Chapter 3: The Eye of Truth

Valenor Gaius Marcelo had always believed that he was a man destined to shape the world, to bring order and prosperity to his people. His empire, the Maharlica Empire, was the pinnacle of his life's work—a sprawling civilization built from the ashes of war, founded on the bones of the past. But now, as he stood on the battlefield, watching the world he had fought so hard to build crumble before his eyes, he realized the truth. The gods had never been his allies. And now, they were the very architects of his empire's destruction.

After coming back from long journey after getting the Sages eye Valenor Gaius Maharlica came back to his empire and witness the cruelty of the gods

The heavens had abandoned him.

The earth trembled beneath him as the sky above turned a sickly red. Valenor's gaze snapped upward, and he felt it—the shift in the air, the unnatural pressure that weighed down on him. The seal had been broken. The gods had unleashed the demons of the underworld.

Behind him, the towering gates of the capital had fallen. Maharlica was no longer a city of life; it was a city of death. The streets that once teemed with the bustle of commerce and the laughter of children were now stained with the blood of soldiers, civilians, and the innocent alike. The once-proud walls of the city had crumbled under the brutal assault of the demons.

Valenor's mind raced as he turned to his trusted knights—his most loyal companions who had fought beside him through countless battles. Their faces were grim, their armor stained with blood. They had known something was coming. The gods had betrayed them all. But none of them had imagined this.

"We must fall back," Valenor commanded, his voice sharp with urgency. His **Sage's Eye** flickered, sensing the overwhelming presence of the demons closing in from all sides.

Sir Adriel, his most seasoned knight, stepped forward. His armor was scratched and dented from the earlier skirmishes, but his eyes were steady, his resolve unshaken.

"We cannot, my lord," Sir Adriel said, his voice thick with the weight of his decision. "The gates are lost. The people are being slaughtered in the streets. We can't just leave them."

Valenor's heart tightened, but his mind was clear. "If we stay, we die with them. Our people need us to survive. We must find a way to fight back."

Sir Adriel clenched his sword in silence, but the moment was broken by the terrifying sound of the demons' war cries—howls that reverberated through the air, promising death and destruction. Valenor looked toward the horizon and saw them—monstrous, nightmarish creatures emerging from the depths of the earth. Their forms were too horrific to describe, but one thing was clear: they were not from this world. Their eyes burned with hellish fire, and their twisted bodies seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly darkness.

The demons surged forward, pushing through the city's defenses like a tidal wave. Their claws and fangs tore through anything in their path. A massive **Hellborn Brute**, its body covered in scales as dark as midnight, roared as it ripped a man in half, its teeth sinking into the soldier's neck as if it were nothing more than a toy. Beside it, an **Abyssal Sorcerer** floated, its long, spindly fingers weaving dark magic that caused the ground to crack and split, summoning hellfire that rained down on the city.

The **Sage's Eye** revealed their names, their classes, and the horror of their abilities. But Valenor knew the numbers of the demons meant little now. They were legion. They were everywhere.

"We can't win this fight," Sir Adriel muttered, his voice filled with grim realization.

Valenor looked at his knight. He saw the fear in his eyes—the fear of death, the fear of failure. He didn't blame him. They had been betrayed by the very gods they had once worshiped, left to face an unstoppable force.

"Sir Adriel," Valenor said softly, his voice filled with sorrow. "You've served me well. You're a true knight. But I will not let our people die in vain."

Sir Adriel's face hardened. "Then we fight until the end. I will stand by you, my lord, as I always have."

Valenor nodded, but he knew the truth. They were already lost.

As the demons advanced, Valenor turned to his other trusted knights. Sir Rowan, the silent archer who had never missed a shot, stood at the ready, his longbow strung, his face grim with determination. Sir Elara, a fierce warrior whose swordsmanship was legendary, tightened her grip on her blade. And Sir Lucian, the ever-optimistic swordsman, met Valenor's gaze with unwavering loyalty.

"We must go," Valenor ordered, his voice firm. "We cannot defeat them here. We need to escape and regroup. The fate of Maharlica rests on our survival."

"Where will we go?" Sir Lucian asked, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. "We've lost everything."

Valenor didn't answer immediately. His heart was heavy with the weight of the decision he was about to make. "We'll head east, toward the mountains. We'll find shelter and plan our next move. But first, we must make sure the people have a chance."

The knights nodded in understanding, their loyalty unwavering.

But then, a roar shook the ground. A **Demon Lord** had appeared—Xarrak, a creature so immense it seemed to blot out the sky. His massive form was a terrifying fusion of molten rock and demonic flesh. His eyes glowed with an infernal light, and his wings spread wide, casting a shadow over the battlefield. The very air seemed to burn around him.

"He's come for us," Sir Rowan said quietly, his voice tinged with dread. "We can't outrun that."

Valenor's heart twisted. He had known this moment was coming, but the reality of it was unbearable. They had no choice but to face it. He turned to his knights one last time, a silent plea in his eyes.

"I won't let you die in vain. I will make sure your sacrifices are remembered," he whispered.

Sir Adriel stepped forward, his face set in a grim expression. "We fight together, then. We'll make sure you escape, my lord."

The knights positioned themselves, ready to buy Valenor the time he needed. Sir Adriel led the charge, his sword raised high as he charged straight toward the **Demon Lord**. Sir Elara and Sir Lucian followed, cutting down demons as they went, their swords flashing in the dim light. Sir Rowan fired arrows with deadly precision, each shot finding its mark.

But the demons were relentless. One by one, Valenor's knights fell.

Sir Adriel's final words were a roar of defiance as he hurled himself at Xarrak, striking with all his might. But the demon lord crushed him beneath a single blow, his body disintegrating into a cloud of ash and smoke.

Sir Elara was next. She fought with unmatched ferocity, but as she cleaved through a dozen demons, a **Hellborn Brute** slammed into her, sending her flying across the battlefield. She died with her sword in her hand, her final breath a vow to Valenor.

Sir Lucian, the ever-optimistic knight, was the last to fall. He fought with a quiet strength, his eyes never wavering from Valenor's, even as the demons tore through his flesh. His final words, before the darkness took him, were a simple promise: "Go, my lord. Live."

And then, it was just Valenor.

He couldn't move. His body was paralyzed with grief, with guilt. He had failed them. He had failed his knights.

But the world was crashing down around him. There was no time for sorrow. 

Valenor's eyes snapped open, and with a roar, he turned and fled.

With his **Sage's Eye**, he could see the faintest traces of an escape route through the chaos, a narrow path through the streets where the demons hadn't yet spread. He rode his horse hard, pushing the animal to its limits as he cut through the carnage, heart pounding in his chest.

Behind him, the screams of his people and the roar of the demons echoed in the distance, but he couldn't look back. His knights' sacrifices would not be in vain. He would survive. He would rebuild. 

And when the time came, he would bring vengeance upon the gods who had abandoned him.