Divine System: Land of the Abominations

The silence was filled with a faint, droning buzzing.

Like static.

Nero knew it was perhaps just his imagination trying to fill the darkness.

But it was still rather annoying nonetheless.

Here he was, face to face with two humans that had the power to condemn him to death instantly should they wish.

To have his agency completely stripped away from him if they desired to.

It was not a comfortable feeling whatsoever.

And because he couldn't see either of their faces, it only made the entire situation even worse.

Nero sighed internally.

'How did I even get in this mess?'

The man wearing the red armor suddenly spoke,

"Child, do not be fearful. What is your name?"

He had not noticed it the night before, but his voice, very unlike that of the Templars of the Crimson Crucible had a rather aged flavor to it, which told Nero the face behind the armor certainly did not match the build he was seeing.

Compared to the other Templars, this "suit of armor" was a fair bit larger than the others, taller by almost a head.

He looked very, very intimidating.

Nero gulped.

When he spoke, his voice came out as barely a whisper,

"My name is Nero."

However, the Commander heard him clearly,

"Nero. The name given to a once mighty man. It suits you."

He paused for a moment then continued,

"I believe you have some training. Under who?"

Nero frowned, 'So that is what this is all about?'

Nero huffed and nodded,

"I trained as a town guard for two years under the guard captain, Peter Auswish."

The Commander let out a surprised sound,

"You are from Gor?"

Nero's eyes widened,

"You know Peter?"

The red helmet moved, "I do. After all, he was my squire for a few years."

Then he paused and sighed,

"Are there any more survivors?"

Nero was silent.

The Commander turned away,

"Knowing Peter, he wouldn't be one to order a retreat in such circumstances. I am sorry that we could not offer your people any help. It is a deep regret of mine."

Hearing those words, a strange cynical feeling arose in Nero's heart. If he hadn't been there the night before, perhaps he would have believed those words more.

Still, he was a bit shocked,

"If Peter trained you, then that makes you a student of mine as well. And I can see he trained you well."

Nero couldn't help but wonder where all this was going. Still, he bowed and accepted the praises diligently,

"I am no better than the next man. I traveled through the cursed forests and Malady's Garden all for a chance at life. The experience sharpened my sword."

Strut hummed,

"You are very well spoken, Nero. Not at all like the child of a peasant. Who are your parents? How old are you, Nero?"

Nero pursed his lips,

"My parents were peasants, although they are now deceased. My mother thought me how to speak properly. I am Nineteen."

Commander Strut raised a brow, "Still so young?"

He looked over Nero,

'The lad looks soft and fair-skinned. Is this really the same monster from that night?'

As a Commander, Strut had fought with many brothers. He had seen many die and he had seen many live.

His crowning achievement was the star on his chest that represented his mettle.

Well, that was what it was supposed to represent, but in reality, it was far more straightforward.

In reality, there were three types of warriors in this world— those who loved in constant fear, worried about if they would live to see the next day or moment. In a world filled with darkness and danger, they were the norm. The bulk...

Then, there were those like him, and those like the young man in front of him.

Those who fought to live and those who fought to die.

Their relationship was mutually independent. And yet, they were reliant on one another.

The army of Templars and even the royal guards were comprised of all three types of warriors.

Those with claws and teeth ready to use them, even to their own detriment. Fierce warriors that threw themselves into the thickest battles, rampaging as the light of their lives burned away.

And then, there were those that fought for their own purposes. It could be anything from money, to power, to even something as mundane as glory.

Strut nodded. This was perfect. If he could raise up this young talent...

"Young man, what do you think about joining the—"

"Hold on a minute, Strut."

Under his crimson helm, the Commander frowned and turned to his side,

"What is it, your Honor?"

Nero turned his gaze towards the man in white.

He had seen him the other night as well. Instead of armor, the man wore white drapes that's served as a cloak for his other white garbs and leather armor. He wore white gloves as well, so no inch of skin could be seen.

Nero couldn't help but wonder if either of the two men ever got hot and stuffy.

The most unsettling part of the getup was the white cloth mask that made him look like some scarecrow that should be out sitting in the desolate fields, not an official of the Church.

The White Prophet turned to Nero. Nero felt his heart shoot tk his throat.

"Strut, do you know what I see when I look at this young one?"

Nero immediately felt a terrible sense of foreboding as the tension in his body rose.

Whatever was about to come could very well be the start of a major turning point in his life.

Strut remained silent then shook his head,

He turned to the pale-faced Nero then back to the Prophet,

"I am no seer, neither can I read minds, your Honor."

The White Prophet chuckled,

He leaned closer to Nero.

Finally close enough, Nero could make out a pair of eyes from behind the cloth mask. The blacks of the eyes were pale.

This man was blind.

Nero felt a chilly wave of fear wash over him.

The lips of the Prophet parted as he leaned over, his gloved fingers wrapping around Nero's face,

"I see nothing."