Logout Error: My NPCs Now Worship Me

The ride back from Oakhaven was a funeral procession. The hundred knights of Elysia, once a proud and shining column of the kingdom's might, were now a scattered, silent group of men haunted by what they had witnessed. They didn't speak. They didn't even look at each other. They just rode, their gazes either fixed on the muddy road ahead or glancing nervously towards the eastern plains, as if expecting the dark god to reappear at any moment.

At their head rode Seraphina, but the light that had once surrounded her was gone.

She felt… hollow.

Dawnbringer, her holy sword, was cold in its scabbard. The constant, comforting warmth of her goddess's presence, the energy that had guided her since she was a girl, was muted. It was still there, a faint, flickering ember, but it was overshadowed by the memory of the absolute, dismissive cold of Kaelus.

He had called her 'little hero'.

The words echoed in her mind, not as an insult, but as a simple, objective assessment. That's what she was. A child with a magic sword who had postured before a cosmic entity. He hadn't even deemed her worthy of a fight. He had consumed her ultimate attack like a man drinking a sip of water, and then he had simply turned his back on her. The humiliation was a physical weight, heavier than her mithril armor.

"Lady Seraphina." Sir Kaelan's voice was gentle, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts. He rode alongside her, his own face etched with a deep, troubled weariness. "We are two days from the capital. We must prepare our report for the King and the Archbishop."

Seraphina flinched. The report. How could she possibly put what she had seen into words?

"What do we say, Sir Kaelan?" she asked, her voice small and fragile, all its commanding strength gone. "That we were too late? That the people we were meant to save now worship the being we were sent to destroy? That my holy smite, the very power of Luminara, was... nothing to him?"

Sir Kaelan was silent for a long moment, choosing his words carefully. "We say the truth," he finally said, his voice grim. "We report that the entity known as Kaelus possesses power on a scale we cannot comprehend. We report that it annihilated a swarm of high-level monsters without effort. We report that it can heal an entire city with a gesture. And we report that it has, through these actions, seized control of the hearts and minds of the people of Oakhaven."

He sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his next words. "We must recommend against direct military conflict. To send a legion against that... thing... would not be a war. It would be a state-sanctioned suicide."

Seraphina looked at the veteran knight in surprise. This was the same man who, just days ago, had boasted that if it bleeds, they could kill it. To hear him advocate for caution, for retreat, was a testament to the profound effect Kaelus had had on him.

"The Archbishop will never accept that," Seraphina whispered. "He will call it cowardice. He will say my faith was not strong enough."

"Then let him call me a coward," Sir Kaelan said, his jaw set stubbornly. "I am a soldier, not a zealot. My duty is to the lives of my men and the preservation of this kingdom. I will not lead thousands to their deaths on the altar of a priest's pride."

His words should have been a comfort, but they only deepened Seraphina's despair. She was supposed to be the champion of faith. But right now, the pragmatic soldier at her side seemed wiser than all the holy texts she had ever read.

The Royal Capital of Lyria…

The throne room was a tinderbox of raw emotion. King Theron sat on his throne, his face ashen as he listened to Sir Kaelan's brutally honest report. General Valerius stood beside him, his face purple with rage and disbelief.

"Healed the city? Undid death?" the General roared, slamming his gauntlet on the arm of the throne. "These are lies! Tricks! A grand illusion to frighten us!"

"With all due respect, General," Sir Kaelan said, his voice level and cold, "I was there. You were not. I saw a man torn in half by a monster made whole again. I saw a ballista bolt unmade in mid-air. If it was an illusion, it was the most powerful and perfect illusion ever conceived, and that in itself makes this Kaelus a threat beyond our reckoning."

But the loudest voice in the room belonged to Archbishop Thallan. His face was a mask of incandescent fury. He was not looking at the King or the General. His piercing, venomous gaze was fixed solely on Seraphina, who stood silently, her head bowed.

"And you!" the Archbishop's voice cracked like a whip. "You, the Sword of the Morning! The chosen of Luminara! You stood before this demon, and you did nothing? You let it claim a city of faithful souls?"

"I... I challenged him," Seraphina said, her voice barely audible. "I struck him with the Goddess's light."

"And?" Thallan demanded.

Seraphina couldn't bring herself to say the words. Sir Kaelan answered for her. "The entity was unharmed, Your Grace. It... it absorbed the attack."

"Absorbed it?" Thallan's laugh was a harsh, ugly sound. "No! That is impossible! The holy light of Luminara cannot be 'absorbed' by darkness! It purges it! The truth is clear! Your faith was weak, girl! Your heart was full of doubt, and so the Goddess turned her face from you! You have failed her! You have failed us all!"

Each word was a dagger in Seraphina's heart. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the sting of tears she refused to let fall. Was he right? Had she failed? Was it her own doubt that had made the Goddess's power falter?

"This changes nothing!" the Archbishop declared, turning his attention to the King. "In fact, it makes our path even clearer! This demon preys on the weak-willed and the faithless! It performs cheap tricks to sway the desperate! This is not a time for caution! It is a time for a grand display of true, holy power!"

He raised his arms, his voice reaching a fever pitch. "We will not send a mere hundred knights! We will send the entire Holy Legion! Ten thousand paladins, battle-clerics, and warrior-monks! We will march on Oakhaven, tear down this demon's fledgling idols, and put every last one of its blasphemous worshippers to the sword! We will cleanse the city with holy fire and show the world the price of heresy!"

"You are insane!" Sir Kaelan exclaimed, taking a half-step forward before two of the Archbishop's paladin guards blocked his path. "You would slaughter our own citizens?"

"They are not citizens anymore!" Thallan shrieked. "They are heretics! A cancer that must be cut out before it spreads! King Theron, you must sanction this crusade! It is the only way to restore order and prove the strength of your kingdom's faith!"

The King looked horrified. He was caught in an impossible position. To authorize the massacre of his own people was unthinkable. But to refuse the Archbishop now, in his state of religious fervor, would fracture the kingdom. The Church held immense power over the common folk and the nobility. He could face a civil war, instigated by the very man who claimed to be saving their souls.

He looked at Seraphina, a silent plea for guidance in his eyes. But the Sword of the Morning had no answers. She was broken. Her light had failed. Her goddess was silent.

And as the King hesitated, the Archbishop saw his victory. He knew the King was weak. He knew fear was a more powerful motivator than courage.

"The Church does not require your permission to defend the faith, Theron," Thallan said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "But your cooperation would make the process... tidier. Sanction the crusade. Or the Church will march alone, and the world will know their king chose to hide behind his castle walls while true men of faith fought the darkness."

The ultimatum was clear. Join the madness, or be branded a coward and an apostate.

With a heavy heart and a soul filled with dread, King Theron IV gave a slow, defeated nod.

The Holy Crusade was approved. Ten thousand men were about to march to their doom, sent to fight a god they didn't understand, to "save" a city that didn't want to be saved.

And in her corner of the throne room, Seraphina felt a piece of her soul shatter. She had tried to be a hero and failed. Now, in her failure, she had become the catalyst for a massacre. The darkness she had sworn to fight was not just some entity on the plains. It was here, in this very room, wearing the white and gold robes of a holy man.