“What is it?”
“Orcs.” Toras’ voice was grim. “They are the most powerful force of the abyss. Brutal as they come, filled with the endless urge to ravage anything that comes in their path yet their thirst for blood remains insatiable. With each battle, they grow stronger and stronger—without any limit.”
He pointed toward the battlefield. “Those orcs have conquered entire dominions, slaughtered dozens of nobles and laid waste to all that breathes in their wake. Does their might seem like any of the orcs you’ve met before?”
Asher narrowed his eyes.
“Not in the slightest.”
Toras nodded. “The potency of their abyss force alone is already enough to put a knight at a disadvantage. Our physique is nothing compared to theirs, and their skin is as tough as studded leather armour reinforced with battle force. And yet, despite the odds, we survived.”
Asher furrowed his brows. “Those men… they are Ashbourne soldiers?”
“Yes.” Toras’ expression darkened. “These were men who fought under our banner in our prime. I won that battle—but at the cost of thousands of valiant warriors.”
“They died honourable deaths.” Asher’s voice was steady.
“No!” Toras snapped, his gaze fierce. “They were sacrificed for the safety of the Dukedom.”
Asher’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
Toras exhaled sharply. “I sent them into battle against overwhelming odds. They were exhausted, outnumbered two to one, yet I ordered them to stand their ground… knowing that it would mean their deaths.”
“What?!” Asher brows knitted his eyebrows, and his gaze hardened.
“Why are you telling me this?!”
Toras met his gaze. “Because a legion of orcs led by a flaming one are coming.”
Asher stiffened.
“Those who summoned them have no understanding of what they are capable of unleashing,” Toras continued. “Do not let them reach Paradise. Even if they cannot breach its height, their abyss force will spread through your people like a plague. And not even Sapphira will be able to stop the deaths that shall follow.”
Asher turned back to the battlefield, his jaw clenched. “I have fought the orcs before. What makes these ones different?”
Toras’ eyes were like steel. “The ones you faced were mere scouts. Probing troops that are sent to test their enemies… but this… this is a real army. The smallest of them stands 7 feet tall. A gold-ranked knight would need a gold-ranked sword to just damage their skin.”
A chill ran down Asher’s spine. “Where are they?”
“Marching from the Black Iron Mountain range in the west. Soon, they shall step into the borders of Edom. Forgive me, I mean paradise.”
Asher’s brow furrowed. “But the Black Iron Mountain is several months’ journey from Edom. Maybe even more. Have they been on the march for long?”
“No. A group of abyss mages acts as their transports.”
‘Abyss worshipers!’ Asher’s eyes narrowed.
“You mentioned sacrifice,” Asher said slowly. “Are you telling me to sacrifice my men?”
Toras glanced at the battlefield. “If you move your troops to intercept them at the border, your people will be saved. But…”
He then turned to Asher. “The border is open plains. You shall not have the advantage of walls. Siege weapons will slow you down, so you won’t be able to bring them. I don’t think your men will even have the time to have proper rest after the march—unless you plan on using your mages. But you risk them being corrupted.”
Seeing Asher’s conflicted expression, Toras sighed but said nothing.
“I can’t sacrifice my men,” Asher murmured. “How long until they arrive?”
Toras’ gaze drifted to the sky. “Soon, the skies will rain snowflakes, soon the lands will be dyed white. When all the land will be covered with tranquillity and purity… that is when they shall appear.”
Asher kept silent.
As a cold east wind blew, threatening to pull him off the ground, Lord Toras’ voice fell into his ears.
“From the moment I saw you—and the scroll in your heart—I knew… you’d be better than all of us. Other lords might be upset but us four know the one with the mortal scroll can never be ordinary.”
Asher frowned.
What in the world was Lord Toras talking about?
“What do you mean?”
Toras chuckled. “The strengthening of your men. The creation of cities in mere moments. Making an island float. Shaping water bodies, hills and mountains as if you command the very earth we stand on. Do you think we can’t see it? We see it all, Asher Ashbourne.”
Whoosh!
A powerful gust howled through the air—then, silence.
Asher rose up from the bed, his chest rising and falling in shock and with shallow breaths.
He turned his head. Sapphira lay beside him, sound asleep. Even while she was asleep, her beauty remained undiminished.
It was almost unreal—had he really slept in the same bed with her?
But he couldn’t afford to be distracted.
With a swift motion, he left the bed, donned his robe, and strode out of the room. He couldn’t allow Sapphira’s beauty to confuse him.
‘Was Toras referring to the system?’
Asher’s thoughts race. ‘I only know of the Soul Scroll—the entity in charge of granting talents, it ensures balance in the powers of talents which is why some talents are a bane to the others… but what in the world is the Mortal Scroll?’
‘System…’
He called out but received no answer.
It wasn’t surprising.
After all, it had been suddenly exposed. Was it trying to hide? Or it simply didn’t want to bother wasting its time answering him?
Considering how powerful the Soul Scroll was, Asher thought the Mortal Scroll had to be pitifully weaker–after all, it resided in a human body.
All of a sudden, he paused. Then, his gaze fell upon the Adeptus Paladins standing like statues across the hallway and it made him realise just how foolish his previous thoughts had been.
How could pulling out an entire piece of land into the sky, making it hover 100 meters above the ground, and building a massive city, from its walls to the buildings and even the streets—be considered weak in any way?
How could turning a 12-year-old boy into an Imperial-ranked knight be weak?
How could reshaping the very earth thus pulling out four mountains on a barren plain—be weak?
How could erecting a 25-meter-tall wall that stretched for kilometres in a span of minutes be weak?
None of this should have been possible, even in this world where knights and mages were a thing.
At first, he dismissed it as a golden finger. After all, many protagonists in novels have been bestowed with gifts.
But he wasn’t in a novel.
This was real.
This was his life. He had bled several times. He had fought, struggled, and now there was a woman sleeping in his bed.
Whatever the system was, it wasn’t just a golden finger. It wasn’t a blessing or a cheat.
It was something far greater. Something that had either chosen him—or had stumbled upon by fate.