Logout Error: My NPCs Now Worship Me

The capital of the Kingdom of Elysia, the sprawling white-stoned city of Lyria, was a beacon of human civilization. At its heart stood two colossal structures that defined the kingdom's very soul: the Royal Palace, a fortress of elegant spires and banners, and the Grand Cathedral of Sacred Light, a monument of white marble and stained glass so vast it seemed to hold up the sky.

Normally, the two powers existed in a state of carefully balanced cooperation. But today, the balance was shattered.

Inside the Royal Palace's throne room, King Theron IV, a man whose weary face was framed by a graying beard, sat slumped on his throne. Before him knelt one of the ten riders he had sent to Oakhaven, the man's face pale and drawn. Spread across the grand strategy table were the frantic, almost illegible reports from Baron Valerius.

"He... he truly said that?" the King asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Servitude or annihilation?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," the rider confirmed, his own voice trembling. "The Baron is... unwell. He repeats it like a mantra. He claims this 'Kaelus' is a god of shadows who wears a face of emptiness and speaks with the voice of the grave. He says the being leveled Mount Cinderhorn as one might kick over a pebble."

The assembled nobles and generals murmured amongst themselves, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and growing dread.

"Nonsense!" boomed General Valerius, the Baron's older, more martial brother. He was a bull of a man, clad in polished steel plate even within the palace. "My brother has always been prone to hysterics. This is clearly a powerful sorcerer using illusions to terrify him! We should march the First Legion to Oakhaven at once and drag this 'Kaelus' out of whatever hole he's hiding in!"

"And what if it's not an illusion, General?" countered a wispy, older man in the robes of the Royal Advisor. "What if the reports of the mountain's destruction are true? To send a legion would not be a show of force, but a sacrifice."

The King rubbed his temples, a headache pounding behind his eyes. He was a ruler, not a warlord. He was caught between appearing weak and risking the utter destruction of his army.

Before he could speak, the grand doors of the throne room slammed open. The Royal Guards posted there made no move to stop the newcomers, for they would not dare.

In strode a figure radiating an almost painful aura of self-righteous brilliance. It was Archbishop Thallan, the head of the Church of the Sacred Light in Elysia. He was tall, with piercing blue eyes and immaculate white and gold robes. His face was set in a mask of grim fury. Flanking him were two heavily armored Paladins of the Light, their hands resting on the pommels of their greatswords, their expressions utterly severe.

"King Theron," the Archbishop's voice boomed, eschewing all royal titles and pleasantries. "I have come for your answer. The Church has confirmed the reports. A blight of unimaginable darkness has manifested in your eastern territories. It is a Demon God, a creature of pure blasphemy that mocks the sacred light of Luminara!"

General Valerius scoffed. "We do not know it is a demon, Archbishop. It could be—"

"Silence, General!" Thallan snapped, his eyes flashing with zealotry. "I have spoken with those blessed by the Light. They have felt its profane aura from a hundred leagues away. It is a cancer on this world. The Church is declaring a Holy Crusade. We are mustering the faithful as we speak. The only question that remains is, will the Kingdom of Elysia stand with the Light, or will you dither in the shadows of fear while a demon carves up your lands?"

The accusation hung heavy in the air. To refuse the Church's call was to be branded a heretic-sympathizer, a move that could spark a civil war.

King Theron felt the trap closing around him. He looked from the furious General to the fanatical Archbishop. Both offered him a path of action, a path of violence. It was all they knew.

"And who would lead such a crusade?" the King asked, his voice tired.

The Archbishop smiled, a cold, sharp thing. "The heavens have already provided us with a champion. One whose purity and strength are beyond question. One who has already been sent to your kingdom to investigate such matters."

He stepped aside, and from behind him, another figure emerged.

She was young, perhaps no older than twenty. She had hair the color of spun gold, tied back in a simple, practical braid. Her eyes were a brilliant, earnest emerald green. She wore not the heavy plate of the paladins, but a suit of masterfully crafted, silver-inlaid mithril armor that shone with its own gentle light. At her hip was a longsword with a golden, sun-shaped crossguard.

Her presence was a stark contrast to the oppressive fury of the Archbishop. She radiated a palpable aura of warmth, kindness, and an unshakeable inner resolve. She was a figure straight from a heroic ballad.

"Seraphina, the Sword of the Morning," the Archbishop announced with grand reverence. "The chosen Hero of our age, blessed by the Goddess Luminara herself."

The young woman, Seraphina, stepped forward and knelt before the King, her expression humble but firm.

"Your Majesty," she said, her voice clear and strong. "I was sent to investigate the surge of dark energy before we knew its source. Now that we do, my duty is clear. This creature, whatever it is, preys on the innocent and defiles the land. I will face it."

General Valerius looked at the girl, a hint of scorn in his eyes. A 'hero'? They were sending a girl to fight something that could destroy mountains?

But the King saw something else. He saw a third option. The General's legion was a blunt instrument. The Archbishop's crusade was a fanatical mob. But this girl... she was a symbol. A scalpel. If she succeeded, the glory would be shared by both Crown and Church. If she failed... she was just one person. A tragic but acceptable loss, far better than sacrificing an entire legion.

"Very well," the King declared, standing from his throne. His voice regained a sliver of its authority. "The Kingdom of Elysia will support this holy endeavor. General, you will provide the Hero Seraphina with a detachment of your finest knights. A hundred men. They will act as her honor guard and support."

The General's eyes widened. "A hundred men? Your Majesty, that's—"

"It is a reconnaissance in force, General," the King cut him off. "Led by a champion of the Church. Their mission is to ascertain the true nature of this 'Kaelus' and, if the Goddess wills it, to purge his darkness." He looked at Seraphina. "Go with the Light, Sword of the Morning. The fate of the kingdom may rest with you."

Seraphina rose, her face set with grim determination. "For the people, and for the glory of Luminara," she vowed. "I will not fail."

In the Great Tomb of Nexus…

Kaelus observed this entire scene through the eyes of the marked Baron, who had been forced to attend the court session. The feed was perfect. He saw the ambitious General, the fanatical Archbishop, the weary King, and the earnest, shining Hero.

A Hero. Ravi almost laughed. It was so perfectly, painfully cliché. A chosen one, blessed by a goddess, sent to slay the dark lord. He had killed thousands of 'heroes' just like her in the dungeons of Yggdrasil Nova.

But this was different. She wasn't just a mob with a special name tag. She was real. Her conviction, her 'aura of light'—he could almost feel its cloying warmth even through his magical link. She was the genuine article, the antithesis of everything he and his tomb represented.

He dismissed the connection, the image of the throne room vanishing from his mind. He was alone, save for the ever-present silent figures of his undead guards.

So, they send a hundred knights and a single girl to face me. It was both an insult and an opportunity. An army of thousands would have been a tedious mess to exterminate. This was a much more... manageable party.

He needed to set the stage. He needed a crisis for his 'hero' to solve, a crisis that he would then snatch from her, demonstrating her powerlessness and his own omnipotence in one grand, public gesture.

He focused his thoughts, sending a silent, telepathic command rippling through the stone of the Tomb.

Deep in the lower levels, in a vast, refrigerated cavern known as the Pestilent Pens, something stirred. In this section of the Tomb, Flora bred and nurtured her most monstrous creations. Here, in a magically sealed incubator the size of a barn, lay a clutch of immense, leathery eggs.

Kaelus's command reached them. A surge of his own potent, chaotic mana washed over the eggs, accelerating their incubation cycle from months to mere minutes.

The leathery shells began to tremble, then crack. A noxious green vapor hissed from the fissures. From within, immense, insectoid limbs began to punch their way out.

They were Gloomfang Ravagers, a species of monster Kaelus himself had designed. They were giant, six-legged creatures resembling a nightmarish fusion of a praying mantis and a beetle, with serrated forelimbs capable of shearing through steel, armored carapaces that could deflect cannonballs, and the ability to spit a highly corrosive acid. They were high-level monsters, each one a match for a dozen elite knights.

And he had just hatched a swarm of fifty.

Another mental command followed, this one directed at the magical containment fields of the pen. The shimmering green barriers flickered and died.

The newly hatched Ravagers, driven by a ravenous, primal hunger, swarmed out of their pens and scrambled up through the service tunnels of the Tomb, instinctively heading for the surface and the scent of fresh meat on the wind.

They were on a direct intercept course with the city of Oakhaven. A city that had just sent its best defenders away to march with the Hero Seraphina.

The stage was set. The actors were in place. The crisis was manufactured.

Kaelus leaned back on his throne, the two points of silver light in his helm glowing with cold, calculating amusement.

Let's see how your Goddess saves you from this, little hero.