Myth Series: Arreira’s Last Stand – Teaser

Myth Series: Arreira’s Last Stand – Teaser

Lina's POV, 8th of the month of Love, year 68,999 of the Solar calendar, at Rabanara's temple's library.

I close the book with a sigh and rest my eyes. I've read enough about the merfolk golden age and Seemacht for now, I think.

Then I look at the book next to me. It's an epic, so not exactly the kind of "research" about history that Master Wolf wanted me to do... but maybe I could take a quick look at it as a "break" from research...

We've had quite a few stressful days lately. If all nobles are like Vanea I kind of understand why Hana fears the nobility so much...

I look around the temple's library and notice that Logan has left to resume his duties as a scribe, so there won't be any witness to my crime.

A break wouldn't hurt, right...?

I grab the book and open it on top of another to camouflage it.

I'm going to read it!

It was the eleventh day of the first month of the Year After Creation 49.120. During the month of birth, every Genn, the day of Light, is considered a holy day for the empire, but Ajax's Ascension was still to come, so the orbits of the sun and the moon could be manipulated by mages powerful enough, and this means that aside from the year, the month and the day wouldn't correspond to the Calendar of Festivity that we use.

Coincidentally, the elven calendar at the time considered that "day" as auspicious for battle, though it wasn't "day," at least not yet.

Arreira looked down and observed as the mana storm tore the end tail of his retreating army. Blinding lightning struck the back of the men, exploding them into showers of giblets; a dark shadow expanded along the floor, kidnapping whoever touched it and taking them somewhere they could never return; deformed, horrific beasts spawned at random and attacked whatever they saw first; glowing clouds of smoke the color of the rainbow billowed out, completely sterilizing the landscape of all life then warping it until it was unrecognizable; and a shower of random spells was cast from nothing towards anywhere.

The chaotic illumination cast ghastly shadows on Arreira's grim face. His handsome, chiseled features enhanced the ominous aura he exuded, and even his men started to fear their own God-Ruler.

"It's time for the day to break the darkness," he stoically stated.

His God's Voice immediately sent the signal through the communication vines, and the elven soldiers silently moved towards their communion stations, then the huge trees that were spread all over the fortress gently shook their crowns, creating a whispering sound, and their bark creaked as the huge structure came to life.

Then Arreira walked away from the balcony, towards the huge white gem encrusted at the tip of his tower. The Farole, a beacon of holy light that all elves looked for in search of safety.

Farole has never been seen again after Arreira's death, but it's most likely in the Elder Council's grasp along with the fortress itself.

If they truly betrayed Arreira, then that gem was just one of the many things they stole from the God-Ruler.

With a flick of his hand, Arreira's wrist split open, and his powerful blood flowed out, floating in the air as it formed a circle around the beacon.

Arreira looked up, and his eyes were instantly drawn towards the alluring sphere of pure blackness in the sky that stared down upon the realm, the Moon of Renewal. For the average mortal, the moon was hard to discern from the background of the night sky, but Arreira could feel the gaze of the moon in his skin as it filled his body with mana.

The moon before the Goddess' Avatar took control of it. The way it's described makes it sound so scary.

And there was more beauty to be seen in the sky, even if it was caused by the destruction on the ground. Shooting stars formed constantly around the moon and fell down, attracted towards the mana storm that raged on the battlefield, painting the dark sky with long lines of white stardust.

I heard that Okross first came from these "shooting stars," but I think that's just a myth.

But Arreira paid no mind to the view for his mind was solely focused on the task at hand.

Mana exuded out of his body in such heavy droves that anyone with [Sense Mana] could only describe it in one way: divine power. Reality wavered and whimpered, resisting the divine will of Arreira, begging for him to stop, but he did as he pleased.

His kind called themselves God-Rulers for their power bent reality to their will, and the common people of the time thought such thing could only be compared to the Gods of Origin, as heretical as it may sound to the contemporary humanoid.

Why does the author use "Gods of Origin"? Is he from the demon race?

The reach of his power spread along with the mana he released, so he aimed to cover the entire Realm with it, but there were other beings of incredible power that didn't let his mana invade their territory, limiting his reach to not much further than the High Forest and the Elven Bay.

Fortunately, for the spell that Arreira wanted to cast, he didn't need that much reach, only that nobody else interfered.

The battlefield was saturated with so much mana that a second mana storm threatened to form, but Arreira would never let that happen, and the dread that his soldiers felt turned into awe as the God-Ruler expertly manipulated the particles of power even though the mortals almost suffocated from the saturation.

So inspired were the soldiers that they all knelt and started to pray in unison, and their cries added to the words of Arreira's God's Voice, which were heard across the elven lands.

"The farmer begins their work, the children start to play, the watch changes, the chefs go to work, but the monsters are still out there. The realm wakes up, and the fighting is renewed.

"Kindle the flame, bring the light, the liveliness, the warmth. Change the solemn calmness of the night to the vibrant beauty of the day. Bring us change! Bring us change! Bring us change! Do not abandon us under the bleak gaze of the moon!

"The day gives us energy and warmth to move our bodies, the night gives us mana and calmness to study our skills. The warriors need the day to gain strength. The mages need the night to gain power. The realm needs balance, and the realm needs change.

"Gods, heed our prayers and turn the night into day! Turn the night into day! Turn the night into day! Give us the relentless glare of the sun!"

The entire Realm listened to the prayer of the elves and nobody tried to pray against them, so the God of Change listened, and the moon fell from the sky. In its stead, the sun rose up, and its radiant, overwhelming brightness then stared down upon the Realm, displaying such an endless well of power that not even the God-Rulers dared stare upon it for long.

The Prayer of Twilight gives me chills. I wonder how it felt to sing it and see the day change in just a few minutes.

Without the moon to feed it, the mana storm was deprived of a large source of its power, so it started to wane and clear, revealing the monster army on the other side.

Battalions of goblins and orcs filled the marsh to the brim with their endless numbers, and one saw nothing but their colored, bald heads in the sea of monsters; dragons and giants dotted the landscape, which the elves actually used as landmarks to aid the planning of the battle; twisted, ominous, large metal contraptions carried their mages, protecting them from projectiles and allowing them to launch their own spells unimpeded; and a swarm of flying monsters gathered in the sky like a dark cloud of death.

I think Master Wolf called the contraptions "tanks," but he didn't elaborate and I didn't have the courage to ask, so I can only wonder where he learned about it.

The elves were heavily outnumbered, but not outmatched. The Lonlanzas, the pride of the elven army, made the bulk of their forces, and no sea of monsters was deep enough to be able to penetrate their barrier; the Arquirandos felled multiple flying monsters with each of their enchanted arrows for they were weaker than their land comrades, and the swarm thinned considerably with each wave; the elven specialty magic, [Weaverism], allowed their forces to fight in unison with perfect efficiency, not wasting a single movement in combat, slaughtering the monsters like cattle each time they struck the elven defensive wall.

But the ultimate weapon was Arreira himself.

He was handed Patrono, the Heavenly Weapon of the High Forest, one of the deadliest swords in existence. It had the size of a greatsword, but it was so light and easy to swing that it was wielded like a longsword or even a bastard sword for the more daring, but in true elven fashion, Arreira always used two hands for his cuts we so perfect they threatened to split the Primordial Particle into two.

With a blade as thick as a single Particle, it was invisible to the eye when looked straight on, and if anyone would ever be able to do such feat of splitting the Particle, it'd be Arreira with his Patrono.

But the God-Ruler lacked his Heavenly Armor, Monarca, for it had been damaged the last time he had killed the Monster King inside a mana storm a decade prior, and the rarity of the metal coupled with the difficulty to work with it had delayed Monarca's repair indefinitely.

Arreira had to act, but he didn't have the impenetrable defense of Monarca to rely on, so he had to improvise.

His servants held wooden plates against his arm, and the illustrious Ramodia armor grew around his body, turning him into a living High Tree.

The harmless-looking pieces of bark held great power within. They were the ultimate symbol of elven communion with nature, merging body, mind, and soul with the forest, allowing him to manipulate it to his will.

Once the armor was in place, vines suddenly grew all over the fortress and slithered towards Arreira like a swarm of snakes. They heavily drained the fortress of its power, but the fortification was still a gigantic plant, so it could use the light of the sun to quickly replenish its reserves. And that functionality was just the bare minimum for constructing a fortress that didn't have self-sustaining capabilities would be a rather "unelven" thing to do.

The vines continuously gathered and coiled behind Arreira, creating hundreds of knots that bloomed into a huge, green flower.

Then Arreira grabbed its center, and the flower suddenly shot forward, stretching like a gigantic claw being extended, which propelled Arreira towards the monster army with ludicrous speed.

In the blink of an eye, he was before a huge dragon, and it took only a single swing of his Heavenly Weapon for the beast to be decapitated.

In the next second, the vines had taken him elsewhere, but the monsters were ready for such tactic.

After he felled a Giant, his vines were hit by a barrage of spells that followed him across the battlefield. The monsters had one thing to their advantage, outrageously accurate spells for they cared not about power or finesse when the Horde could overwhelm humanoid defenses with just pure numbers, as long as the spells could hit where they were needed.

The vines exploded in flames and frost, but they grew back instantly to replace the lost mass, and Arreira continued his slaughter of the elite monsters, but he was still slowed by the attack.

The Grim Giants nearby didn't stay idle and walked towards Arreia without a care for the comrades they crushed under their foot, then they grabbed the vines and wrestled with them, preventing Arreira from zipping about freely.

Now with a proper target, the dragons took flight and began assaulting the more damaged sections of the vines, destroying them faster than they could grow back.

But Arreira still had more cards to show.

Arreira ran a hand through his glorious, golden hair in exasperation and retorted, "What we are doesn't matter, only what they see us as."

"You still haven't given me your true opinion on the matter," Ajax pressed him again.

Arreira simply gave him a side-eye. "You want me to bow down to another?" Then he raised one eyebrow mockingly.

But Ajax's face grew grim as he spewed the truth, "I know very well that the High Forest is struggling against the Horde a lot more than we are. You're so weakened I'm certain we could conquer you."

Arreira gave him a hateful glare. He definitely isn't one to ever take talks of war and conquering lightly.

And Ajax didn't give him room to answer by immediately adding on, "If we unite our forces and push back the Horde, we can breach the mountains and wipe out their breeding grounds. There aren't many places left for the Monster King to hide in this continent, so we can secure our future, if we work together."

Arreira kept his face stern as he shook his head lightly. "Elves know very well how to work together, but not when it's with the other races."

"Again you're deflecting," Ajax growled angrily.

And Arreira let his elven smugness show for once. "Because there's nothing else I can do, at least for now."

Ajax narrowed his eyes as he looked deeper into the elven deity's words. "So it isn't a 'no,' but also neither a 'yes.'"

Arreira nodded."Exactly."

Then Ajax scoffed. "Your elven obtuseness isn't doing you any favors, you know?"

And now it was Arreira's turn to scoff. "Then you truly don't understand us."

"Oh...? Now you use 'us'?!"

The two rulers shared a short laugh. Though they had fought against each other multiple times in defense of their territories, they were still believers in the Old Gods, so they couldn't easily hold much animosity against a fellow humanoid when the Monster King constantly threatened to wipe them out.

Unfortunately, someone overheard parts of that conversation. Someone with a vendetta against the fledgling empire.

This really wasn't written by an elf. There's no way they'd make Arreira seem so agreeable and the emperor so charismatic.

That's enough of a distraction for now. I need to get back to work. Master Wolf's questions about history are too in-depth for me to get lax.

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