Chapter 1120: Bait

Chapter 1120: Bait

“I-I wasn’t hiding it, honored master!” Vex stammered, sensing the lethal shift in the air. “Your humble servant would never dare.”

“The exit to the cavern is guarded by a horde of powerful Fel-reavers. They were once the vassal of a lord,” he explained in a rush. “For reasons I don’t understand, they’ve sealed the entrance. Nothing gets in, and nothing gets out.”

Orion remained silent. Based on Vex’s report, he could already piece together the puzzle. This entire tributary of the Abyss had been Gareth’s private garden, which meant the Fel-reavers were likely her former minions, acting as gatekeepers. With Gareth’s death, they were now free. Seizing control of the cavern was the logical next step—a way to secure their own safety and slowly build their strength.

Demons like Vex were basically their cattle, being fattened for the slaughter.

“Lead the way,” Orion commanded after a moment’s thought. “We’re going to the first layer.”

Vex didn’t dare protest. He scrambled to his feet and scurried ahead of Xalathar, guiding Orion toward the cavern’s exit.

***

Silverwood Realm, the Southern Black Tower

In the magnificent circular palace at the tower’s apex, four thrones faced the cardinal directions. Three were occupied by the Pontiffs Clown, Konak, and Yriel. The fourth now held a new arrival.

“Pontiff Valerius, we welcome you,” Konak said, playing the part of the gracious host.

“There’s no need for formalities, Konak,” Valerius replied. His tone was polite, but his words were not. “I am here on the express command of Archbishop Kysar to lend you my aid.” He spoke with a humility that fooled no one; a truly humble man would never use such a self-important tone with his peers.

In truth, the Cult of Four’s invasion of the Silverwood Realm was intended to be a three-pronged assault. This Pontiff Valerius was the third prong, responsible for the invasion by sea. But with Konak and Yriel’s forces stalled, he had been ordered by the Archbishop to reinforce them.

“Gentlemen, let me be clear about one thing,” Yriel interjected, his voice sharp. He could read Valerius’s arrogance as clear as day. “This is a holy war, a crucial step in the grand future of our Cult of Four. Securing the Silverwood Realm will earn us all greater favor and power from our gods. This isn’t a personal campaign—it is a collective one.”

Yriel was quick to frame the issue as a matter of faith, a unified front for the Cult. He wasn’t foolish enough to directly challenge the man sent to reinforce them, but he wasn’t about to let Valerius act like he was in charge.

“Pontiff Valerius, I trust you are an intelligent man. Your very presence here signifies that our enemy is formidable,” Yriel continued. “Formidable enough to have once gravely wounded one of our Archbishops.”

As Valerius’s eyes narrowed, Konak cleared his throat, stepping in to smooth things over. “From what we currently know, the enemy in the north has at least three demigod-level combatants. And according to our intel, their most powerful member has yet to even show his face. Pontiff Valerius, I have no doubt of your strength, but please, do not underestimate our foes.” This wasn’t a lecture; it was a hard-won lesson from the battlefield, and Konak delivered it with grim sincerity.

“And that is why I was ordered to reinforce you,” Valerius replied, reining in his pride, though his dismissive air remained.

“Gentlemen,” a new voice cut in, drawing their attention. It was Clown. “Perhaps we should set aside our… rivalries. Our past disagreements were merely internal competition—the healthy, self-motivating drive of our faith.”

“My fellow Pontiffs, our enemy isn’t just in the north. We also have the Moonwell demigod hiding in Staghelm City, and that old dragon festering in the south. If we do the math, we’re facing at least five demigods.”

Five demigods. A lineup like that was a serious threat in any faction, on any world. Even for the Cult of Four, it was not an enemy that could be taken lightly.

Jack’s analysis silenced the simmering conflict. Even Valerius looked grim. He hadn’t realized the situation on the continent was this dire. No wonder three of the Cult’s Pontiffs had been unable to conquer this realm.

“Pontiff Jack, you’ve missed one,” Valerius said, the palace falling quiet once more. “The Sea Race has a demigod as well. The longer I am away assisting you, the more likely he is to sense that something is amiss. Furthermore, the energy waves from a battle between demigods will certainly draw his attention.”

His words settled like a shroud. They were facing at least six demigods. The thought alone was a headache. It was clear the unexpected appearance of the Champions Alliance high command had completely disrupted the Cult’s plans.

After a long silence, Jack’s voice slithered through the chamber, laced with a hint of seductive guile. “The situation is dire, but we still have the initiative.”

The other Pontiffs, all demigods themselves, were immune to his cheap tricks.

“If you have a point, Pontiff Jack, make it,” Yriel said flatly.

Jack chuckled, a dry, unsettling sound. He waved a hand, and a large, magical sand table in the center of the hall shimmered to life. “Our enemies may seem numerous, but they are scattered. They are not a unified force.”

He tapped four points on the map, glowing lights marking the Champions Alliance, Staghelm City, the dragon’s territory, and the domain of the Sea Race. They were spread far apart from north to south.

Konak, Yriel, and Valerius stared at the sand table, their eyes gleaming with understanding.

“If nothing unforeseen happens,” Jack continued, “our only immediate threat is a combined force from the Champions Alliance and Staghelm City.”

Mentally subtracting two demigods from the equation brought a wave of relief to the Pontiffs. Though they had vast reserves of faith and Divine Art to draw upon, no one wanted to fight a losing battle outnumbered.

“And that,” Jack said, pointing a finger at Staghelm City, his voice dripping with conspiracy, “presents us with an opportunity.”

“Pontiff Jack,” Konak mused, “you’re suggesting we use Staghelm City as bait. Set a trap for the northern demigods?”

In reality, the three of them—Jack, Konak, and Yriel—had already devised this plan. Their back-and-forth was a rehearsed performance, designed to build confidence in the newly arrived Pontiff.

“Gentlemen, if we were to lay down more of the Cult’s Divine Wards outside Staghelm City… I believe we could, if not kill our enemies, then at least cripple them,” Jack proposed. “Better yet, we wear them down in a battle of attrition. They’ll be too weakened to continue the war and might even be forced to retreat entirely.”

He scanned the faces of the other Pontiffs. They were all silent, lost in thought, weighing the risks and the rewards of his gambit.