Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 231: A progenitor who killed God beast

This weapon was proportioned to the creature it had killed—three hundred feet long, its shaft as thick as ancient trees, its blade the size of a building. It was made from materials that gleamed even after what must have been millennia of exposure, suggesting either incredible craftsmanship or magical properties that prevented decay.

”What is that?” Jorghan whispered.

Sash moved to the cliff edge, her violet eyes wide with awe and horror.

”That’s the Pantheon of Beasts. The god of all animal creatures. One of the primordial entities that existed before elves, before any of the civilized races. They say it was worshipped by ancient humans as a deity, feared by early elves as an unkillable monster.”

”See the shape on its skull. I’m sure it’s the Pantheon. I heard stories, tales of the Sol’vur clan, of how they slew the beast.”

She seemed to be in a daze, watching the beast, what remained of it.

She pointed at the skull, at the spear driven through it with terminal finality.

”Your ancestors slew it. One of the original Sol’vur progenitors, back when your bloodline was first establishing itself as a major power. The legends say it took three generations to kill—one generation to forge the spear from materials gathered across multiple realms, another generation to learn its patterns and weaknesses, and a third to actually deliver the killing blow.”

Nami’s voice carried respect that bordered on reverence.

”The spear is called Sanguis Hasta Barak. Supposedly, it was forged from the concentrated essence of a thousand warriors who donated their blood willingly, their life force crystallized into a weapon specifically designed to kill gods. The warrior who threw it—I don’t remember the name—died immediately after from the effort required to channel enough power to pierce divine flesh.”

She looked at Jorghan.

”That’s your heritage. Your ancestors didn’t just fight wars or build settlements. They slew gods when necessary. They forged weapons from sacrifice. They accomplished things that most beings consider impossible. That’s what you inherited. That’s what you’re trying to restore.”

Jorghan sat down at the cliff edge, his legs no longer entirely reliable, staring at proof that his bloodline’s legends were more than just stories. The Pantheon of Beasts lay dead in the valley below, killed by Sol’vur’s ambition and sacrifice, its bones marking where his ancestors had achieved something that should have been beyond mortal capability.

”Sit with me,” he said to Nami and Sash.

”Both of you. I need you to tell me everything you know about the Sol’vur.

Everything. History, legends, achievements, failures—all of it.

I’ve been so focused on the present that I haven’t properly understood the past. And I need to know every single piece of my clan.”

They settled beside him, and for hours they talked.

Nami and Sash shared stories they’d heard, legends passed down through generations, historical records from clan archives, and rumors and whispers that painted a picture of the Sol’vur at their height.

They spoke of warriors who’d defended entire settlements alone. Of diplomatic achievements that prevented wars. Of festivals that lasted weeks and brought dozens of clans together in celebration. Of the bloodline’s specific abilities—not just combat power, but healing capabilities that saved thousands, essence manipulation that created protective barriers around vulnerable populations, and even rumored abilities to communicate with ancestral spirits and draw on their accumulated wisdom.

They described Ser’gu not just as the broken man who’d committed a massacre, but as the earlier version—beloved by his people, respected by other clans, and known for ensuring even the weakest clan members received protection and resources. They explained how the betrayal had been so devastating precisely because he’d loved so completely and trusted so fully that discovering the conspiracy had shattered his ability to believe in anything good.

They detailed the three clans’ role, how they’d orchestrated the conspiracy, how they’d manipulated information to make the Sol’vur appear threatening, and how they’d used the aftermath to absorb Sol’vur resources and territory.

And they explained why that history made Jorghan’s recognition by the Council so significant—it was an admission, however implicit, that the betrayal had been unjust.

As the sun descended toward the horizon, painting the valley and the god’s bones in shades of orange and red, Jorghan felt he finally understood what he was attempting. Not just building a clan, but restoring a legacy. Not just creating settlements, but honoring sacrifices that spanned generations.

”Thank you,” he said finally.

”Both of you. I knew fragments of this, pieces from Sigora and Council politics. But you’ve given me the complete picture. The Sol’vur weren’t just powerful—they were ambitious in ways that shaped the entire realm. That’s what I need to rebuild. Not just the military strength, but the vision. The willingness to attempt the impossible.”

Nami’s hand found his, squeezing gently. She was hesitant but pulled herself to hold his hand.

”And you’re not rebuilding it alone. That’s the other lesson from all these stories. The Sol’vur’s greatest achievements came from collective effort. The god down there? It wasn’t killed by one warrior. It took generations, thousands of people contributing their skills and blood, and determination. You’re trying to restore that collective power, not just replicate individual heroics.”

Sash’s hand joined from his other side; she was bolder than Nami, leaning closer to Jorghan.

”We’ll help. Our clans, our skills, our commitment—all of it goes toward rebuilding what was destroyed. And maybe, if we’re successful, our children will accomplish things that make even god-slaying seem small by comparison.”

They sat together as darkness fell, three people who’d agreed to marry for strategic reasons, discovering that maybe, possibly, they could build something genuine from those practical foundations.

Below, in the valley, the Pantheon of Beasts’ remains gleamed in the moonlight, an eternal testament to what Sol’vur had once been.

And all around them, Colloniel Ruins waited for the restoration that would begin in days, that would take years, and that would ultimately restore the Sol’vur to their rightful place among the great clans.

*

The three of them sat in comfortable silence at the cliff’s edge, watching stars emerge as darkness deepened. The massive bones of the Pantheon of Beasts below were gradually disappearing into shadow, becoming suggestions rather than clear forms.

Then Jorghan heard it, a soft rustling from behind them, near the small stone among the debris. Not wind moving through vegetation. Something deliberate, careful, trying to remain unnoticed.

His hand moved instinctively, but he stopped himself. The sound was too small, too hesitant to be a real threat. More likely a desert animal that had wandered into the ruins.

Nami and Sashru heard it too.

They turned slowly, not wanting to startle whatever was making the noise.

At first, Jorghan saw nothing.

Just broken stone and red lilies and deepening shadows. Then movement caught his eye, something at the base of a fallen statue fragment, barely visible in the fading light.

Small eyes, reflecting starlight with an almost luminous quality. Pale green, too large for the face they occupied, watching them with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

Tiny hands gripped the stone’s edge, fingers so slender they looked almost fragile. The hands were also faintly green, suggesting whatever was hiding wasn’t human or elven in the normal sense.

”Easy,” Nami whispered, recognizing they were looking at something sentient rather than just an animal.

”We’re not going to hurt you. You can come out.”

The eyes blinked. The hands disappeared. Then they heard rapid footsteps, small and quick, running away from them deeper into the ruins.

Jorghan stood immediately, his enhanced perception tracking the sound.

”It’s running. Small, maybe child-sized. Moving fast.”

He channeled blood essence into his legs, not transforming fully but enhancing his physical capabilities. Then he launched himself into the air with a controlled jump, rising twenty feet to get a better vantage point.

From above, he could see the fleeing figure clearly. Definitely child-sized, moving with remarkable agility through the rubble, heading toward the residential sections where more cover would be available.

Jorghan’s tactical mind calculated trajectory and predicted movement, and he acted. He shot forward through the air, using blood essence to propel himself in a controlled arc, landing directly in the path of the fleeing figure.

The impact of his landing created a small shockwave that kicked up dust and scattered loose stones.

The running child couldn’t stop in time. She slammed directly into Jorghan’s leg with a soft thump, bounced backward, and fell on her backside with a surprised yelp.

”Ow!”

The voice was high, young, and unmistakably that of a child who’d just had an unpleasant collision with something much larger and sturdier than herself.

Jorghan looked down at what he’d caught, and his breath caught with surprise.

She looked about ten years old by human standards. She sat on the ground, rubbing her head where she’d hit it against his leg, her face scrunched up with pain and indignation.

Her ears were elongated like an elf’s, but instead of the proud points that marked elven heritage, they drooped downward like flower petals wilting in heat. They were delicate, almost translucent in places, and they moved slightly as she rubbed her head—responsive to her emotional state in ways elven ears never were.