The Veiled Man
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The Martial God - Chapter 68
🕑 Added 2024-12-20 16:00:14 +0000 UTCChapter 68 – Flames of Winter Festival
The distant clamor of screams and splintering wood rolled through the festival grounds. At first glance, the square looked like the aftermath of a grand celebration. Half-folded banners drooped overhead, lanterns swayed crookedly, and stalls abandoned mid-sale, their curtains flapping helplessly in the rising wind.
The merchants had fled when the laughter turned to shrieks, and the music twisted into panicked cries. Now, only scattered figures moved through the shadows, some stumbling with fear, others pushing forward with grim purpose.
Down a twisted pathway still faintly lit by flickering lanterns, Iaskin stepped carefully over toppled crates and half-spilled wares. The young man seemed oblivious to his surroundings.
The warm glow of earlier festivities had drained to a dull ember, replaced by the scent of smoke and something acrid—magic, or blood, or both—lingering in the cool night air. Yet he was unhurried, pausing near a half-collapsed stall. Leaning against the stall’s skewed wooden frame, Iaskin focused on Nyxalyn, the dark elf girl he’d danced with the night before.
She still had that mischievous smile he remembered. Her dark hair framed her angular features, and her attire had an elegant cut. The tension and chaos around them seemed not to penetrate their little bubble.
Perhaps Iaskin, caught in the warmth of his own bravado, hadn’t noticed how the world had begun to buckle under hidden threats. He teased her in a soft tone, “I think our dance was the highlight of the evening. That spin you did? Could’ve sworn you were showing off just for me.”
She giggled, the sound initially light and melodic. She leaned closer and said, “Oh, Iaskin, if I’d known you had such moves, I might have demanded another round later tonight.” Her voice was playful, almost sultry. “But then again, you might not keep up with me alone.” She tapped his chest lightly, a playful challenge.
He snorted softly, confidence shining through. “Me? Not keep up? You wound me. Maybe next time, I’ll let you lead. Show me what the famous Nyxalyn can really do.”
Nyxalyn hailed from a prominent elven family—practically a celebrity by their standards. When she laughed at his joke, Iaskin found himself ignoring the distant screams and rattling shutters entirely. That had nothing to do with him.
But then, as if a string had been plucked sharply out of tune, Nyxalyn’s shoulders gave a sudden, unnatural twitch.
The light in her eyes dimmed, her laughter curdling mid-note. She stilled, and something about her posture changed—stiff, jarring, as though a marionette’s strings had just been yanked.
Iaskin’s grin faltered. “Uhh, Nyx?” he asked, attempting a wry chuckle. But concern crept into his voice. His posture straightened, eyes narrowing as he noticed the way her head tilted at an impossible angle, the muscles in her neck flexing under strange tension.
He tried again, “Nyx, come on, what’s wrong?” But there was no humor now. Her laughter choked into a low, feral growl.
Once bright with mischief, her eyes now gleamed a sickly red under the flickering lantern. She hissed softly, her limbs jerking as if tugged by unseen hands. She turned to him and hissed, leaping at him with lethality.
Iaskin froze, caught utterly off guard by the transformation. He stood there, shocked and unwilling to strike a woman he’d been flirting with mere moments before. Confusion and hurt mingled on his face as her claws closed in to strike him.
And that’s when Iskandaar stepped in.
****
All around us, demonic energies crackled, and I moved like a bull. There was no time to hesitate or reassure my brother with gentle words. I slammed my fist into Nyxalyn’s jaw before she could rake her claws across Iaskin’s unguarded throat.
The impact jolted through my knuckles, a blunt, old-fashioned punch that lacked finesse but made up for it in necessary brutality. She staggered, a shrill hiss escaping her parted lips, and her body contorted, limbs splaying at awkward angles.
Iaskin, startled from his stupor, shouted, “Hey, man! That’s my date!”
That was not his date. No, that was a demon. Zelyr of the Savage Seven—the dark elf I once killed—had not been the only one among his kind to worship the Demon King. Many dark elves followed that dark path, and those few who didn’t, those who resisted, ended up falling into their trap anyhow. I suppose this girl was one of those who got trapped. Otherwise, she’d have maintained more intelligence if she’d willingly done it.
Although there were exceptions among the trapped ones, too. Such as Eryndor. Even for super-strong demons, possessing such a strong person was impossible, at least through the usual means. I didn’t know the details from the game, but he fell into a trap set up by the dark elves who used a demonic artifact on him. So the demon who possessed him would retain intelligence anyhow.
There’d also be other victims of it—human victims—similar to this Nyx girl.
I spun, seized him by the collar, and yanked him back from her reach. Facing his wide, incredulous eyes, I let reality sink in for him. “Idiot,” I said, jerking my head toward the chaos unfolding behind us. “Look around you!” Flickers of red-tinted magic and twisted silhouettes illuminated the space beyond the dim lanterns and screams tore at the night.
He managed only a strangled, “What the…?” before he saw it too. Stalls were aflame, people running mad and monstrous shapes half-formed by illusions that felt all too real.
I shook him once more, eyes hard. “She’s been possessed! There are demons, wake up!”
He must have fallen into an illusion himself not to have noticed any of this. No time for more words. Behind me, Nyxalyn—or whatever possessed her—regained her footing. Her limbs jerked like a broken doll’s, as though invisible strings forced every movement in a cruel puppet show. The hiss in her throat deepened into a furious snarl. Iaskin saw the madness in her eyes now, and his expression hardened.
I braced myself, fists raised, knuckles tight. “Stay behind me,” I said to him, but he sighed as he pushed me back.
“It’s alright, little brother. I’ll deal with her,” he said, sighing as he rolled up his sleeves. I looked at the text floating above his head.
[Iaskin Romani, Level 65]
He’d been Level 47 when we met a few months ago, but now he was so much stronger. That was almost a 20-level jump. That wasn’t normal. If I had to guess, it had something to do with his Outer God Cult. Regardless, he was strong enough to take care of himself.
The distant screams grew louder, the crackle of fire eating through canvas and wood, setting the night’s stage for a battle none of us had wanted. Iaskin rushed forward to punch his date’s teeth out, and I bit my lip before retreating to find others who needed help.
****
I climbed over a rooftop, looking up at the dance of flames in the sky. The battle there was far different. I narrowed my eyes, watching as sparks of purple and red magic flared like distant stars as Amelia soared into the night, her robes and hair swirling in the winds conjured by fierce spells as her draconic wings flapped.
Lady Vaelion followed suit, darting through rooftops, her eyes locked on the fiery demon that had caused this havoc—Ashvarak, the source of the illusions and chaos. Given her level, Vaelion should be able to fly too, but shooting arrows from the rooftops was probably better than fighting that man head-on. She wasn’t as powerful as Amelia, after all. I decided to bet on them. There wasn’t much I could do, anyhow. I couldn’t even fly.
“Shit,” I sighed and observed the clash. The clash formed a violent ballet of spellfire and retaliatory strikes, the sky becoming a stage for monstrous silhouettes and flashing sigils.
Down below, far from here, I could hear Principal Ardath Valenwood raising his voice above the din. “Professors! All fourth-year students! Protect everyone else!”
I felt a little annoyed at that. As a strong 8th Ascension, he shouldn’t be having any trouble dealing with this situation. He should join Amelia and help her instead.
In fact, he was at a higher level than her. [Level 175].
He flinched when a guttural roar echoed from a distant courtyard, and Amelia’s voice boomed overhead, thick and deep now, for she’d taken her dragon form. “Principal, protect them! I’ll handle the sky!” she shouted.
I looked up. I didn’t like that. Since she had to transform, it meant the situation wasn’t as easy as I’d expected. In retrospect, the Principal was stronger than her overall, so he should be fighting too. But considering she focused on battles, and he focused on versatility, I could understand why she commanded such a thing.
Principal Valenwood also seemed bothered by the command, but he just sighed and jerked his head in acknowledgment; there was no time to argue.
He marshaled what few professors remained calm and coherent, directing them to defend guests and younger students toward safer halls and storerooms. Some wielded rudimentary wards against the illusions that prowled at the fringes of their torchlight, while others guided the wounded into makeshift infirmaries in secluded corners.
The priority was clear: survival, shelter, and keeping hope alive amid this upside-down moment.
For a moment, I wondered if I should go help them as I jumped from the roof. Before I could decide, however, a group of maddened students ran at me like a zombie horde. Their eyes were red, their throats making horrible sounds as they rushed at me.
****
Throughout the once-festive academy grounds, terror unfurled like a poisonous bloom. Under the dim glow of torches, stalls burned in their half-collapsed state while banners lay charred at the edges. Shadows twisted and stretched, birthing illusions that crawled and lurched out of thin air—false demons wreathed in ember glow and smoke.
They vanished as soon as a blade met them, but their claws left real welts on flesh, conjuring pain and panic from nowhere. Shouts of confusion rose as students and staff battled phantoms and half-real horrors, never quite sure what was tangible and what was trickery.
“How fun,” Kazreth said to himself, crouching above a building’s rooftop. Both Rakshasas and Asuras had illusion abilities, and Kazreth mixed his illusions with his lord’s, merging his false illusions with his lord’s tangible ones that could do damage.
The students could never know which was real and which was false as they fought for their lives. Ashvarak’s creations of smokeless fire were more than mere phantoms; they had substance enough to wound the mind and body. While Kazreth’s illusions worked when someone believed they were real. It was a good mix, and his abilities greatly assisted his lord’s.
He watched impassively, noting how easily their minds yielded to fear. None of these hapless fighters were the ones he was looking for. It was truly an amusing sight, but unfortunately, he didn’t have the time to enjoy it.
“Just where are you, human?” He’d seen him last night, but he was nowhere to be seen now.
Kazreth slipped through this chaos with a hunter’s grace, blending into the shifting dark and flame-washed debris. He moved swiftly, stepping over a disoriented student curled on the ground, navigating through tangles of fallen tapestry and twisted metal. He sought only one target tonight; everyone else was not important.
Ashvarak’s command was absolute. Curiosity, too, spurred him forward—this Iskandaar who’d slain Zelyr and frightened a once-fearless trollkin must be worth seeing in action. Yet, it was hard to find him. Just where was he, anyhow?
…..
Prince Alaric Roshmar fought to maintain order near the academy's main gates. He’d gathered a handful of loyal guards and Jana at his side, hoping to rush into the city and summon help. But when Alaric reached the tall gates and tried to step through, he bumped into nothingness.
There was an invisible barrier that, upon impact, shimmered to life. “What the…”
“Uh, Your Highness, that barrier covers everything,” Jana said from his side, and he didn’t quite understand what she meant until he followed her gaze.
Looking around, he saw the crimson energy dome covering the academy. Waybound Academy stood on a massive parcel of land, and from the looks of it, all of it was sealed under this barrier.
The outside world was just a step ahead, yet unattainable. Beyond this shimmering curtain of magic, the city rooftops were reduced to blurred silhouettes.
Frustration ran through his body. “Damn it,” Alaric cursed under his breath, slamming his fist to the barrier’s unsettling hum. Sparks of red energy danced around his hand, crackling with otherworldly force.
Iskandaar asked if he trusted him, and the Prince answered truthfully. So, Iskandaar gave him two tasks. The first was to get as many people out of the academy grounds, and the second was to call for help from outside, preferably the Church of Light.
Although doubtful, Alaric agreed and warned the people, and thankfully many listened. Many shopkeepers fled from their shops, so one task was done, and now he was stuck on the other one. He’d left to do that, but it was too late, for the sky exploded before he could leave. Now, he was stuck here, and a barrier stopped him from stepping outside.
He wondered about the merchants and vendors who’d listened to him and fled earlier. Given there was this dome, how many of them managed to flee? Had any of them? If they had, he hoped someone would be sensible enough to report to the Church of Light.
Alaric felt helpless. It was not like him to feel that way, but looking at the sky, where a dragon battled a whirlpool of flames, he couldn’t bring himself to be confident and cool.
“Your Highness,” Jana suddenly called, turning back, her hand going to her hilt.
“What is it?” Alaric asked as he turned with her. But she didn’t have to answer for him to realize the situation. A staggering figure approached—a 2nd-year student, based on the attire. His eyes were wild, and his face twisted. He didn’t look sane. The young man snarled and lunged at Alaric before the prince could utter a word.
Jana intercepted swiftly, her blade flashing in the half-light, parrying the clumsy attack. As the student’s eyes gleamed red and unfocused, Alaric realized with dawning horror that the corruption spread like a plague. Some guards who’d been standing behind him stared vacantly now as if the same sinister magic snared their souls.
The demonic energy was affecting the humans. Was it those who weren’t high leveled enough? Or those with weak mindsets? Regardless, the infection ran deep, and Prince Alaric was forced to wield his weapon against his fellow humans.
…..
Alaric got busy fighting for his life while Kazreth, from a distant vantage point atop a broken balcony rail, observed his struggle. “How bothersome,” he sighed. The demon operative felt mild annoyance pinch his features.
So much waste and confusion, yet the main target was nowhere to be seen. He flexed his fingers, sniffed the smoky air, and slipped away again into a knot of fleeing guests and fighting students. He would find the boy—he had to.
Alaric gritted his teeth on the ground, desperately searching for any weakness in the crimson barrier. In another part of the estate, older students and professors fought whatever battles they could while the others were half-blind from illusions and fear.
Above, Amelia and Vaelion struck sparks off invisible shields, blazing arrows of dark magic, and…
“Gold Dragon’s Breath!”
The sky went bright, far brighter than day, as if the sun had come down. Amid all this, Kazreth paused to take a look at the sky. He wondered if his lord would be alright. Shaking his head, he continued hunting for Iskandaar, his jowls aching for food in the broken maze of halls and courtyards.
****
I raised my sword, feeling the hum of energy resonate through my veins. The air thickened, and the sound of a low, droning vibration emerged, like the song of a thousand cicadas rising from the depths of the void. With a single step forward, I swung my blade in a wide, deliberate arc, releasing a cascade of Stellar Qi that shimmered in the dim light.
[True Demon Sword Art, Fourth Form—Eternal Swarm of the Void Cicada.]
The energy twisted and writhed, forming an unrelenting swarm of spectral cicadas, their translucent wings glinting like shards of obsidian. The demonic energy-infected humans halted mid-attack, their glowing red eyes narrowing in confusion as the swarm descended upon them. The cicadas phased through their bodies, each passing insect carrying with it a piece of their energy.
The swarm moved like a living tide, consuming the battlefield in its relentless hum. A silence fell, and then the demonic humans let out a cry of pain. They thrashed and screamed, their Qi being stripped away with every touch of the spectral swarm.
It was as if their strength and will were unraveling, thread by thread.
When the last cicada faded into the void, the hum died out, leaving an eerie silence. The group of demonic humans lay sprawled across the ground, their weapons clattering beside them. Their bodies were still, but their chests rose and fell steadily. They lived.
I exhaled, lowering my blade. The Fourth Form could tear them apart like cheese through a saw, but I held back. Around me, the battlefield was quiet, save for the soft groans of my unconscious enemies, stripped of their demonic power thanks to the warmth of my Stellar Qi. They would live, but they were no longer a threat.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead and retreated under a half-collapsed wagon for cover. “Goddammit, this is crazy,” I grumbled and bloomed my Demonic Sphere to scan the area while my eyes scanned the grounds.
I gained the third form of Sword Art when I was Level 30, and in the last 16 levels, I’d gained one technique for each art. They were all useful even when I didn’t use Demonic Energy. There was a 10% growth in the skill tree, from 23.77% of Level 30 to 34.95% of Level 46. Unfortunately, I couldn’t kill these bastards, but I'd still get some levels if I neutralized enough of them. Killing wasn’t the only way to level up, after all.
Flames danced across wooden beams and ruined stalls, and the air smelled of smoke and fear. A distant shriek and a crash of timber told me just how widespread the attack was. I didn’t know what to do. Fighting mobs wasn’t the way. I had to find the heads of the attack.
A shape landed beside me, and my head snapped to the side in alarm. Her wings folded in a rustle of flame-kissed feathers. Solara emerged from the drifting sparks and ash with tight urgency in her eyes. I felt relieved.
“I-Iskandaar,” she said, voice low yet urgent. She brushed a stray ember from one wing. Her armor caught the dim lantern glow, the battered remnants of once-proud festival decorations. “What the hell is going on here? Have you seen Professor Katheran? Amelia? O-or anyone else that matters?!”
I shook my head, swallowing down the dryness in my throat. “Not since the initial attack,” I said. My voice sounded too calm, too flat. I forced myself to focus. “Amelia’s probably handling the source. We’d be swimming in worse flames than these if she wasn't. Eryndor Vaelith’s body has been… taken by something called Ashvarak.”
“Huh?”
“Yes. He’s one of the Four Demonic Generals of the Demon King. Sorry, He set this all off. I didn’t tell you before, sorry. I planned to do it today, but the attack happened earlier than expected. ”
Solara’s expression flickered with slight irritation, but she nodded. “It’s alright, you must have had your reasons… I should have been here sooner, sorry. I was caught off guard. I didn’t realize the scale of this.”
I almost laughed, but there was no humor left in me. “Don’t beat yourself up now, it’s not your fault. I planned to call Lilian back tomorrow, but everything exploded tonight.”
“What’s the plan now?”
I hummed quietly. “Just stay close to me, and don’t get killed.” There wasn’t time to reassure her further. We had to stay alive, keep moving, and find a way through this demonic hellscape. “I plan to head to the colosseum. I think Amelia’s fighting the big demon there.”
Before she could answer, a figure emerged from a swirl of flames and rising smoke. My senses screamed, my Demonic Sphere going bright. I stood up and straightened myself as he stepped from behind a collapsed archway with predatory ease as if strolling through a quiet courtyard rather than a warzone.
He paused, and recognition glinted in his eyes as he looked at me. “I’ve been looking for you,” he grinned. At first glance, he seemed just another dark elf, someone I recognized from last night’s banquet. He was barely 6th Ascension then. But now, he advanced with a predatory grace, red eyes reflecting the inferno around us. I felt the difference immediately—an aura of controlled violence wrapped around him like a cloak.
My Demonic Sphere marked him for what he was.
[Kazreth Rakshasa, Level 125]
He wasn’t the dark elf anymore; neither was he a 6th ascension. He carried no visible weapon, yet the tension in the air crackled as if blades could form from shadows at any moment. “Iskandaar Romani, right?” His red eyes gleamed, reflecting the inferno in the sky.
“Kazreth,” I said, my voice low. I tilted the sword in hand. Solara straightened at my side, wings lifting, inner flames glinting off her feathers. Calling his name made him freeze. “Did Ashvarak send you to end me?” I forced a grin, trying to maintain the illusion of confidence. “I’m honored he considers me that big a nuisance.”
Kazreth looked at me in silence for a moment, surprised I knew the name of him and his superior. Then, he smirked, neither offended nor impressed. “You’re weird. No wonder he wants you gone, Romani. You’ve meddled too much, making too many of his moves inconvenient. I never questioned his orders, and I won’t start now.”
Solara’s wings twitched, the armor’s edges brightening with a fire. “You want him?” she said softly. “You go through me first.” She sounded serious, and I almost felt touched. But I placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her, leaning close enough to whisper.
“Sweetheart, I appreciate the gesture, but he’s Level 125,” I said, meeting her startled gaze. She stared at me and then took half a step back, eyes darting over Kazreth’s frame.
“...Alright, I’ll support you from here,” she said.
Kazreth noticed the exchange and chuckled softly. He didn’t bother drawing a weapon. Why would he need one when raw power leaked from him like crackling lightning?
The festival’s remnants surrounded us—fragments of vibrant tents reduced to embers. I could sense something shifting in the atmosphere as he prepared. No time to hesitate. I had to use everything I’d learned and earned. If I failed, he’d kill us both. I had no illusions about mercy.
I switched both my Energy Cores, allowing demonic Qi to spill forth from within. Kazreth blinked, startled, clearly not expecting this new surge of power.
I parted my feet, fixing my posture and taking a deep breath, smiling at him. “Don’t look so surprised, brother.” I decided to mess with him a little, “Let’s not delay then. If Ashvarak wants me gone, come try.”
Kazreth launched forward, his movement too fast, a flicker of dark energy trailing him. Solara flared her wings, ready to intercept, but I knew that speed would obliterate her.
I let my demonic Qi surge up through my veins. Usually, I tried to hide it, but here and now, in the chaos, who would notice or care? Everyone was too busy surviving to notice this particular demonic signature came from me.
I swung my blade up, channeling a skill from The Heavenly Demon Skill Tree [34.95%]. It was time to unleash something new.
“True Demon God Art,”
I whispered under my breath, knuckles whitening around the hilt. My heart hammered a frantic beat. Kazreth drew closer, a grin carving his face, confident in his superiority. I narrowed my eyes and called something savage, raw, but beautiful.
“God Slaying Order.”
The sky trembled. A thousand crimson swords materialized above me, forming an ethereal armory suspended in a vast arc. Their blades shimmered with ominous, demonic energy, each one vibrating with latent power as if hungering for destruction.
Kazreth hesitated mid-step, his smirk faltering as he glanced upward. Recognition flashed in his eyes—a brief flicker of shock, then wariness. A sword appeared in his hand. He realized I wasn’t an easy opponent.
I felt the energy of the summoned arsenal connect to my own. With a single, decisive swing, I slashed forward. The crimson swords answered my command, shooting forth in unison like a swarm of wrathful comets. Their trajectories carved glowing streaks in the smoke-filled air, and each blade aimed toward the advancing demon. The roar of their collective charge drowned out all other sounds, a deafening scream that made the battlefield seem to quake beneath us.
Kazreth’s eyes widened as he leaped back, summoning shields of dark energy. The swords struck his defenses like relentless waves crashing against a battered cliff, shattering the barrier and forcing him to retreat further.
The final clash hung in the balance as the rain of crimson blades tore through the air, their glow reflecting the chaos of fire and ruin around us. Kazreth’s movements quickened, but so did my Qi.
The last sword collided with Kazreth’s makeshift barrier, unleashing a shockwave of energy that rippled through the courtyard. As Solara shielded her face from the blast, I held my stance, lungs tight and breath suspended.
As the smoke cleared, Kazreth stood, his aura flickering, and his smile faded. But he wasn’t defeated—of course not. Now, he knew my danger. As his gaze lifted to meet mine, in that moment, we both knew this was far from over.
But there was something.
[You’ve severed the connection between Kazreth, the Rakshasa, and Raeon, the Dark Elf. Raeon has regained his body, but the effect is momentary.]
Although the effect ran out before I could attack again, I had confirmed it. It worked. The Skill, [Soul Sever], worked against these possessed demons. As long as I stayed careful, I could win.
Comments
Ria Bell
Tftc!
The Hand Behind the Veil
Alright, I went through them again and messed around the perspective. It should read much better now
James Faulkner
I think the shift in description with Iskandaar describing what’s happening with his brother felt a little strange/stilted but otherwise his perspective was normal! I think the standout odd moments were Alaric not sounding like himself and the Chancellor sounding strange with some perspective/grammar errors muddying the chapter a bit.
The Hand Behind the Veil
Hey! The third person POV I usually do is written through a particular character's POV, for example, Amelia; but the third person in this chapter was a 'narrator's third person' since there was a lot going on in a large area to be covered from a single person's POV, that's why there was a detachment of personality in the third person POV. I think it's okay in Iskandaar's first-person POV. What do you think? As for the grammatical errors, I just edited some parts here and there, and hopefully, it's better. I'll take another look tomorrow when my head is clearer on the chapter; it's cloudy to look for troubling sentences sometimes, not long after writing them. My proofreader will also be done by then.
James Faulkner
Tftc. Seems like there are a fair few grammatical errors this chapter/sentences that don’t make sense? The perspective jumping around makes it a bit hard to follow and the characters unique voices don’t really carry through. Just my 50¢ but this one might need another round of edits?
