Shattered Oath Silent Kings

Ian couldn't recall the exact moment it all began—the Great War that threw humanity into chaos and brought the world to the brink of destruction. The day when the Gods' amusement turned into humanity's despair. He had tried, many times, to piece together the memory of how it started, but all that remained was a gaping void in his mind. One thing, however, was certain: everything had started with him.

Him, the demon kings, and the thirteen Evil Gods he had sworn to serve.

The dagger in his right hand felt heavier with every step he took toward the altar. The air inside the crumbling temple was thick with the stench of blood and decay. Ian's breaths were labored, not from exertion but from the weight of emotions suffocating him—rage, despair, hatred, and fear, all swirling inside like a storm. The faint light from the fractured windows reflected off the dagger's edge, and with each step, the temple seemed to quake beneath his feet.

Ahead, chained to the altar, was a demon king. Once the harbinger of destruction, now a pathetic figure kneeling in defeat. Ian's golden eyes narrowed. The sight of the demon king, broken and powerless, didn't fill him with triumph. Instead, it deepened his hatred. Not for the demon king but for the Gods.

The Gods who started it all. The Gods who took everything from me. My family. My brother. My life. All for their sick games.

They were fickle beings, watching from their thrones in the heavens, finding amusement in the struggles of mortals. Ian knew the truth—he had seen it with his own eyes. The Gods didn't care about humanity's fate. To them, it was all just a game. Human lives were stories, and suffering was entertainment.

"Their whims," Ian muttered under his breath. "It's all because of their whims."

The broken pillars and rubble of the temple bore witness to countless battles fought here. Ian walked past them, his grip tightening on the dagger. His footsteps echoed in the silence, a prelude to the violence that was about to erupt.

Then they appeared.

Stone golems, towering over him at three meters tall, stepped forward to guard the altar. Each one was a master of a different weapon: a sword, a lance, a bow, a shield, and magic. Their glowing cores pulsed like hearts, embedded in their chests, each protected by thick, enchanted stone.

Ian came to a stop, studying them. Five opponents. No retreat.

The first golem, armed with a sword, charged at him. Ian raised his dagger, meeting the golem's blade head-on. Sparks flew as their weapons clashed, the impact reverberating through his arm. The lance golem moved next, thrusting its weapon toward Ian's side. He twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the attack.

Focus. Watch their movements. Wait for an opening.

The archer golem loosed an arrow, and Ian leaped onto the crumbling wall to dodge. The magician golem began chanting, its hands glowing with fiery energy. Meanwhile, the shield golem stood firm, guarding the altar with impenetrable defense.

Ian's gaze darted between them. The magician and shield golems... they're protecting the demon king. They know I'm a divine user.

His thoughts were interrupted as the sword golem attacked again. Ian dodged and countered, his dagger slicing through the air. He spotted a brief opening and leaped onto the golem's shoulders. With a swift strike, he drove his dagger into its core. The stone cracked and shattered, the golem collapsing into a heap of rubble.

A fireball streaked toward him from the magician golem. Ian rolled to the side, the heat singing his clothes. An arrow followed, blocking his path forward. He gritted his teeth and glanced at the status window that appeared before him.

[Status Error]

[No Skill Available]

Ian clenched his fists. The Gods gave me this power, and now they're taking it away. Typical.

He focused on the altar again. Memories of his brother, Allen, flashed before his eyes. His laughter. His kindness. The way he had looked up to Ian with unwavering trust. And now, Allen was gone. Taken by this war. Taken by the Gods' cruel games.

Ian's heart ached. I'm not doing this as a divine user. Not as a soldier or a warrior. I'm just an older brother. An older brother who failed to protect the one person who mattered most.

The golems moved in unison, closing in. Ian exhaled slowly, steadying his breath. He knelt on one knee and whispered, "Angel of War, Durkheim, grant me your strength and wisdom to end this."

A soft, mocking laughter echoed through the temple. Feathers drifted down from above, glowing faintly in the dim light. Ian felt a surge of power course through his body. His legs glowed with mana, and his dagger radiated a white aura.

He dashed forward, breaking through the magician golem's barrier. His dagger sliced through the protective enchantment, and with a single strike, he destroyed the magician's core. The shield golem moved to intercept him, but Ian's enhanced speed allowed him to dodge its blows. He plunged his dagger into its chest, shattering its core as well.

Finally, Ian stood before the demon king. Their eyes met—violet against gold. Ian's hand trembled as he raised the dagger. "This ends here," he said, his voice cold and steady.

He drove the dagger into the demon king's chest. A notification appeared before him.

[Turn 275th – God of Light Won]

Ian stepped back, his breaths ragged. The demon king's lifeless body slumped forward, and the chains holding it dissolved into nothingness. Ian turned away, his gaze falling on the ruins of the once-great empire.

Thirteen years ago, he had failed to kill the demon king. They had spared him, leaving him alive to grieve in solitude. Thirteen years of following the Gods' commands, hunting down the thirteen demon kings and their apostles of evil. Thirteen years of being a pawn in their game.

A new notification blinked before him as we walked into the ruined palace basement. Ice covered the walls, floor, and ceiling. A body lying inside of a coffin remains untouched nor decayed due to the cold and magic. Ian has to make sure of it so the body will not rot over time.

[We shall grant one of your wishes.]

Ian stared at it, his hand tightening around the dagger. He looked down at Allen's lifeless body, cradled in his arms. Tears streamed down his face as he caressed his brother's cold cheek.

"You deserved better," Ian whispered, his voice breaking. "You deserved so much better."

The burning capital stretched out before him, the flames consuming everything in their path. Ian laughed bitterly, a hollow sound that echoed through the silence.

"This war… this power… none of it matters. They took you from me, Allen. All for their entertainment."

The system notification blared with new messages from the Goddess of Fate, but Ian ignored them. He closed his eyes, holding his brother close.

"I'll end this. For you."

Ian stood before Theoarize, his voice shaking as he made his wish. "Bring Allen back," he pleaded, his eyes filled with desperation. 

Theoarize, the ancient being of power, gazed at him with a calm yet sorrowful expression. "Ian," she said gently, "we cannot bring back the dead. That is a boundary even I cannot cross." 

Ian's breath hitched, and then, like a storm breaking, he screamed, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness around them. "So what?! Does that mean everything I've done—the past years of fighting, sacrificing everything—was all for nothing?! Was my pain, my despair, all worthless?" 

His body trembled as he fell to his knees, hands clutching the ground. Tears spilled down his face, streaking his dirtied skin. "What was the point of all this if I can't even save him?" 

Theoarize remained silent for a moment, giving Ian the space to grieve. Then, cautiously, she spoke again. "There is... another way. But it is not without consequence." 

Ian looked up, his tear-streaked face full of desperation. "What way?" 

"I can send you back," Theoarize explained, her voice steady but heavy. "To the past. To the day before Allen was chosen as the heir. But there is a price—a law of causality that cannot be ignored. If I do this, Ian Winterbell, as you are now, will cease to exist. Your identity, and your very being… will be erased. You will become someone who is not you."

Ian froze, her words sinking into him like stones. "I won't be me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. 

Theoarize nodded solemnly. "Allen will not remember any of this—your sacrifices, your battles, or even your love for him. You will be reborn as someone else. Allen Winterbell wil never have a brother. Are you willing to give up everything for him?" 

Ian closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Memories of his life flooded him—the moments of triumph, the unbearable losses, and most vividly, his brother's smile. 

"I..." His voice faltered, but he forced himself to continue. "It's fine." He opened his eyes, his gaze steady despite the tears still falling. "At least this way, Allen won't have to fight me for the throne. He can have a better life… a life without this cursed struggle. And I can protect him… from afar." 

Theoarize studied him, her expression tinged with sorrow. "You understand what this means, don't you? You will be giving up everything—your very existence." 

Ian nodded calmly "If it means Allen gets to live without pain, then I'll do it." 

Theoarize sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of eternity. "Very well. I will grant your wish. I only hope you find peace in the choice you've made." 

As she raised her hand, a soft light began to envelop Ian. He looked down at himself, seeing his body begin to fade, the edges of his form dissolving into the ether. 

In that final moment, Ian whispered, "Goodbye, Allen. Live well… for both of us." 

Theoarize's voice was soft, almost inaudible. "May this bring you the happiness you deserve, Ian Winterbell." 

The light consumed him completely, and when it faded, there was only silence. The world had shifted, and the throne now had only one prince. Somewhere in the new timeline, a young Allen smiled brightly, unaware of the sacrifice that had been made for his peace.