. The streets narrowed, buildings towered over them like looming walls, and distant grunts and clashing of practice weapons echoed between stone alleys.

Kael glanced up at the jagged skyline ahead, where spiked towers rose into the night like broken spears.

"That’s the outer ridge of the Church," he muttered. "You still sure about this?"

Ariana nodded firmly, eyes scanning every corner. "I’ve scouted it once before. But this time, I’m going in."

As they approached the perimeter, the very air began to hum faintly with a dull, primal energy that scratched at the edges of their senses. It wasn’t magic in the traditional sense. It was battle-hardened will soaked into the earth, buildings, and sky by generations of violence.

Kael narrowed his eyes. "You feel that, don’t you?"

"Yes. It’s like... the city itself is watching."

Just ahead, torches lit up a wide stone archway guarded by bare-chested sentries marked with ritual scars and red tattoos. Their eyes were sharp, wild, almost beast-like.

Kael and Ariana pressed into a nearby alley, backs against the damp wall.

"Do not let your emotions spike," Kael whispered. "These maniacs can sense intent. Even the will to kill."

"I know," Ariana said quietly. "That’s why I’m with you."

Kael’s lip twitched at the corners. "Flatter me later. We’ll take the west wall. The bricks there are older and less reinforced."

They moved, flowing between shadow and silence, cloaks sweeping behind them as they curved around the compound. From above, the Church of the God of War loomed like a prison built for titans—its walls thick, jagged, and pulsing with the heat of old battles.

Then Kael stopped.

Above them was the outer wall. He placed one hand on the cold stone, eyes narrowing.

"No enchantment barrier. Just blood-thirst and tradition."

He looked at Ariana. "You ready?"

She reached beneath her cloak, touching the hilt of her hidden blade. "Always."

With a silent nod, Kael leapt up grabbing the ledge and disappeared over the top.

Ariana followed a breath later.

And with that, the two shadows vanished into the lion’s den.

Under the silvery veil of midnight, the city of Cantilever was quieter only the occasional rowdy shout from a tavern or the distant clang of steel training echoed in the background. Kael and Ariana, both clad in dark cloaks with their faces masked by thin enchanted veils, slipped like shadows through the alleys.

The streets near the Church of the God of War were far from calm, however. Despite the late hour, torches still blazed along the inner walls, and thick-shouldered men in tattered training uniforms sparred with open fists beneath towering stone statues of warriors.

The Church itself stood like a looming fortress rather than a place of worship. Hewn from blackened stone and ironwood, the structure looked like it had been carved from a battlefield. Banners of crimson and gold waved silently in the wind. Across the highest wall was inscribed:

"In War We Live. In War We Ascend."

Carved images of great battles and demigods locked in eternal combat ran across the outer perimeter. The scent of sweat, steel, and incense clung to the air like a second skin.

Ariana and Kael crouched atop a stone awning outside the outer sanctum wall, their eyes scanning the ground. A dozen disciples of the Church, both men and women dressed in sleeveless crimson tunics, muscles rippling and faces hardened, walked patrol with slow but measured steps. None of them carried weapons.

They didn’t need to.

"See those tattoos on their backs?" Kael whispered. "Marks of accumulated victories. Every mark means a major battle or life-death duel survived."

Ariana nodded silently, deeply impressed.

They moved carefully, waiting until a patrol passed. Then, like smoke, they slipped over the wall and dropped down silently behind a half-crumbled pillar.

From within the main temple chamber, voices echoed.

"...we must begin the Elixir forging tomorrow. The demon marrow has been blessed. Once merged with the Wyvern bone, we’ll begin soaking the chosen," a stern voice said.

Another voice, older and ragged, replied, "Good. Only those who pass the Trial of Rage shall enter the chamber. The Bishop has sent his final list."

Kael and Ariana exchanged glances.

Inside, the inner sanctum glowed dimly under firelight. Pillars lined the walls, each one carved to resemble a warrior locked in combat. The floor was not marble, but hardened, blackened earth stained with years of blood from battles fought in training and ritual.

Priests of the Church were not gentle. Three of them now stood before an altar of bones and weapons. They were robed in red and black, but their arms were bare and covered with scars—each wound a mark of growth, not shame.

"Are the Initiates ready?" the older priest asked.

"They are being whipped into form. Any who hesitate in combat will be burned out."

Ariana narrowed his eyes, then turned toward Kael and murmured, "That’s our target. The chamber they’re preparing for—it’s where the enhancement elixir is stored. It’s brewed in stages, and soaked only once every full moon."

Ariana’s brows furrowed beneath her mask. "Do we wait or move?"

Kael considered. "We move. Quietly. The storage chamber will be underground. Near the altar."

They made their way around the temple perimeter, slipping through shadows. From deeper inside, the muffled roars of men training, grunting, and slamming into each other could still be heard. Even at night, war never slept here.

Passing beneath a massive statue of the God of War—depicted as a wild-eyed brute with arms crossed and a dozen swords strapped to his back—they found a sloped passage leading downward behind a tapestry of crimson and silver.

Kael placed his hand to the wall—feeling the hum of enchantment. "Warded. But not against infiltration. They never expect stealth here. It’s all brute strength."

"Ironic," Ariana muttered.

With soft steps, they descended into the belly of the Church.

There, beneath layers of stone, they found a wide stone chamber glowing with green-blue alchemical light. Rows of ancient tubs sat steaming with viscous, glowing liquid—the War Elixirs. Bones of wyverns and shadowbeasts lined the racks, sealed in enchanted jars. Black scrolls lined one side, bound by crimson rope.

Kael inhaled deeply. "There it is."

But before Ariana could respond, they both froze.

A presence heavy, suffocating, like molten steel approached from above.

Someone was coming.

Kael’s eyes narrowed. "Hide..."