I did not fully understand what had just happened to me, but I did know where I was.

Davion had used some sort of magic to drag me into a hole in the floor of his home. It led down to this tunnel that seemed to correlate with the location of Drixstead’s walls. If that was true, there was a system of tunnels—almost like sewers—that ran around the stronghold.

There didn’t seem to be an easy way to get out of here, as the only way out I knew was the hole I had fallen from. It seemed time to use my new skill, and I hoped it would work.

Activating [Map Line], I watched as the red line I had become so familiar with in the past week appeared in front of me, leading deeper into the tunnels. I had directed it to create a guiding line out of here, and it seemed like it had worked.

Following the line, I ran my hand along the cool wall for extra guidance. The river of blood to my left flowed sluggishly, creating a gurgling sound as its smell filled the narrow tunnel.

After about a hundred steps, the line I had been following began to jerk in all directions before completely fading. I frowned and tried to activate it again. The results didn’t change, and I could only guess that the skill just wasn’t leveled enough.

It was frustrating that I hadn’t managed to level [Map Line] after a week of using it, but I understood that I hadn’t done anything difficult to improve it. Past skills had needed that extra push to level up, and I didn’t think [Map Line] would be any different. Perhaps if I kept trying to use it now, it would finally push past its limits.

I kept walking as I continued to summon a line that would fizzle out without fail. That pool of mana I could feel inside of me began to slowly drain, something that hadn’t happened before with this skill. Its cost seemed minimal, but now that I was pushing it, it noticeably took from my well of power.

My nose had adapted to the constant smell of blood, overuse of the sense leading to its fatigue. I was grateful, since [Enhanced Sense] had amplified it to an extreme degree, and since the river didn’t like it would disappear anytime soon.

The path in front of me finally changed, the wall cutting off to turn to the right. I turned with it, guessing that I was now underneath the back wall of Drixstead.

Before I could make it the same distance as I had in the other tunnel, the wall I had kept my hand against dipped inward, and blood seemed to rush faster at this spot. I followed this new path that led towards the center of the stronghold. The floor turned into steps, and I went down them, the last step resulting in me standing ankle-deep in blood.

The wall disappeared, and it seemed I had entered a cavern of some sort. I sloshed my way forward through the blood-covered floor, splashing sounds echoing through the expansive room.

Quite some time passed as I walked through the space, and I almost felt as if it would never end. I was relieved when I found that wasn’t the case, a new wall appearing in front of me.

Walking along it, I felt for a door, a hole, or even a crack that would mean I wouldn’t have to turn back. My wish was granted as the wall disappeared from my hand, and I went to move into this new section.

However, I stopped as I heard the voice of Davion, now clear to my improved hearing.

“Why isn’t it working?” he asked, frustrated. “This should be the last step!” I heard Lewis quietly groan in response, and my foot jerked forward before I stopped myself.

“What have you done, Davion?” he asked, voice filled with pain. “Where are we?”

“I’m only completing the Celestial Ceremony of Blood, as I have done every year.”

“What… what is that? What happened at the festival?” The same question was at the forefront of my brain, and I hoped Davion would choose to answer.

The patriarch sighed, splashing through blood as he walked before he stopped. “Since you will not last much longer, I suppose I will enlighten you,” he said, his tone magnanimous. “The chest that you so generously created is merely a catalyst in summoning Fevdohr’s power. His worshippers offer a token of sorts to the catalyst, then the next step requires a sacrifice from the creator.”

Davion hadn’t mentioned burning the chest, and I wondered if that had merely been a part of my imagination. If it was, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Why can’t I remember what happened? What about last year, did you do the same?” Lewis asked, his words still labored.

“I’ve done this every year, and will do it again!” Davion snapped. “Do you not remember last year? The jeweler created a necklace for the festival, and everyone offered flowers, including you.” He let out a short laugh. “Well, I’m not surprised you don’t remember. A simple cast of [Spread Devotion] and [Muddle Minds] is enough to keep you weak people blind to what I do for our God.”

Blood splashed, and I debated on whether to move forward while Davion was distracted with his explanation.

“But why? Why are you doing this?” Lewis asked.

“Why?” Davion repeated incredulously. “I did it to bring Fevdohr’s power to Atheon, as well as to me. I did it because He commanded me to do so. For I am the [Fulfiller of God], and I built Drixstead for this very purpose!”

Lewis scoffed. “What do you mean ‘built’? You mean these tunnels?”

“Not just that, foolish man. I created Drixstead’s very foundation, and everything after that,” Davion said. “I am The Patriarch, the primogenitor, the one chosen by God. Call it what you will.”

“Impossible! This place is hundreds of years old!” Lewis said, disbelieving. I couldn’t believe it myself, the mere idea that Davion could live for so long a ludicrous thought. It did seem like it could be possible in this world, but it was such a change from Earth that it left me reeling.

“Anything is possible through God, Lewis. His power runs through me as a result of this ceremony and my devotion.” His footsteps moved away from me, I assumed towards Lewis. “Speaking of, we must get back to it. I have no idea why the ceremony is not completed. Did I miss a step?” he asked himself.

I moved around the corner, hoping to take advantage while Davion was turned away from me. My axe was not with me, so I pulled out the dagger I had taken from Bretton, but I still felt naked and at a disadvantage.

“W-what are you doing?” Lewis stuttered out, sounding panicked as he shuffled back along dry ground.

“Perhaps not enough Blood of the Creator has been offered… I will see this through, Lewis.”

Yes, the patriarch had to die. I saw no other way of getting out of this situation and potentially helping Lewis as well. Davion seemed intent on killing him, so I had no doubt he would have no qualms against killing me if he discovered my presence.

Davion was—if he was telling the truth—hundreds of years old, so I had no idea what his status looked like, and if I even stood a chance against his skills. He had warped my mind and kept me complacent with just a skill, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what else he had in his arsenal.

But I was driven to try—to deliver Judgment to this man who had wronged me. That thought was no doubt influenced by my class, and I wondered if I would think the same if [Executioner] was not my class.

Well, I had no way of knowing, and I was stuck with it. It was a part of me now, and perhaps it had just woken a part of me that already existed in the recesses of my mind.

Gripping the knife's handle tightly in my hand, I crept forward, making sure not to splash the blood that swirled around my ankles.

Davion’s form appeared in my field of perception, bent over with his hands tightly gripping the side of the still intact coffin, enough to make the wood creak.

I positioned my arm behind me, the hilt of the knife held between my fingers. Activating [Silent Blade], I felt an invisible film wrap around the weapon. It was the first time I had used the skill since I had never encountered a need for it. It proved applicable to any weapon, and I was glad it wasn’t limited to axes like [Chop] was.

The skill drained a sizable amount of mana from me, so I hoped the results would match the cost.

Now, I could hardly sense the dagger, even though I still held it in my hand. I inhaled heavily, before silently breathing out the air that was thick with blood. Standing straight, I filled my arm with strength before throwing it towards Davion’s still form.

I focused my senses on the dagger to keep track of its flight, holding my breath.

It was over in an instant. Before it reached Davion, he stiffened, body twisting and causing the blade to lodge in his side, and not his spine as I had intended. My heart hammered at my failure as he hissed in pain, and I took a jolting step back, splashing blood. It seemed my skill was not powerful enough to go undetected by this man whose power was still not comprehensible to me.

What would it take to defeat him? It now felt impossible. I had no other weapon on me, and my highest level skill was [Chop]. Strength was also my highest stat.

“Look who has joined us,” the patriarch seethed through gritted teeth. Before I could think of what to do next, ropes of blood wrapped around me once again, gripping my arms and torso to drag me towards Davion.

My feet stumbled as I was ripped forward, tripping up stone steps to a platform. My stomach collided with the wooden coffin, its edge digging under my ribs. I choked as I was almost folded in half.

I felt Lewis next to me, my arm brushing against his. His breathing was heavy and labored, and I suspected he was no longer conscious, given his lack of reaction to my appearance.

“You are the intruder, Cain. Why must you involve yourself in what has nothing to do with you?” Davion asked, pulling the dagger out from his side with a wet shlick.

“I was involved the moment you tampered with my mind,” I responded through my teeth.

He sighed as I struggled against the bonds of blood that still wrapped around me. “That is true. But it was necessary as [Spread Devotion] did not work on you. Your unwillingness to accept Fevdohr’s greatness is your biggest fault.”

I adamantly disagreed, Davion’s devotion sickening for me to see. Why must I tie myself to a higher being? It seemed like it would be the same as shackling myself to a sinking stone. Even if it would grant me longevity, it did not seem worth it.

My body began to heat, flames coursing through me to ignite at my palms that gripped onto the side of the coffin. The fire seemed to explode out, the smell of smoke filling my nose.

Davion began to yell, screaming for me to stop even as I coursed every bit of power I had out of me, hoping to burn the religious coffin to ash. If I could not get away, I would hinder his plans at all costs.

A blade formed from blood was controlled by Davion, and I felt as it sliced at my arm in an effort to stop the flames coming from me. I could not move away from it, my body still held immobile.

I screamed at the pain, instinctively increasing the rate of fire coming from me. My arm was severed from the middle of my bicep, pain flying up through my shoulder and making my mind hazy.

Blood from my wound poured over the fire of my own creation, spilling onto the burning wood to drip inside the coffin.

My throat became raw as I continued to scream, yanking flames out of me, damaging something inside my body as I pulled from an empty pool of mana. The room seemed to grow still despite the chaos, and I heard Davion begin to laugh in what seemed like victory.

His laughter was manic, going on and on, and I could hear it clearly over my screams and the roar of flames. His mana-controlled ropes of blood released me, and my body collapsed, pressing against Lewis with my side that still had an arm.

I had run dry, both in mana and in mind, and Davion only laughed.