Chapter 1 Don't get so worked up, I just kidnapped a prisoner...
They feared his power, so they gouged out his eyes.
They hated the truth, so they sealed his lips.
They hated death, so they pushed him to the execution platform as a sacrifice to the departed souls.
*
Mottled moss and ivy cover half of the gray-white steps and walls. The holy and gentle sunlight spreads across the earth, dispelling the gloom that has shrouded the altar for decades.
A large crowd gathered below the altar.
Almost the entire city's inhabitants came, and the massive crowd was kept outside the steps of the altar by soldiers in silver-white armor. All eyes were focused on the highest platform and the stone gate engraved with inscriptions.
Finally, the inscription began to glow with a pale blue light.
The heavy stone door slowly opened from the inside out, emitting a dull rumble.
The leading knight, with short brown hair, stepped out of the door first, his silver armor reflecting a cold, sharp light in the sunlight. The two rows of soldiers behind him stopped in unison, their spears striking the ground with a dull thud.
People's gaze did not linger on the heroes, but passed through them to capture the slender figure surrounded in the very center.
His clothes were tattered, his exposed skin covered with old and new scars, and his slender hands and feet were bound by heavy chains. With each step he took, the chains dragged on the ground and made a rough rubbing sound.
A rough cloth covered his head, obscuring his face but unable to hide his long, dry, golden hair that hung down his back and in front of him.
Sunlight poured down, gently caressing him, lovingly stroking his skin and hair that had finally seen the light of day again, casting a lonely shadow at his feet.
The crowd stirred. Some sobbed softly, some cursed angrily, and most simply watched in silence, their eyes filled with conflicting emotions.
"Quiet!"
Standing atop the altar, the king, dressed in a magnificent red robe, raised his hand and sternly rebuked the unruly people.
The old man, wearing a crown, let out a heavy sigh as his cloudy, gray-brown eyes swept over the excited crowd below the platform.
"Look! This is the 'Son of God' we once worshipped!"
The withered fingers suddenly pointed at the son of the god, whose hands and feet were bound by shackles.
His aged yet majestic voice echoed on the altar, like a rusted but still sharp sword, slicing through the clamor of the crowd.
“He sent down plagues, and we offered sacrifices.”
"He demands war, and we offer our blood."
"But what we got in return was a bloody massacre!"
The accusations were like cries of anguish, each word dripping with blood. The rioting crowd quieted down at some point; some sympathized with the cries, their sobs and choked cries rising and falling in waves.
The withered old man seemed to be brought back to that bloody memory. His chaotic eyes were filled with scarlet blood vessels and hatred. He drew a longsword from the waist of the young knight standing beside him, and the blade stopped in front of the 'Son of God' who was covered by tattered cloth.
"The eyes that should have been used to see the fate of our children were used only to watch them be burned in flames!"
"The lips that proclaim divine pronouncements are used to command believers to slit the throats of their own people!"
He abruptly turned to face the crowd, his royal robes fluttering in the wind.
"Each of these scars is a testament to betrayal!"
Someone in the crowd sobbed.
“...Killed…”
“...Kill him.”
More and more people joined the condemnation, and in the end, all the vicious curses merged into one unanimous statement:
"Kill him!"
The aged king then raised his sword high, reaching to the heavens, and used his royal authority to deliver judgment.
"In the name of humanity..."
"In the name of the burned children, the hanged mothers, the soldiers buried alive..."
"I sentence him, son of God... to death!"
The people's emotions were stirred up, and a visible wave followed. They raised their arms and shouted:
"Sentence him to death!"
"Use his blood to quell the rage of the dead!"
"Plant his head on the flag!"
Angry shouts and cries filled the altar, and the young knight commander standing beside the king seemed to be infected by this power, his heart burning with the flames of revenge. His heart pounded, and the excitement of about to kill his enemy was like a piece of music in progress, already reaching the climax of the story.
He lowered his head, took back his longswords from the elderly monarch, and then turned to walk toward the disheveled prisoner.
The masked son of the god was held by the soldiers on either side of his shoulders as he was escorted up a step, so that all the people below could see the gruesome sight of his head hitting the ground.
The rough pressing also implied that he was being forced to kneel down.
Unfortunately, the 'Son of God' was too stubborn, and no matter how much pressure they applied, he never wavered. Such attempts, from the time the 'Son of God' was imprisoned until now, when he was about to be sent on his way, had never succeeded once, so no one felt disappointed.
After all, his stubbornness can't last as long as it does today.
Staggering, the 'Son of God,' his hands and feet covered in tiny bloodstains, stood on the cylindrical altar. The brown-haired knight commander, Mihir, followed closely behind, sword in hand.
It doesn't matter if he can't kneel because his bones are too hard. The strong and healthy Knight Commander Mishiel can still sever his head with his raised sword!
Even if he is difficult to kill because of the divine power protecting him, it doesn't matter. The resentment of the dead from the entire capital, the anger and sorrow of the survivors gathered on his sword are enough to tear apart all his defenses!
"Kill him!!"
The atmosphere gradually reached its peak, and people became hysterical.
The brown-haired knight raised his sword, aiming it at the enemy's neck.
Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the area.
The bright sunlight was visibly swallowed by the shadows.
The astute Knight Commander Michael found himself being slowly enveloped by an unusual shadowy shape.
A whooshing sound rang in his ears! Mihir's pupils contracted slightly, he raised his hand, spun around, and swung the sword pressed against the prisoner's neck upwards!
"Clang!" The mournful sound of swords clashing reverberated through the air, and a flash of fire suddenly appeared on the blade of Mihir's sword!
To everyone's astonishment, a jet-black blade suddenly extended from the spot where the sword clashed with Mihir's longsword, creating sparks!
Like a receding tide, the transparent color faded rapidly, revealing the figure of a tall man holding a giant sword and confronting Mihir!
The man cleaved through the sunlight like a drawn sword. A black leather belt accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and his unbuttoned silver-gray stand-up collar coat fluttered in the wind like a battle flag, revealing his tanned skin above his collarbone.
He stood with one foot on the stone railing of the altar, his greatsword pressing against Mihir's weapon, sparks flying everywhere, his green pupils shrinking into wild, vertical lines beneath his disheveled hair.
The wind lifted the black bangs that fell across his forehead and made his red half-shoulder cape flutter in the wind.
The man grinned wildly and suddenly exerted his strength, knocking the knight commander back three steps!
The sword tip grazed the stone surface, sparking eerie blue flames. The greatsword in his hand was like a thin piece of paper, leaving only a blur! Several soldiers who were nearby were sent flying several meters by this terrifying attack. Then, he stretched out his arm and wrapped it around the waist of the tightly wrapped 'Child of God,' hoisting him onto his shoulder like a lifeless sack!
Although Knight Commander Mihir was not a legendary hero like his father, he could still speak of some things. But at this moment, he was knocked back by the sudden appearance of this man's sword, his hands went numb, and he could barely hold the hilt of the sword.
"Who goes there?!" Mihir shouted, re-assuming a fighting stance, his silver armor reflecting a cold light in the sunlight.
The arrogant man didn't answer, his smile widening, tinged with a hint of contemptuous provocation.
He carried the Son of God on one shoulder and casually swung the greatsword with the other. The eerie blue sparks remaining on the blade had not yet died down, as if it were some kind of ominous premonition.
"Put him down!" the king roared, his cloudy eyes bloodshot with rage. "He is a sinner! A traitor who blasphemes against the gods!"
"Take it easy, I don't intend to take the king's life with me." The man plunged the greatsword into the stone brick floor, the tip of the sword sliding in several inches as smoothly as cutting tofu.
If it weren't for him holding it up, the giant sword would probably have pierced through this shoddy construction and gone deep underground.
Mihir's gaze immediately swept over the greatsword, his face turning slightly pale.
"storm……"
Clearly, he recognized the identity of the greatsword's owner.
Upon hearing the name, both the king and his soldiers showed expressions of surprise. Some of the onlookers also seemed to recognize him, and a similar commotion quickly arose in the crowd.
"Storm of the Storm Bandit Gang?"
"How did he get here? He's not just..."
"He came for the Son of God? Could he be involved in what happened back then?"
"Damn it! Could he be a believer?!"
His green pupils gleamed coldly in the shadows, like the eyes of a predator. With a smile, he effortlessly raised his greatsword, and then vanished in an instant!
"Clang—"
The deafening clang of metal clashing was so loud it hurt people's eardrums. Mihir was forced back several steps by the impact, and the stone bricks beneath his feet were actually cracked! The man, however, used the force to leap up and land on a higher stone pillar, looking down at everyone from above.
"Don't get so worked up. I'm just kidnapping a prisoner, not trying to steal a bride."
He remained nonchalant, his free hand even having the strength to pat the son of the god's backside on his shoulder, as if the attack just now was nothing more than a casual gesture.
The king's face was ashen, and he pointed at the man with a trembling voice: "Kill him! Along with that blasphemer!"
The soldiers swarmed forward, spears and blades thrusting at the man high above. But he merely sneered, sweeping his greatsword horizontally, unleashing a wave of dark blue sword energy that swept outwards, knocking down all the soldiers at the forefront!
"Michael!" the king roared, "Stop him!"
The man finally suppressed his smile, his eyes hardening. He carried the Son of God on one arm, while gripping the greatsword tightly with the other. The runes on the sword lit up one by one, dark red like blood.
The two swords clashed once again!
The entire altar trembled, the stone bricks cracked, and a sudden gust of wind arose! The crowd below screamed and retreated, fearing they would be affected.
Michel gritted his teeth, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
This man's strength far exceeded his imagination!
In that moment of stalemate, the body of the God's Child, who had been carried on the man's shoulder without any reaction, suddenly trembled slightly.
Then, without warning, his body was ripped off by a powerful force. When Storm reached out to grab him, he was shocked to find that the God's Son, who was wrapped up tightly, was actually connected to dozens of golden threads of various sizes.
That was a special measure taken by the royal court to prevent serious criminals from escaping. They had sorcerers place soul locks on the criminals. Once they left the designated area, the soul locks would pull them back.
His body fell from the sky like a golden feather torn apart by a storm.
A howling wind swept over his body, whipping his dry yet still radiant golden hair, strands scattering in the air like shattered halos of light. His eyes were tightly shut, his eyelashes casting two shadows on his paper-white face, as if a sleeping deity no longer wished to witness this filthy world.
His clothes were already tattered, the fabric fluttering wildly as he fell, revealing his wounded body.
The wounds, old and new, some already scabbed over, others still bleeding, were like marks etched onto his body by some cruel ritual.
The sunlight rushed to kiss him, coating him with an illusory halo, but this light could not illuminate his tightly closed eyes, nor warm his cold skin.
The falling posture was almost elegant, with her hair and clothes flying everywhere. The poor son of the god was like a withered petal or a bird with a broken wing.
Until an arm caught him.
'Storm' Buster wielded his greatsword, severing the soul chains binding the Son of God with a backhand motion, and pulled him into his arms, holding him tightly.
Golden hair cascaded down his fingertips as Buster gazed at the sleeping, unfamiliar yet handsome man in his arms, a fleeting look of amazement in his eyes.
A note from the author:
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Write it here!
This is my main focus. I plan to update every night at 9 PM (of course, if I'm too lazy, I'll let you know in the comments first [noob]).
Elegant, aloof, and gentle, a long-haired beauty, the son of a god, and the blind man (Reinhardt) is the dominant one.
Wild, passionate, and foul-mouthed leader of a bandit gang, miner (Buster)
The top is more favored than the bottom, the top is slightly more popular than the bottom, and the bottom has the highest combat power.
This is for XP users only; proceed with caution if you dislike XP (heart emoji).
Finally, I wish all the readers happiness every day! [doge emoji]
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