CHAPTER 664: 664

Her appearance coincided precisely with the recent surge of power within Erik’s borders. Some speculated Erik had fought her. Others claimed he had summoned her. But those theories were swiftly dismissed by the learned few who understood the nature of Arch Curses.

Such entities were beyond mortal reach. They did not fight humans; they simply observed, whispered, and waited.

Their existence was common knowledge now, though it had not always been so. The study of curses had become a grim necessity, a matter of survival. In this age, cursed beings were no longer rare tragedies but daily realities. Each sunrise brought new cases: a farmer whose envy festered into a curse, a mother whose grief birthed a wailing spirit, a soldier whose hatred consumed a village.

The kingdoms had been forced to adapt. They learned, they categorized, they studied. And through that grim education, the world came to know of the Arch Curses beings like the Enchanting Siren, the despairing virtursoo, and others whose mere existence warped reality around them.

Now, one of them had turned her gaze toward Erik’s cursed kingdom. With all they knew about curses, the neighboring kingdoms soon reached an impasse. Their investigations led nowhere certain. None could tell whether Erik had truly fought the Lady Siren herself, or if some unknown third force had intervened.

Desperate for clarity, scholars and mages scoured the old records on Arch Curses, hoping to find precedent. Yet those tomes all agreed on one thing: Arch Curses did not take direct action against mortals. They tempted, influenced, or corrupted but never struck openly. So if the Lady Siren had appeared in Erik’s realm, something in the world had changed.

Answers came, unexpectedly, from the temples.

The first to speak were the priests of Tide, followed closely by those devoted to Ikem. How they learned what they did was unclear, whether through divine vision, communion, or rumor carried by spirits but their proclamations spread like wildfire.

They announced that Erik had indeed been visited by the Enchanting Siren, the Arch Curse of Beauty and Desire. According to their account, the cursed beings within Erik’s borders were not merely monsters or victims; they were her chosen, drawn under her song and rule. It was only natural, they said, that she would come to see what her children had become.

But the priests did not stop there. They wove a darker narrative, one of offense and desecration. They claimed that Erik entranced by Siren’s beauty forced himself upon her, even forcing her to manifest in the likeness of a goddess. To the priests, this was blasphemy of the highest order: a mortal king daring to bind the form of an Arch Curse to a divine image.

The phrasing of their message was deliberate, vague enough to avoid direct accusation, yet heavy with implication. The clever rulers and their advisors saw through it at once. The priests’ words were meant to turn the people’s faith and fear against Erik, to cast him as a man who had offended both the divine and the accursed.

Still, beneath the rhetoric, a grain of truth seemed to glimmer.

Among mortals, it was well known that the Enchanting Siren was the consort of the ascended god Tide, while Ursula was the divine wife of Ikem, god of verdant communion. So when the priests’ proclamations spread across the kingdoms, the tale took on a life of its own.

According to the version whispered among the common folk, Erik had committed an unforgivable sin, his actions had offended both gods. The battle that had shaken the lands was no clash with the Siren at all, they said, but the divine wrath sent down by Tide and Ikem in retribution for Erik’s blasphemy. To the frightened masses, that was truth enough.

But the nobles and the high-born saw the matter differently. They knew Erik’s reputation, his pride, his temper, even his lustful nature but none believed him so foolish as to try forcing himself upon the Lady Siren. Even if he had been entranced by her beauty, she was more than capable of ending such insolence in an instant.

That meant something else was at play.

To the shrewder minds among them, this "incident" reeked of deeper, unseen forces. A struggle beyond mortal reach, perhaps even among the gods and Arch Curses themselves. Yet in the end, they asked the question that mattered most:

Did they truly care who was right or wrong?

The answer was simple.

No, they did not.

What mattered was opportunity.

Erik’s supposed transgression was a gift wrapped in scandal. Whether he was guilty or not meant nothing; what mattered was that two gods were offended, and the priests had already seized upon that fact. They were spreading their "truths," each one laced with just enough deceit to flatter the divine and justify future action.

The nobles understood perfectly and decided to do the same.

If condemning Erik meant earning the gods’ favor, then so be it.

Erik had emerged victorious from the wrath sent down by the gods, and though many sighed at the thought, none were truly surprised. Everyone understood why: the gods, for all their power, were limited in what they could do within the mortal realm. Their divine retribution could only reach so far.

Thus, it fell upon their believers to carry out the will of Tide and Ikem, to finish what their gods had begun. At least, that was what the devout claimed.

For the leaders and nobles, however, piety was little more than a veil for ambition. They saw no holiness in the matter, only opportunity. If offering Erik’s head could place them in the good graces of two gods, they would gladly do so, all while tightening their own grip on power.

And so the rumors spread like wildfire across the continent.

Erik, the Cursed King, had angered two gods.

It became the talk of every court, every tavern, every temple. Eyes from every direction now turned toward his kingdom, each gaze heavy with greed and calculation. To many, it was a great feast about to be served, a chance to carve a piece of divine favor for themselves.

As for why such frenzy erupted so quickly, the answer lay in the current relationship between mortals and the ascended gods.

It all began with Björn’s counsel to the newly ascended deities, a warning born from experience. He had advised them to be wary of mortal worship, especially that which came from hearts that neither understood nor followed the divine doctrine.

For most mortals, worship was not a bond of faith, but a transaction born of fear or greed. They prayed not to understand the divine, but to gain from it to seek protection, wealth, or miracles. Their devotion burned bright for a moment, only to flicker out when their desires went unanswered. Within weeks, sometimes mere days, they abandoned one god for another, chasing after whichever promise of salvation seemed most convenient.

The ascended gods soon learned that such faith was impure and difficult to refine, its energy unstable and tainted by selfish intent. The more of it they received, the more they risked corruption.

Thus, they began to distance themselves from mortals, limiting their blessings, their miracles, and even their appearances in the mortal realm. To the common people, it seemed the gods had grown silent. But in truth, the gods were simply protecting themselves from mortal fickleness, from tainted devotion, and from the madness that unchecked faith could bring.

Not all mortals were shunned, however. There were still exceptions, those rare individuals who sought true understanding. These few delved deep into the doctrines, embodying the essence of their god’s path rather than merely reciting its words.

Erik was one such individual. His research, his discipline, and his pure faith in Ikem made him one of the few mortals the gods still regarded with cautious respect.

Such was the state of things that even decades after the gods’ ascension, the number of human believers devoted to any one deity remained few. Yet this scarcity of genuine faith had never stopped mortals from offering their prayers whenever hardship struck. Desperation, after all, was its own form of devotion.

True worship, however, came not from humans, but from the godlings, the divine offspring and chosen attendants of the gods. Unlike mortals, the godlings practiced worship through doctrine and understanding, following rituals that reflected the will and essence of their patron deity.

At times, these godlings sought to teach such discipline to humans, guiding them in the proper ways of devotion. For a while, it worked, so long as the godlings remained present. But once they withdrew to their sacred lands, mortal hearts began to drift once more. The teachings became hollow recitations; worship turned to bargaining. Soon, humans returned to what they knew best, seeking profit in faith, rather than enlightenment.

But then something changed. The gods themselves had begun to make contact once again. The one to do so was Tide, whose followers long accustomed to divine silence suddenly found their dreams filled with his voice. His words, cryptic yet radiant with divine authority, spread swiftly through his clergy and faithful.

That was how they learned of what had transpired, of Erik’s supposed transgression, of the Lady Siren’s visit, and of the gods’ wrath.

And with that revelation, the world erupted into chaos.