Chapter : 228

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In the center of the clearing stood an altar. It was not a beautiful altar. It was not a holy altar. It was a thing of nightmares, built from the bones of beasts and the twisted branches of dead trees. Purple flames burned in iron bowls at each corner, casting sickly, flickering light across the clearing. The air around the altar was thick with dark mana, so dense that it was visible to the naked eye as swirling purple mist.

Three figures in dark robes stood around the altar. They were Hollow cultists. Their faces were hidden behind masks carved from animal skulls, and their hands were stained with dark magic that no amount of washing could ever clean. Each one radiated a faint, sickly purple glow that marked them as practitioners of forbidden Black Magic.

The leader of the three was a tall, gaunt man whose skull mask had been painted with strange symbols in dried blood. His name was Vorath, and he was the commander of this particular Hollow cell. He had been sent to the Silverleaf Jungle with a very specific mission from the cult's upper leadership.

“The reagent,” Vorath said, his voice muffled behind the mask but still carrying the cold authority of a true believer. “Is it ready?”

One of the other cultists stepped forward. She was shorter than Vorath, with a mask made from the skull of a great jungle cat. Her name was Seket, and she was the cell's specialist in dark alchemy. She held a small clay jar in her black-stained hands.

“The Glayin extract is prepared,” Seket said, holding up the jar. Inside, a faint golden liquid swirled slowly, as if it were alive. “It was harvested from the deer three nights ago. The creature is still alive, but barely. We keep it chained in the cave behind the waterfall, just as the orders specified.”

The third cultist, a heavyset man with a boar-skull mask, grunted in satisfaction. His name was Grath, and he was the muscle of the operation. He did not care much for alchemy or rituals. He cared about breaking things and making people obey.

“Good,” Grath said. His voice was a deep, rumbling bass that vibrated in the chest like distant thunder. “I am tired of babysitting those jungle savages. When do we finish this ritual and move on?”

Vorath turned his skull mask toward Grath. The empty eye sockets of the mask seemed to stare right through him. “We finish when the ritual is complete. Not before. The reagent must be purified under the light of the red moon. That is three nights from now. Until then, we hold our position and maintain control over the tribe.”

Grath kicked at the scorched earth with his boot. “The tribe is under control. My skeleton warriors have them completely enslaved. They work, they build, they obey. No problems there.”

That was true. The Hollow cult had enslaved the Dimitri tribe using their signature Black Magic. The black skeleton card that Vorath had planted in the center of the village had summoned a monstrous skeletal guardian that now lorded over the tribespeople. The purple glow in their eyes was the visible sign of their enslavement. They could not think. They could not resist. They could only obey.

And obey they did. The enslaved tribesmen had spent the last several days building a larger, more elaborate altar on the other side of the village. They worked without rest, without food, without complaint. The skeleton warrior stood guard over them, its hollow eye sockets burning with the same purple fire as the cult's magic.

Vorath paced around the altar slowly, his dark robes dragging through the ash on the ground. He was thinking. Planning. The ritual they were preparing was not a simple one. It required precision, patience, and an enormous amount of dark mana. The Glayin extract was only one part of it. The other part was suffering.

“The Great Black Soul Sovereign feeds on pain,” Vorath said, more to himself than to his companions. “The suffering of the enslaved tribe is being collected and stored in the deep wells beneath this altar. Every hour they spend under our control, every moment of their hopeless obedience, adds to the reservoir. By the time the red moon rises, we will have enough.”

Seket nodded slowly. “And then?”

“Then we perform the final ritual. The Glayin extract will be mixed with the collected suffering energy and offered to the Sovereign. If the offering is accepted, the Sovereign will grant us a fragment of its power. A gift that will make us stronger than any Royal in the Belmontia Empire.”

Grath cracked his knuckles. The sound was loud in the quiet, scorched clearing. “I like the sound of that. Power. Real power. Not like these jungle savages and their sticks and stones.”

Vorath stopped pacing. He stood perfectly still for a moment, his skull-masked face tilted upward, as if listening to something far away. Then he spoke again, and his voice was quieter, more careful.

“There is one concern,” he said. “Our network in the western provinces was destroyed last month. An entire cell of Black Magicians was wiped out by a single servant. A golden spirit with a bow.”

“Karna,” Seket whispered. The name came out like a curse and a prayer at the same time.

“Yes. Karna. The servant of Lancelot.” Vorath's gloved hands tightened into fists at his sides. “The masked monster has been hunting our cells one by one. Three cells destroyed in the last two months alone. If he finds us here...”

“He will not find us,” Grath said firmly. “We are in the middle of a jungle, a hundred miles from the nearest city. Nobody knows we are here.”

“That is what the cell in the western provinces thought too,” Vorath replied coldly. “And they are all dead now. Do not underestimate Lancelot. He has eyes everywhere, and his servant can travel between dimensions.”

The three cultists stood in uneasy silence for a long moment. The purple flames in the iron bowls crackled and hissed. The dark mana mist swirled lazily around the altar. Somewhere in the distance, a jungle bird screamed and fell silent.

Vorath shook his head. “Enough worrying. We have a job to do. Seket, check on the Glayin deer. Make sure it is still alive and producing the extract. Grath, reinforce the skeleton warrior's control over the tribe. Double the guard rotation. I want every entrance to this clearing watched.”

“What about you?” Grath asked.

“I will complete the next phase of the ritual preparation. The altar needs additional binding circles before the red moon arrives. If even one symbol is wrong, the entire offering will fail, and the Sovereign does not forgive failure.”

The three cultists moved to their tasks. Seket disappeared into the jungle toward the waterfall where the Glayin deer was kept. Grath headed toward the village, his heavy footsteps making the ground shake slightly. Vorath remained at the altar, kneeling in the ash and beginning to trace intricate symbols on the ground with a finger that glowed with dark purple mana.

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