The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 269: Fallen God

Jolthar sank to one knee on the ground in the midst of the crater; he clutched the Horgath’s hilt with one hand, supporting himself.

Each laboured breath sent spasms of pain through his chest as the chaos corruption spread further through his veins. Beneath his skin, blue-black tendrils pulsed with each heartbeat—the price of wielding powers no mortal was meant to command.

He thought they worked fine, but the result was the same as before. Though the power was devastating, he was now paying the price for combining chaos and aura.

His green Beast King energy flowed across his body in healing waves, knitting damaged tissue and purging toxins. But it struggled against the chaos corruption.

These two forces within him—life and chaos—waged constant war for dominance of his flesh.

The crater where Lodawg had stood mere moments ago stretched before him—a perfect circle of absolute negation several metres wide. Its edges, once jagged from the initial impact, had been flattened and smoothed by the chaos collapse that followed.

No sign remained of the grand mage Lodawg, not even the faintest residue of magical energy.

And the dragon’s corpse, too, disappeared in the attack.

Lodawg—brother to Patriarch Segarus of the Naemarys Clan and stalwart defender of the old ways—had been unmade entirely.

Johamma and Cleora, along with Roblan and others, made their way towards Jolthar.

The first one to arrive was Maelruth as she strode swiftly, reaching Jolthar in seconds.

As she reached him, she bent her head, nudging his shoulder, to check if he was okay.

Jolthar turned his head towards Maelruth, smiling at the drake.

”Oh, you are here. I thought I told you to leave.” Maelruth shook her giant head, telling him no.

”All right, all right, ah.” Jolthar winced as his body was finally giving in to his exhaustion and the injuries from battle kicking in.

Johamma and the rest arrived.

Cleora quickly ran to Jolthar and knelt beside him. ”Are you all right, Jolthar?”

Jolthar saw her and then Johamma, Roblan and the soldiers.

”I’m all right.”

”Is he head?” Johamma looked at him and then towards the surroundings. There was definitely no sign of Lodawg, still she had her doubts.

”Not even his soul could escape it.” Jolthar said as he stood again, with the help of Cleora and Roblan.

Roblan rushed to Jolthar side and watched the battlefield in front of him. He couldn’t believe all this happened just away from the barony, and the tremors they felt came from the battle which Jolthar just fought.

Jolthar stood with his sword Horgath in his hand, refusing to show weakness before Johamma.

Johamma’s eyes narrowed as she studied the blue-black corruption spreading visibly through his veins. Her hands—still elegant despite her advanced years—reached toward him but stopped short of contact.

”The chaos corruption grows stronger,” she observed, clinical detachment masking what might have been concern in another person. ”You cannot sustain this pace.”

”I didn’t ask for your assessment,” Jolthar snapped, silver voidwrath energy briefly flaring around his fingers before he suppressed it.

Johamma’s face turned into worry as she said, ”Now the Naemarys clan will come for you. Lodawg was like second in command. Searus won’t sit still.”

”Let him come,” Jolthar replied, sheathing the Horgath with practiced precision despite his exhaustion. The ancient blade hungered still—he could feel its desire for more destruction, more chaos, more unmaking. He resisted its call through sheer force of will.

Cleora’s hand found his shoulder, steadying him. ”We should get back to the mansion. You need treatment.”

Jolthar knew she was right, though he would never admit it aloud. The Beast King’s green healing energy worked slower, its regenerative properties increasingly consumed by fighting the chaos corruption rather than healing battle wounds.

”We shall return home,” he decided, ignoring the disapproving look from his grandmother.

Johamma’s lips pressed into a thin line. Jolthar referred to the mansion as his home, and it made her feel sad. She couldn’t say anything, as she was unsure about what happened now.

There were traitors in the clan, and they just tried to kill Jolthar along with her too.

Her mind was in a state of turmoil, thinking of who was responsible for this mess.

Then Roblan helped Jolthar get on the drake, and they left the place.

***

Far away from this barony, in the lands of the Naemarys clan, in the clan’s compound, atop the highest chamber of the Great Pagoda, Patriarch Segarus reclined in his oak chair, its gentle rocking motion belying the storm of rage within him.

The chamber’s walls—inscribed with family histories dating back twelve generations—trembled slightly with his contained fury.

Before him hovered a rectangular crystal scrying medium, its surface showing the aftermath of catastrophe: Jolthar Kaezhlar departing from a perfect circle of nothingness that had, moments ago, been where Lodawg stood.

Where his brother had stood.

Segarus’s fingers tightened on the armrest, ancient wood creaking in protest. He stroked his chin with deliberate slowness, each touch a practised effort at maintaining composure.

The loss of Lodawg represented more than fraternal grief. He was a tier 9 grand mage, one of the clan’s strongest powerhouses.

”He grows stronger despite the corruption,” observed a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

In the centre of the chamber, a holographic figure flickered—an apparition rendered through arcane magics that few in the realm could manipulate.

The figure’s form was unstable, its edges dissolving into mist before reconstituting. Its face—what could be seen of it—remained expressionless, though malevolence radiated from its very existence.

This was Dakrasuer, the Fallen God.

Once counted among the Twelve Divinities, now exiled from the celestial realm—another consequence of Kaezhlar interference.

”That strange chaos aura, it’s corrupting him,” Dakrasuer said after noticing Jolthar.

”Mad Sovereign, the previous user of the chaos in that clan. Now it’s that boy; they sure keep surprising us,” Segarus said.

”The corruption will claim him,” Segarus replied, voice measured despite his inner turmoil. ”Even the power of the beast king won’t save him.”

Dakrasuer’s form flickered more violently, a manifestation of his disagreement. ”Do not underestimate Johamma Kaezhlar’s blood.”

”Your brother was supposed to kill her first. She should have died.” The anger in the voice shook the pagoda itself. Even just a glimpse of his power was exerting this much pressure.

Segarus sighed.

He turned from the scrying crystal to face Dakrasuer directly.

Unlike most mortals who could not bear the Fallen God’s gaze, the Patriarch of Naemarys met those ancient eyes without flinching. They had been allies of necessity for too long for such formalities.

”Johamma may be many things—manipulator, kingmaker, betrayer—but she is not a fool,” Segarus said. ”She must know by now that Jolthar plans to go against his clan. If what I heard is correct, he will definitely kill those brothers and soon fight with Caelum too. And more than that, if what happened today and the people responsible for this situation, if he heard of it, then we don’t need to do anything.”

”I don’t care what he thinks of his family. I want him dead and her too,” Dakrasuer observed, his form momentarily stabilising.

”As soon as possible. Remember our agreement.”

Segarus returned his attention to the scrying crystal.

The image had shifted—now showing Jolthar, Johamma, and the Baroness Cleora retreating toward the barony. Toward Tekkora, no doubt, where the Barony’s resources could be bent toward Jolthar’s recovery.

”Yes, I remember. I will make it happen. Soon enough,” Segarus said with a hint of detachment.

The holographic god’s form expanded slightly, tendrils of shadow extending toward the chamber’s corners. ”The telekinesis, the voidwrath, the Beast King’s power, the swordsmanship—four aspects unified in one mortal vessel. It should be impossible.”

”And yet he exists,” Segarus replied grimly. ”My brother fell victim to his unexpected techniques.”

”He was a fool to underestimate the boy, even when I warned him not to.”

Segarus stood, approaching the scrying crystal.

”For now, we need to raise his suspicion against his clan. They were the ones who helped us this time, so we should leave it to them. I have my matters to attend to,” Segarus said.

Dakrasuer frowned, ”You are playing a dangerous game, Segarus. Don’t think that they aren’t watching what you do.”

Segarus smiled, ”I don’t intend to hide it forever. Soon my plans will come to fruition; then nobody can oppose me at that time.”

Dakrasuer chuckled, ”You talk like an ambitious child.”

Segarus merely shook his head, the faintest smile still lingering on his lips. His golden eyes gleamed in the dim light of the chamber, reflecting not arrogance but certainty.

”Ambition is only dangerous to those without vision,” he said calmly, his tone silk wrapped around steel.

”Segarus, you should do what I told you to; first, finish that boy off and then play your game of becoming god,” Dakrasuer said, his voice shaking the pagoda as the pressure increased.

Even though he was a fallen god, he was still strong enough to flatten the midlands.

Segaurs nodded, not even flinching in the face of that power.

Then, Dakrasuer’s figure disappeared from the room.

Segarus looked at the spot where the figure had been for a brief moment, then he too walked away.