CHAPTER 65 - YOU BLIGHTING LIAR (Patreon)

“Simply for his happiness.”

The Sultan’s last words echoed in Zamian’s mind, pulling his attention in more ways than one.

“Are you talking about the Verdant God?” Zamian asked, eyes narrowing. He acted like he didn’t notice how the air had grown heavier the moment the Sultan turned his gaze on him.

The broken old man waved a hand.

“Yes. The almighty Verdant God,” he hissed. The name tasted bitter, and he nearly spat it out. “The savior of this world, right? He still feeds you people that dung?”

Zamian raised an eyebrow. The change in tone caught him off guard. For someone who ruled the Oasis for centuries and was the most powerful cultivator he'd ever met in the real world, the Sultan didn’t carry the presence of a leader.

‘Maybe I was right. All cultivators are a little crazy.’

Zamian shook his head.

“We in the Sanctuary only know he created the place for us to live. Outside that, we’re told the world is a wasteland,” he said, shrugging. “Not gonna lie, this place is blighted ugly, so there was no lie in that part.”

The Sultan’s eyes narrowed. “But?”

Zamian gave a half-smile. “But that vermin of a fake god is lying about everything else.”

Marlos flinched. His lips trembled as he turned sharply to Zamian.

The Sultan, resting one hand on each armrest, leaned forward, his ruined body on full display.

For a moment, he tried to speak but couldn’t. Then he laughed.

Chunks of his dry skin fell into the liquid below the throne. More cracks opened across his ribs and thighs, gray essence leaking through the gaps.

But the Sultan didn’t seem to notice or care, and as he kept laughing, tears of thick black liquid ran from his eyes.

Zamian felt a pulse of danger. The essence surrounding him stirred, and his instincts screamed at him for a moment before they went completely silent.

He stayed still, eyes locked on the old man, who slowly sat back down.

“For a moment, boy,” the Sultan said, the tears gone but his face still twisted in a smile, “I forgot who you were. I was about to kill you.”

Marlos stepped closer and said to Zamian. “Why did you say that? Who told you anything about the Verdant God being fake?”

Zamian glanced between the two brothers.

‘Why are they reacting like this?’

He couldn’t comprehend why they were acting like that.

He had discovered a few things in this last month, thanks to the White Crystals and the White Dot. He suspected the Sanctuary had been created as a tool for the Verdant God to grow stronger. That the people inside it, their lives, were just his pieces to move.

Zamian also knew that the so-called god was the reason for his mother’s death. The Verdan God’s sons and daughter had caused or were deeply involved in the war in which his aunt died. 

That he was an enemy of his father.

In fact, Zamian even believed the Verdant God was hiding aspects of cultivation from everything in the Sanctuary. 

Because of all those reasons and because of the White Dot, Eve and Lin Zhi, to him, the Verdante God wasn’t a god at all, just a stronger cultivator playing with people's minds.

So, calling him a fake god wasn’t blasphemy.

And considering the paintings inside the Pyramid, he had expected the Sultan to agree.

‘So why would he want to kill me? Why is Marlos acting like this?’

He needed answers.

“I figured it out on my own,” Zamian said, turning to Marlos. “All I know is that he’s a strong cultivator. That’s it.”

Marlos’ eyes shook. He opened his mouth, but the Sultan cut him off.

“You’re partially right, little freak,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “He is a strong cultivator. But he is also a God. A true God. Or at least, he's about to become one.”

Zamian’s heart skipped a beat. 

He glanced at the White Dot and silently commanded it to show his Main Quest.

Main Quest: Bring destruction to a Level 8 Immortal tainted by GodhoodReward: Inheritor’s Cave EntranceStatus: Ongoing (73 days left)

‘Tainted by Godhood. Does it mean—’

“Fortunately, your father is a man of vision,” the Sultan said, cutting into Zamian’s thoughts. “I’d be a dead fool if he hadn’t shared his wisdom with me.”

Now Zamian stared at him, his mind racing. Everything was going differently than he had expected. The Sultan killing him on the spot for what he did with Ruen, or for what his father did to Rozzo, the Oasis’ Heir, would’ve made more sense than this strange conversation.

Doesn’t matter if no one but Zamian knew he had killed Ruen. This situation was going so off from what made sense that he felt a headache coming.

“Could you explain all of this better to me?” Zamian asked.

“Marcus, no!” Marlos shouted, raising his hands in a halting gesture. “You’re saying too much! Dante wouldn’t want that!”

“Older brother, I haven’t even mentioned his mother yet,” the Sultan replied with a bored tone.

That was when Zamian realized he was being toyed with. Whether it was the Sultan’s mood or personality, it was too hard to pin down his desires, but the Oasis’ leader wouldn’t be the kind of man who spoke without thinking.

“What are you talking about? What does my mother have to do with this? She’s dead.”

“She has everything to do with this,” the Sultan said, spreading his arms. “After all, she—”

“Marcus!” the Warrior Chosen shouted. A wave of Nature’s essence burst from him as he slammed the butt of his halberd against the ground. “Dante won’t forgive you!”

The Sultan fell silent and stared at Marlos.

Just as Marlos was about to speak again, his eyes widened. Zamian saw the gray essence rush toward him, through his ears, nose, mouth, and eyes, sinking inside his body.

A second later, without any surge of essence, the scarred warrior dropped to the ground.

Zamian’s senses went into overdrive. Only after confirming that Marlos was still alive, and just unconscious, did he exhale and lower his stance.

“Don’t worry, he’s just sleeping,” the Sultan said, clicking his tongue. “He’ll have a few nightmares about our childhood, but that’s all.”

Zamian didn’t answer, only stared at him. Despite the words, there was no emotion behind the Sultan’s tone. Every sentence felt detached.

After a moment, seeing the gray essence no longer moving, Zamian spoke.

“You were talking about my mother.”

There was no way he was letting that subject drop.

“Ah, yes. What was her name—”

“Jasmine,” Zamian interrupted with a frown.

The Sultan waved a hand.

“Not that one. Her real name.”

Zamian’s fingers twitched. His instincts didn’t detect a lie, and it took effort to keep himself from shouting.

“Can’t remember,” the Sultan continued. “She was always mysterious. Did you know she tried to teach people here basic things? Like brushing teeth, bathing, and even how to store clothes. They said that in the beginning, she thought we needed her to bring some kind of forgotten knowledge to us. She called us cavemen more than once, as I was told.”

Zamian’s hearts pounded faster. His Nameless Physique struggled to keep them steady.

“What are you talking about? Be direct!” he snapped, not caring he was demanding answers from someone far stronger.

The Sultan chuckled at the outburst. “Your mother was, in your terms, an outsider.”

Zamian clenched his fists.

‘That’s not surprising,’ he thought. ‘Besides cultivating Nature’s Pathway, when comparing her to the people from the Sanctuary, she was always… different.’

He let out a breath, a small smile flickering as he remembered her. But something in the Sultan’s words didn’t add up.

“Her being an outsider isn’t the issue,” Zamian said. “But why would my father keep that from me? And how could she teach anyone here anything? She was in the Sanctuary as a child!”

The Sultan nodded, then shook his head.

“You’re correct. But not in the way you think.”

Light’s essence flared inside Zamian as his eyes shone with a white glow.

“Be. Blighting. Direct,” he said through clenched teeth.

“My first wife, Rafaela, found your mother when they were still children. She was less than five years old and wandered alone in the Desert, eyes empty, wearing strange clothes,” the Sultan said, tapping his fingers against the throne. “Rafaela wasn’t my wife yet. She was maybe twenty at the time. We didn’t know each other. But I’m sure she was pretty.”

Zamian said nothing. His jaw locked tight.

“Ah, I digress,” the Sultan continued. “What matters is that after she brought your mother to the Oasis and cared for her, the young Jasmine cried.”

‘Of course she did. Just a lost kid,’ Zamian thought.

“And then,” the Sultan said, voice lowering, “your mother told Rafaela she had died long before this world had become like this and was reborn in her young body with all her memories intact.”

For that, Zamian had only one reaction, going against his silent instincts.

He stared straight at the Sultan.

“You blighting liar.”