NOVEL NEXT Chapter 57 - Velmoryn Rise, by His Command
A/N - Thank you, Connor Higdon, for becoming God of Velmoryn's Patron!
Everything has been going so well recently.
I couldn't help but marvel at the progress I've made. My hunting party was steadily advancing, moving through the snow-covered terrain in search of winter beasts. They had set a rule, fighting only once each day. After each successful kill, they would set up camp, allowing Ninali and Aria to raise the concealment barrier - one that, this time, did not falter. The barrier held firm, masking the Velmoryns from the attention of nearby roaming monsters.
They had already brought down three more beasts since that troll-like creature, getting two Soul Essences as a result. One of the kills yielded only a Constitution Essence. What struck me most, however, was that all four creatures they had encountered so far belonged to the same troll-like species. Whether it was a coincidence, Mirion's plan, or the other species being much deeper into the forest, I couldn't yet tell.
The tribe itself was also evolving. Gundir had completed the setup of his workshop and had started working on making equipment. Though his methods leaned heavily on emotional abuse, the three Velmoryns working under him had improved notably. And now that Gundir was busy with forging equipment and had handed them the blueprints for Velmoryn housing, they proved surprisingly adequate, even without the Drukyr standing behind them barking instructions and hurling insults.
The Skalvyrs were adjusting as well. Dirion had begun walking them through the settlement one by one, letting the creatures familiarize themselves with the tribe. They were slowly growing more comfortable among the Velmoryns.
But what excited me most was Tekla's initiative - a tradition she had devised entirely on her own. Each morning, the Velmoryns now gathered at the temple, approaching the Tree of Life to offer a single drop of their blood, accompanied by prayers and gratitude for the protection I had bestowed upon them. At first, they were hesitant. Offering blood each morning isn't something anyone would be happy with. But no one dared to go against the priestess, and by the fifth day, every one of them visited the temple as though it had always been part of their routine.
Their prayers held no practical value to me, I gained nothing directly from them, but I benefited in a different, unexpected way. The ritual was slowly shaping a bond. Their connection to me was no longer based on their faith alone, but repetition, too. A pattern of reverence that would, in time, carve itself into instinct and become a cultural thing.
With the tribe advancing and the hunting party maintaining momentum, my attention was mostly focused on my newest project.
It had been three days since Dariel had accepted my mark. And since then, he and Freya kept their allegiance hidden from the tribe, which irritated me at first because I needed them to convert the entire tribe, not sit in the house doing nothing useful. But soon I realized that all this passiveness was part of the plan, Freya's plan.
"Are you certain about this?" Dariel asked as he played with their daughter.
"Yes, my love. Ugriel's wife has grown discontent with her husband's long absence," Freya answered, fastening a thick fur-lined coat around her shoulders. She pulled a length of cloth over her face, leaving only her eyes exposed to the cold. "I shall bring the light of our God to her first."
Then, with a swift movement, she darted toward Dariel, tugged the cloth aside, and kissed him deeply. Ever since Dariel had followed her into my embrace, Freya's mood had grown brighter, and she made no effort to hide her affection.
But beneath all of it, she was calculating how to gather more supporters for me, or for herself and Dariel. The days they spent hidden were nothing more than preparation, waiting for winter to deepen enough that no one would leave their homes without a very good reason. And now that the cold had locked the tribe inside, Freya was ready to act.
…
"Praise be to the God of Velmoryn," Ninali said, pressing her fist against her chest with a bit too much enthusiasm.
The others followed suit, including Avenor, though for him, those words carried a meaning far different from the rest. The zealous, kind persona I had intended for him had collapsed the moment my connection to my vessel was severed. The instant my consciousness fully grasped that he was trapped inside that body, possibly forever, everything shifted. He no longer followed the script I meant for him. He was searching for his own path now, trying to find something that belonged to him alone. For Avenor, I was not a god he worshiped, nor was I the extension of his being. I was someone he worked for and dreaded the day his services would no longer be needed.
"Tribe wa… Mirion, is this the strength of the beasts our tribe feared so much?" Avenor asked, glancing toward the mangled corpse nearby. "Truth be told, they do not seem stronger than Kurraghal."
"Hah! You finally stopped calling me that tribe warrior nonsense," Mirion laughed, slamming his hand against Avenor's back with enough force to knock him off balance on the log he was sitting on. Then he stepped forward, pulling his massive axe free from the ruined head of the beast lying in a thick pool of blood. "These are the weakest. We even managed to kill one in the past, not without paying a heavy price, though. We weren't cutting them down like this."
"Tribe Warrior Mirion," Aria interrupted, holding out a deep crimson essence roughly the size of a thumb. "A Greater Strength Essence. Should I give it to Vaelari to store, or do you wish to claim it for yourself?"
Aria didn't care for Mirion's dislike of formalities. She was Velmoryn through and through, tied to structure as tightly as most of them, or rather that's what she showed on the surface. The only time she allowed any real spark of personality was when she spoke about magic.
"No. Give it to Vaelari," Mirion said reluctantly after a brief pause. He shot a glance toward Ninali, who wasted no time in adding her voice.
"Right! As the High Father teaches us in the Tenth Commandment - we must do all we can to strengthen the tribe, even at the cost of our desires!" she said with passion, tracing my mark across her chest, the same symbol Tekla had taught them: a vertical line, with an arched curve drawn over it resembling a tree - Crimson Guardian. "The Priestess must be the one to decide who receives the essences."
Like the others, I froze at her words. When I shaped those commandments, I hadn't considered how easily they could be twisted. The Tenth Commandment was meant to simply drive them forward, to push them toward progress, to prevent them from growing complacent, and to force them to build something greater than what little they already had. But Ninali had given it an entirely new purpose, one I hadn't foreseen.
I could see it on their faces. Some of them wanted to object, to argue, but none dared speak against a rule they believed I had handed down. Even Avenor remained silent. And just like that, it was settled - the Priestess would decide who received the essences. They would no longer be distributed equally, and over time, that might begin to chip away at their motivation to hunt and gather more.
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Shit… I should have been more careful when shaping those commandments. Changing them now would only damage my image too…
I recognized the flaw, though fortunately, this time it was not something beyond repair. For now, I would simply observe whether this new approach would harm their drive to gather essences. If it did, I would find a way to correct it. Either way, Tekla needed to be warned - she had to distribute the essences based on merit, not simply hand them to the strongest, because according to my other commandment, strength was a virtue. In reality, when I came up with it, my goal was to push Velmoryns to grow stronger, not to cast aside the weak. Because I firmly believed that everyone had a use. Physical strength wasn't everything. In my previous life, some of the sharpest minds belonged to those whose bodies barely functioned, yet their thoughts left most others far behind.
"I'll prepare the meal for us," Vaelari's voice pulled me back down to the world below. Unlike the others, who were covered in blood, dirt, or streaks of sweat, Vaelari looked untouched. As if he had just returned from a peaceful stroll through a snowy forest. The others worked hard to keep him away from danger, and to his credit, Vaelari did what he could. He healed even the smallest injuries once his mana was sufficiently restored and no greater threats remained. Still, based on Avenor's experience after being healed by him, I doubted he was doing much good for those who begged him to leave the lesser wounds untouched.
And other than a healer, Vaelari was also the party's cook.
Ninali quickly lit the fire as Vaelari busied himself cutting the meat into thick cubes, preparing the meal for the Velmoryns, who rarely accepted any food that wasn't rich with protein.
"What do we have today?" Rodon asked, watching the chunks pile up. His eyes lit up at the sight.
"We still had some halvyn meat left. I'll make a stew," Vaelari answered with a soft laugh, fully aware of how much Rodon enjoyed both the meals and the fact that Vaelari was the one preparing them.
"Great!" Rodon grinned, licking his upper lip. "I'll ask Mirion to let us…"
"Ask Mirion what?" The sudden voice made Rodon's heart stumble for a moment, though the heavy hand landing on his back quickly set it beating again. "You want to drink, don't you?"
"Just a few horns... The concealment spell is holding… We've already confirmed it…"
"Fine, fine," Mirion laughed, sounding like someone who had secretly been waiting for someone to ask. "But not too much. We still need to be ready to fight."
Vaelari chuckled quietly as he reached for the herbs, enjoying the shift in their mood. The atmosphere had grown lighter in the tribe. The confidence Velmoryns had gained with increased strength had significantly boosted their morale.
…
"Give me the horn," Rodon called to Nia, who sat beside him. She was the only female Velmoryn in the tribe who had no magic affinity, and was one of the best with the bow.
"I don't want to drink anymore," Nia said, covering the neck of the drinking horn as Rodon leaned toward her, trying to take it back and refill it with more alcohol.
"You do not deserve the elyan wine," Rodon scolded, his voice sounding like he was reprimanding a child. Then he grabbed his own drinking horn, but before he could pour himself another, Mirion's gaze fixed on him.
"That is enough for today."
"Curses… I was just starting to enjoy myself," Rodon grumbled, though he obediently handed both the jug and the horn to Vaelari.
Shifting his focus, he reached for a large bowl that had already been emptied and cleaned to the point it looked untouched, filling it generously with the halvyn stew. He placed the bowl in front of Huanir, who sat nearby. This was the only meal the Tharuun had ever accepted from him. All previous attempts had been refused, earning Rodon plenty of complaints from the others for wasting perfectly good food on a creature that could easily hunt for itself.
"Nia, you know what would make this moment perfect?" Rodon grinned as he shifted his gaze from the purring Tharuun to female Velmoryn. The expression on his face betrayed his mischievous mood.
"A song?"
"That's why I love you," he laughed, leaning toward her to steal a kiss. But her swift jab caught him before he got close, forcing him right back where he started.
"She's feisty, isn't she?" Rodon laughed again, nudging Avenor, who was seated beside him along the long log. He didn't seem the least bit offended by Nia's punch, which made clear this wasn't the first time. His face then turned more serious as he practically yelled, "But don't you even think about making a move on her. She's my woman!"
Avenor rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a laugh, especially when Nia immediately shut Rodon down.
"I'm no one's, you drunkard. Especially not yours!" she shot back, though her restrained laughter made it clear she was enjoying herself just as much as Rodon.
The group gathered around the bonfire, enveloped by the faint shimmer of the crimson barrier surrounding them. The atmosphere was strange. Rodon, Nia, and Mirion were fully caught up in the moment, their laughter filling the night air. Avenor, Vaelari, and even Ninali, while more reserved, still shared in the mood. But the others, mostly mages with Aria among them, sat with their usual stoic expressions, unaffected by the lightheartedness around them.
It must be exhausting for both sides. One unable to enjoy themselves, the other unable to relax in the company of those who don't.
Just as I was caught in the weirdness of the moment, Nia and Rodon declared they had come up with a new song and wanted to share it with everyone.
Crimson roots, beneath the stone,
High Father calls, we rise, we roam.
Oaken crown and blood-stained land,
Velmoryn rise, by His command.
The goddess fled, her light grown pale,
She left her kin to rot and fail.
But from the dark, a voice did sound,
The High Father's call shook hollow ground.
His roots arose through blood-soaked earth,
The Divine Tree found its birth.
Its branches spread, its roots did shield.
The lost once more had ground to live.
The Priestess knelt, her soul set free.
His mark was carved for all to see.
She taught the way, the rites, the flame.
And all who bowed now bear His name.
No chains remain, no past to bind,
The weak are tempered, strength aligned.
By bow and blade, through blood we run,
Velmoryn's rise has just begun.
Crimson roots, beneath the stone,
High Father calls, we rise, we roam.
Oaken crown and blood-stained land,
Velmoryn rise, by His command.
While I was both touched and surprised to hear the song created by the two most lighthearted among them, what struck me more was that it was about me, about the rise of the Velmoryns under their new god. The others joined in one by one, their voices growing louder and emotional as they learned the words.
Some faces were more telling than others. Tears rolled down Ninali's cheeks. Her devotion had been growing stronger with each passing day, though I still couldn't fully grasp what exactly fueled it. Even Aria joined the chant, and for the first time, her stoic expression showed the faintest trace of emotion.
But it was Mirion's face that caught my attention the most. He smiled, but it wasn't from joy or lightheartedness. There was pride in it - deep, solid pride, as though something within him had shifted. Like he was witnessing a truth long buried finally take shape.
Then he rose, straightening his back and raising the drinking horn still clutched in his hand.
"For the glory of the High Father!" he declared. "We enter the depths of the forest tomorrow!"