Chapter 86 - - 86 - The Gathering Storm

Chapter 86: Chapter - 86 - The Gathering Storm

Celbeth and Isalyn moved through the encampment with purpose, positioning soldiers around the village and cathedral while issuing orders in low, urgent tones. The weight of leadership pressed heavily on both women, though neither showed it. The land had no ruler anymore—Lucien still lay in his deep slumber, oblivious to the vultures circling above.

Celbeth knew the truth that made her blood run cold: the neighboring provinces would not hesitate. This province was small, but its value wasn’t in its size—it was in what it contained.

"The cathedral," Celbeth said, walking beside the high priestess. Her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Why would they want a cathedral? Isn’t it just a place for worship or healing?"

Isalyn’s lips curved into a knowing smile, though her eyes remained serious. "Yes, but that’s the most basic understanding. The cathedral is also known for providing medicines and potions. And by being on its good side, they can attain heavenly powers." She paused, glancing toward the towering spires in the distance. "They won’t attack the cathedral directly—they don’t want to make an enemy of the faith. There are twelve cathedrals in the human realm, spread across different lands. If any one of them is attacked, the other eleven would send their forces. That’s how religion works—it binds us together in ways that transcend borders."

"Then we have nothing to worry about?" Celbeth asked, though she already sensed the answer.

Isalyn shook her head slowly. "Only the cathedral and properties that belong to it can be protected. The worst part is that the cathedral never forcefully obtains provinces. This village is part of the cathedral now, so it’s safe. But the neighboring provinces..." She trailed off, her expression darkening. "They’ll attack under the pretense of capturing this province, but their real aim is to seize the land around the cathedral—to surround it, to choke it."

Celbeth’s eyes narrowed as understanding dawned. "So the cathedral doesn’t attack unless someone attacks it or its properties. And it never captures lands unless they’re given as donations. But if the surrounding area is captured by other provinces..." She continued the thought, her voice hardening, "They’ll cut off all outsiders from entering ’their’ territories. The cathedral won’t have any choice but to cooperate with whoever controls the surrounding land to receive funding."

"Precisely." Isalyn’s voice carried a hint of frustration. "If Lucien were awake, this wouldn’t be such a problem. He would have added this province to the Vale Provinces long ago. But even I’m not certain what he was planning." Her gaze softened slightly. "I trust him, though. Whatever he’s doing, he’s aware of the consequences."

Celbeth nodded firmly. "For now, we prepare. War might not be very far."

Far away, in a chamber that reeked of ambition and greed, three provincial leaders sat around a stone table. The meeting had been called immediately after news arrived: Warrick Pasha, the ruler of White Crest City, had been captured. The vultures had gathered, their greedy eyes fixed on the prize—the cathedral.

"When should we attack?" Ulric, ruler of Azure River City, leaned forward, his fingers drumming impatiently against the table. "We should strike immediately. Who knows if someone else will beat us to it?"

Rhys, the hot-headed leader of Ironwood City, slammed his fist on the table. "I agree. We can’t afford to hesitate. Every moment we waste is a moment they use to prepare."

Phelan, leader of Blackstone City, remained calm and collected. His large posture and dark beard gave him an air of authority that made the other two pause. "I want to capture it as well, but I want to avoid bloodshed if possible." His voice was measured, deliberate. "I suggest we send an envoy and demand they surrender White Crest City. In return, we’ll spare their lives. From what I understand, they don’t have much military power. White Crest City was a merchant city—rich, yes, but weak when it comes to military strength."

Rhys shook his head dismissively. "That’ll take too much time. What if they prepare themselves in the meantime? What if they call for reinforcements?"

"I agree with Rhys," Ulric said, his voice carrying a note of urgency. "If we take too long to decide, we’ll lose this chance. The cathedral could slip through our fingers."

Phelan smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Trust me, you don’t want to make an enemy of the cathedral. We need to play this carefully." He leaned back in his chair. "I’ll send my most trusted realm master as an envoy. They are very strong—strong enough to make our intentions clear."

He began to rise, ready to conclude the meeting, but Rhys’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Wait." Rhys’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What if you want to capture the cathedral for yourself? What if we’re just obstacles in your path?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Phelan’s expression shifted from calm to cold fury. "What did you say?"

Ulric quickly raised his hands in a placating gesture. "If we have trust issues, this matter won’t go anywhere. We’ll decide what to do with the cathedral later. For now, we should focus on White Crest City." He turned to Phelan with a diplomatic smile. "If there are trust issues, I suggest we each send our own warriors as part of the envoy. That would be better, wouldn’t it, Lord Rhys?"

Rhys nodded slowly, his expression guarded. "I can agree to that."

Phelan’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to nod. "Fine. Send your realm masters quickly—we don’t have much time." His eyes swept across both men with barely concealed contempt. "Not even trusting the neighboring provinces. What a shame."

Days passed. Celbeth and Isalyn waited anxiously for Lucien to awaken, discussing every possible scenario, every potential threat. They found some relief in knowing that the day of his return drew closer, though each hour without him stretched into an eternity.

They sat together drinking tea in the command tent, the bitter taste matching their somber mood. Then a soldier appeared at the entrance, requesting permission to enter.

"Lady Isalyn, Lady Celbeth," the soldier said, bowing. "There are several realm masters who wish to meet with you."

Celbeth set down her cup, her hand instinctively drifting to the dagger at her belt. "Send them in."

The tent flap opened, and three figures strode inside. The air grew heavy with their presence—realm masters, all of them. Every soldier in the camp tensed, hands going to weapons.

"Do not be afraid," said the first man, his voice dripping with arrogance. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a sneer that seemed permanently etched onto his face. "I am Theoron, the strongest realm master in Blackstone City. I come as an envoy of Lord Phelan."

"I’m Bramwell from Ironwood City," said the second, a wiry man with sharp eyes and a cruel smile. "Lord Rhys sends his regards."

"I’m Ellery from Azure River City," said the third, whose calm demeanor did little to hide the threat beneath. "Lord Ulric sent me with a message."

They turned as one toward Isalyn, their heads bowing in mock deference. "We give our respect to Lady Isalyn. It is an honor to meet you."

Celbeth watched them with barely concealed disgust. "If you’re done with sugar-coated words, why don’t you say something that actually means something?"

Theoron’s smile faltered slightly. "Our lords have given a warning. If you surrender White Crest City without resistance, they will let you all go. Our lords are merciful—they want what’s best for the people here. So I suggest you hand over the city peacefully."

Celbeth laughed, a sharp, dismissive sound. "Hand it over? When was it ever yours to begin with?"

Theoron’s eyes narrowed. "We are merely envoys, miss...?"

"Celbeth."

"Miss Celbeth." Theoron’s voice took on a condescending tone. "I’m assuming you’re leading this small group of soldiers, correct? Let me give you some advice: serve my lord, and your life will become a paradise. Go against him, and you’ll see hell."

Celbeth’s smile turned dangerous. "I’ll send you to paradise, fucker." She gestured dismissively at the other two. "And these two are just decorations? They don’t have any words? Seems like your lords are just slaves to Theoron’s master." She leaned forward, her eyes blazing. "Whatever. You’re here for my reply, right? I’ll give you one."

She took a breath, and her voice dropped to a deadly calm. "If you start a war, remember this—you’ll lose what you already have. Now fuck off from here before I lose my cool."

Theoron’s face twisted with rage. "Then prepare yourself to fight—"

He never finished the sentence. Celbeth moved with inhuman speed, her dagger flashing before anyone could react. The blade sliced vertically through Theoron’s lips, splitting them cleanly apart. He screamed, clutching his face as blood poured between his fingers. The gap in power was too vast—he hadn’t even seen her move.

Ellery immediately rushed forward, hands glowing with healing energy as she worked to mend the damage. Theoron’s muffled screams filled the tent.

Celbeth wiped her blade clean, her expression cold. "You’re an envoy. Act like it. Don’t try to become a warlord—I don’t need a war announcement from your mouth."

The three realm masters retreated quickly, dragging Theoron with them. But even in their haste, Celbeth caught the silent rage burning in their eyes—a promise of violence yet to come.

Isalyn watched them go, then turned to Celbeth with a knowing look. "You did well. But you seem tense."

Celbeth let out a slow breath, her grip on the dagger loosening. "Even little snakes are raising their heads."

It was the twelfth day since Lucien had fallen into his mysterious slumber. He was supposed to wake after ten days, but still he remained unconscious, his face peaceful and unmoving. Xandra tended to him tirelessly, day and night, but nothing seemed to work.

"What should we do now?" Celbeth asked, standing in the doorway of the room where Lucien lay. Her voice carried a forced lightness, but her eyes betrayed her worry. "It seems like he’s not going to wake up anytime soon. Once he does, I’ll punch him really hard."

Isalyn placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don’t worry. Trust him. Lord Lucien isn’t someone who will go down easily."

Xandra looked up from Lucien’s bedside, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. "Lady Isalyn, why isn’t he waking up? I’ve done everything I can think of..." Her voice cracked with emotion.

"Trust him," Isalyn repeated gently. "He will return to us."

Suddenly, a soldier burst through the entrance, his face pale with alarm. "Lady Celbeth! Lady Isalyn!" He was breathless, his words tumbling out in a rush. "The enemy forces have surrounded this province from every side. There are so many realm masters—some are floating in the sky, others standing on their swords. They’re all coming closer with each passing second. We don’t have much time!"