Next Step

The candles flickered along the stone corridor as Ethan advanced with calm, almost silent steps. Behind him, a few loyal members of the cult of Aurelia followed, dark cloaks completely hiding their identities, though the goddess's symbol was still engraved on them. Ahead, gathered in the council chamber, stood nobles and representatives of the local churches, faces etched with fear and barely contained anger.

"You all know why you're here," Ethan said, without raising his voice. The words cut sharper than any blade.

One of the older nobles rose, hands trembling, voice caught between courage and despair. "We... we do not accept this! The cult of Aurelia cannot replace our faith! You have no right…"

The rest of the sentence died in his throat as Ethan raised a hand. A golden aura flashed for an instant; then the man fell, his throat pierced by an invisible thread of shaped mana. His body hit the floor, and the silence that followed seemed to stretch into eternity.

"Does anyone else wish to object?" Ethan asked, his expression empty, something that would have reminded him of the princess if he'd looked into a mirror. His golden eyes reflected the torchlight.

Little did they know that even the dead now would serve him.

Some stepped back, others simply bowed their heads. But not all.

There were those whose very existence was a threat to Ethan's control over the kingdom, whether controlled or not. Five names were crossed off the kingdom's influence lists. Ethan didn't hesitate: he ordered public executions in the central square. To be precise, the king ordered it. To everyone else, Ethan was nothing more than a messenger.

He made sure to be present, using Nexus like a cloak to cover himself, his gaze impassive as the blades fell.

For the conspirators who preferred silence, Ethan was subtler: assassination orders that were carried out before the candles in their chambers burned to the end. He didn't even need the princess for that; the cult members themselves were more than capable. He was sure that, for a few days, the places where they died carried the metallic scent of freshly spilled blood. Yet their bodies still remained "alive" to prove it meant nothing.

The local churches didn't escape either. Ethan used the faith and loyalty they felt and changed the goddess they worshipped. Priests and bishops were forced to preach Aurelia in their sermons. Some accepted quickly; others needed to see the corpses of their colleagues piled up to understand there was no choice.

Ethan felt nothing but mild irritation at the time wasted. With every use, his magic, precise and cruel, felt as natural as breathing.

By the end of three days, the throne might have kept the same name, but the true power now answered only to Ethan Blake. Not even the castle guards dared meet his golden gaze, turning their faces away as if fearing that a single wrong thought could cost them their lives.

The princess, always by his side, witnessed everything. Her empty expression never changed, but her eyes hid fascination.

Ethan, however, didn't care what she felt. For him, the foundation was set. The remaining pieces knew which god to fear and which man to serve without question.

There was still much to be done, but Ethan was never in a hurry. He had always known that to raise a new reign, one must first cover the stone floor with blood.

The castle lay silent as Ethan, alone, crossed the empty corridors. His footsteps echoed, but the darkness around him seemed to respect his presence, retreating as if it had a will of its own. The air still held the bittersweet scent of burning candles and blood spilled days before.

At the top of the tower, he stopped. From there, much of the capital was visible, the streets lit only by torches, the city breathing calmly, almost unaware that everything had changed. Ethan placed his hand on the cold stone of the battlement, golden mana flowing between his fingers.

He closed his eyes, focusing. His own mind was a direct link to Eldranor. The image of the Guardian appeared before him as if she were truly there. Her marble-like expression remained serene as always, but there was attention in her voice.

"I'm almost done here," Ethan whispered. "This kingdom is now under my control. Nobles dead, temples converted, and the princess… still useful."

"You act quickly, heir," the Guardian replied, without reproach or praise, only the cold statement of an observer.

"Time is not something I intend to waste," Ethan murmured, opening his eyes. Down below, in the central square, construction of the new temple of Aurelia continued under the cult's supervision. "Tomorrow, I want to see local priests preaching Aurelia as if she were the only true goddess."

The Guardian said nothing, only nodded slightly. Between them, few words were needed now.

Ethan took a deep breath, feeling the cold night wind on his face. From up there, the city seemed small, like a board he had redrawn over the past days, piece by piece. He felt no guilt or doubt, only the certainty that he was following the path he had set for himself since the moment he stepped into that world.

His gaze shifted toward the tower where the princess was. Even at that moment, he could feel through the magic: she remained awake, scheming, thinking. It was natural for her, as it was for him.

But Ethan was something she could never be: himself. She was skilled, cunning, dangerous, but trapped in the present. He played for the future.

He raised his hand; it darkened as threads of golden mana circled it, forming almost invisible patterns beneath the skin. The control he held over the castle was essentially complete, nearly perfect. Each step he took in that city cemented his position further.

And then, in a whisper meant only for himself, he said: "It's almost time to return to Eldranor."

With that, he turned, descending the tower without haste.

Tomorrow, he would summon Aeris. They needed to officially turn Eldranor into the new center of Aurelia's cult.

Because now he had the perfect place to use as a scapegoat to explain where the cult members were going.