God Of Velmoryn [ LitRPG, Progression, High Fantasy ]

A/N - Thank you, Andrey Stroilov, & Eren Ünlü for becoming God of Velmoryn's Patrons!

"You challenge me to a duel?" Joriel snorted, the remnants of shock peeling off his face, replaced by the slow creep of rage. "You dare not only to slander me, but to challenge me? You, silver-rank weakli…"

The insult died in his throat. His gaze was locked onto Dariel as he noticed that something was different - his stance, his presence, the way the air seemed to strain around him. Joriel faltered, a step retreating instinctively. Confusion sneaked into his features, and he cast a quick glance toward his supporters as if asking for their help. But none of them moved. They stood rigid, silent, bound by the same tension tightening the air.

I knew what was causing it. The blessing I had granted Dariel and the class he had unlocked… I already knew just how overwhelming its effects were supposed to be, but even I had yet to see him in action.

"Well?" Dariel's voice cut through the silence, the corner of his mouth twitching in anger. "Do you accept my challenge or not?"

He glared, eyes no longer Velmoryn. Narrowed into vertical slits, they glinted with a predatory gleam.

"I accept!" Joriel roared as his staff surged to life, a powerful wave of dark mana flowing outward.

"What?"
"Is he mad?!"
…

The Velmoryns scattered. Some turned and fled, tripping over chairs and tables full of dishes as panic turned the hall into chaos. Others stepped in front of kin, forming a line with bared teeth and uncertain hands. A few surged toward Joriel, shouting for him to stop, but he was far beyond hearing.

"You think you can take what I bled to build?" Joriel snarled, his voice ragged with fury. "Everything I fought to have?" Three black diagrams bloomed above him like wounds tearing open the sky. "I'll kill you, and that traitorous filth…"

He never finished.

Dariel's fist slammed into his jaw with a meaty crunch, silencing him mid-sentence. The sound of cracking bone echoed louder than any spell. Joriel's body flew backwards, smashed through the wooden wall with a thunderous crash, and disappeared into the storm outside.

Dariel didn't pause. He surged forward, tearing through the shattered remains of the wall as splinters rained down around him. His bulk had changed - broader now, taller. His limbs moved with unnatural force, and crimson markings pulsed across his fur-covered skin, spreading like veins of fire beneath the surface.

"Joriel!" he bellowed into the snow-covered clearing, his breath steaming in the cold. "Show yourself!"

The flurry stifled visibility, but Dariel could no longer be affected by it. His senses were sharper now, drawn to the dense knot of magic pulsing in the distance. He launched himself forward in a single, powerful leap, carving through the snow.

But the sight that met him wasn't what I expected.

Joriel was still on his feet. Not staggering. Not convulsing from mana backlash after forcefully canceling the spell. He had already conjured a new diagram above him and even stabilized. His face was barely recognizable, twisted by rage rather than the punch he had taken, his teeth bared in a snarl. He'd not only formed a new diagram, but he had already cast a spell.

Dariel didn't slow. His right arm, now tipped with jagged, curved claws, whipped into a wide arc, aimed to tear through Joriel from shoulder to waist. This wasn't the structured, ritualistic duel I had seen back when Roy first challenged Jira. This was a deathmatch between two warriors, both eager to extinguish the light in their foe's eyes.

Dariel's right hand tore through Joriel's chest without resistance. Far too easily.

He didn't hesitate. His left arm followed in a brutal downward sweep, cleaving through the lingering afterimage. The illusion shattered with a sharp grunt from Dariel, more irritation than exertion.

Then he stilled. Shoulders squared. A low sound escaped him, not quite a growl, but something close to it, guttural and grounded.

His nose, no longer refined or dignified in the slightest, had reshaped into something coarse and animalistic. Wide, flared nostrils pulled in the freezing air with a powerful inhale, drawing in a few snowflakes.

It didn't take long. Just a few seconds of stillness before his head snapped to the side, locked on the scent.

He turned on his heel, an unnaturally graceful movement for someone with that much mass, and launched himself sideways in a wide, twisting leap. The wind howled around him as he rotated midair, a red blur against white snow.

He let out a sudden, sharp roar, not one of fury, but the kind that stuns prey just long enough for the kill. His right hand lashed forward.

The illusion fell away just as his claws made contact.

Crimson blood dripped from his fingers. Joriel's real form appeared - his face contorted, eyes wide with panic, mouth twitching soundlessly. Blood poured from the ragged hole in his gut where Dariel's claws had struck true. He clutched the wound with both hands, trembling, barely upright.

Dariel's mouth curled, exposing the full length of his fangs, no longer just teeth, but weapons. His eyes gleamed, not wild, but cold and clear. The next strike would finish it.

His left arm was already in motion, slicing toward Joriel's neck.

But then it stopped.

Crimson light bloomed around his forearm, halting it mid-strike. It shimmered with the same glow I'd seen too often - Aria's dark magic.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Dariel snarled, twisting to his left, muscles straining against the bind. "Who dares?!" he barked, voice filled with fury and threat.

An elder stood nearby, face drawn tight, brow beaded with sweat. Both arms extended, fingers trembling as he held Dariel's limb in place, barely.

"Dar… Vael Dariel," the elder whispered. "Control your anger."

More figures emerged from the hall. Freya stepped forward, flanked by others.

"My love. Let the tribe pass judgment. He is no longer yours to kill."

Dariel didn't move at first. He stared at them, one by one. Faces he loved. Faces that meant everything to him.

The air in his lungs shuddered, then slowed. His chest rose, then fell again, more controlled now. The markings across his skin dulled slightly, the violent shimmer receding. His claws flexed once, then again, before his shoulders dropped. A sharp exhale followed like dragging himself back from the brink.

But his body reacted before his mind could.

A sudden sting lanced through his right hand.

Dariel wrenched it back on instinct, already recoiling before his eyes caught the movement - Joriel had stabbed him in the hand with a hidden dagger.

Dariel's eyes narrowed, his jaw locking tight. But the fury didn't last. His features relaxed, not fully, but enough to show he had reclaimed control. Only after reclaiming control of his mind did he notice the pool of blood spreading beneath Joriel. The shallow cut across his hand, the last desperate swipe from a dying man, was likely all the strength Joriel had left.

"You ungrateful shits," Joriel spat red, face twisted with hatred. "How many of you did I save from the so-called customs of this tribe?" The word came out bitter.

"If not for me, this tribe would've been ash years ago. And this is how you repay me? Backstabbing your true Vael?"

His eyes scoured the gathered Velmoryns, searching for a trace of support, some lingering loyalty in the crowd. He found none.

He couldn't know that a few had indeed tried to stand by him. A few had even stepped forward when Dariel struck. But it hadn't mattered as the tribe immediately squashed them. The moment he cast that spell inside the council hall, he ceased to be a leader. He was no longer a respectable council member, only a criminal, and the tribe had responded accordingly.

"I should've let the Blue Tribe slaughter you all," Joriel growled. "I should've joined them. They're the true future of Velmoryn. They know what matters - strength. Not customs. Not feelings. Strength."

He coughed, blood spattering the ground, but he wasn't finished. "W-weaklings like you should be c-culled… The s-strong should rule. That's how it was always meant to be…"

The words cut deeper than they should have, but not for the Velmoryns - for me. They were difficult to hear because they reminded me of the mistake I had made. Those exact words were written in the commandments I had crafted.

When I wrote them, I had aimed them at a tribe that had grown soft, passive, aimless, unanchored. I wasn't trying to create a caste of brutal purists. I was trying to wake them up. Shake them loose from stagnation.

My goal was never to build a society that devoured its weakest. I knew the early stage of settlement demanded strength, yes, but once survival was secured, it would be intelligence, creativity, empathy that would shape the future. Joriel's interpretation was a warped reflection of my original vision, and if Joriel had found those words without reading my commandments, what would those do who would be raised by it…

Shit... I need to reshape those commandments before I absorb the rest of the tribes. I need to steer societal growth from the start… or everything will rot from the roots.

While I slipped into thought, Joriel's voice continued - a mix of curses, slurred outrage, and sputtered justifications. But his voice was beginning to falter. His body was failing him.

Then, all at once, his snarling expression shifted. The fury collapsed into something else - a wide, eerie grin.

"B-before I die," he rasped, voice catching in his throat, "I want you filths to know…" He coughed hard, a splatter of blood bursting from the wound in his gut, but he didn't seem to notice. "...it was me. I started the war against the four trib-bes… all of it."

The gasp that followed wasn't from pain, it was laughter. Wet, broken laughter.

"I told your father to sacrifice himself, Dariel. And you handed me the tribe...hahaha, you gave me everything like a true spineless coward you are." His grin stretched wide, eyes glittering with triumph.

Dariel's body tensed, the crimson markings across his skin glowing brighter as rage began to consume him again. But Joriel could not care less anymore, because in that moment, he noticed a glimmer of hope - crimson markings, the god that stood behind Dariel.

He dropped to his knees, letting go of his wound as blood spilled faster now, pooling around him. He didn't look at Dariel anymore. He prostrated himself instead.

"Velmoryn God," he gasped, head bowed, arms spread, voice hoarse. "Please save me… and I swear… I'll do anything. I'll kill… every last one of them. I'll offer their souls to…You,... every damned one… just save me..."

It was the strangest prayer I'd ever received. But something in his words caught my attention.

Offer their souls…

How did he know?

The value of souls to gods wasn't something mortals should've known. And more importantly, how was he going to offer those souls to me? No matter how much I thought about it, there had to be a method - some technique to extract divine power from mortal souls. And if Joriel knew of it…

I suddenly wanted to strip that knowledge from his mind, tear it out before it was lost. But I wasn't about to save him to do it. His death was certain. What I needed was a way to bind his soul and claim the secrets directly inside my realm.

How do I make him my follower without sav…

A sharp flash of blue light cut through my thoughts. A system notification had appeared, snapping my focus back to the present.

[Warning: Non-Believer mortal is offering a divine oath…]

But before I could make sense of the notification, it vanished.

In its place, a suffocating black energy blanketed the Yellow Tribe. Even within my divine realm, I felt it - thick and heavy. Whatever presence had descended, it was stronger than me. I had no doubt.

A low laugh echoed in the mortal realm, twisted and breathless.

"Hahaha... I knew it," Joriel rasped, his voice trembling with sick delight. "I was meant for a greater God..."

His body lifted off the ground, limbs limp like a marionette caught in a rising tide. Black divine energy surged around him - thick, tar-like tendrils crawling across his skin until he was wrapped in it, swallowed whole by something far beyond my influence.

His wound was beginning to seal. Not fast, but steady.

And then, just as I registered the full weight of what was happening, another window tore into my vision.

A red one.