Monarch Chapter 201 (Patreon)

Chapter 201

Like Bran had asked of him, Rayne got up early the following morning.

It was an hour before sunrise, meaning the sky outside was still completely dark when he finally climbed out of bed.

He doubted most of the soldiers were awake at this hour, but Bran had specifically asked them to gather early, and Rayne wasn't going to reject the request.

He didn't know exactly what the old man wanted to talk about, but he had a feeling it was probably important.

Besides, sleeping for another hour wasn't going to make much difference.

They were about to enter the inner city.

With all the monsters and dangers waiting for them there, Rayne doubted he would be thinking about sleep once they entered.

It was probably better to simply get up and deal with whatever Bran had planned.

He made his way toward the back of the building where they had agreed to gather, and when he arrived, he found Kesh and Nate already up there.

Well, at least Kesh was awake.

Nate was lying on the ground, apparently having decided that the cold stone floor was a perfectly reasonable place to sleep.

The wind was chilly enough that the man shivered slightly every few moments, but his eyes remained closed.

Rayne sighed. "You should get up. I know you're not deeply asleep."

One of Nate's eyes opened. "But my eyes want to rest."

Rayne shook his head. "What does Bran even want to talk about?"

Nate closed his eye again. "Probably have us read the words of Hathras, so our souls are at peace in death."

Kesh's eyes immediately wavered. "I told you to stop talking as if our deaths have already been decided."

Rayne could tell that Kesh was more shaken than the others.

That wasn't surprising.

They had spent the previous night discussing monsters that could potentially be above level 100. Even someone who had experienced as many battles as Bran would have difficulty remaining completely calm after hearing that, much less Kesh.

Rayne decided to intervene before Nate made things worse.

"Nothing will happen." Both men turned toward him. "With everything we've learned, we're going to survive."

Nate opened his eyes fully then. "Then why do you think we're called here?"

Before Rayne could answer, a voice came from behind them.

"Like I told you, for tradition."

The three of them turned around. Bran was walking toward them, accompanied by Jason and Heins.

The two younger soldiers looked like they had been dragged out of bed rather than willingly awakened, while Bran looked completely fine.

"What type of tradition is it anyway?" Kesh asked, getting up.

Bran stopped in front of them. "One that was taught to me by a squad leader of mine a long time ago. I thought today was a good opportunity to do it again after all these years."

"And what tradition is that?"

Jason, who was still rubbing one of his eyes, suddenly spoke. "Yeah. Are we sacrificing Nate to the gods after all?"

Nate immediately sat up. "With how big you are, the gods will like your sacrifice much more."

"That's not how sacrifice works."

Bran clicked his tongue. "Nobody is getting sacrificed."

The old man reached into his clothes and pulled out a small piece of paper.

"What I'm trying to do here is simple. It's a tradition meant to give you all some motivation to come back from the inner city today."

He handed the piece of paper to Rayne.

"Get in a circle."

Rayne looked at the paper for a moment before doing as he was told.

The others followed. Bran waited until everyone was in a circle before continuing.

"It's a tradition that some members of the army had been doing for over a century. Before a dangerous expedition, we would burn a piece of paper while staring into the flames. And then, we would make a vow."

Heins looked at the paper in Rayne's hand.

"What will that even do?" He hesitated before adding, "Should we inhale the smoke?"

Bran snorted. "It's not magical paper."

Heins looked slightly disappointed. The old man ignored him and continued explaining.

The tradition had apparently started with an old story about Hathras, the god of death, and the flames that ruled his domain.

Bran didn't go into much detail about the story itself. He simply explained that it was said that if a person stared into Hathras' flames, thought about what they truly wanted, and made a vow before them, then fate itself would ensure that Hathras couldn't claim that person's life until they had fulfilled their goal.

The person would be able to escape the grasp of death until their vow had been completed.

It was nothing more than an old story, at least as far as Rayne could tell.

But whenever the soldiers were about to go on a particularly dangerous expedition, they would burn the paper and make a vow about something they wanted to accomplish.

The belief was that the vow would give them a reason to survive, something that would keep them moving even when death was standing directly in front of them.

It was probably a very niche tradition.

Rayne had certainly never heard of it before. Yet Bran seemed to believe in it.

And honestly, Rayne couldn't completely dismiss the idea.

He had lived in a world where people could use magic, where skills could appear out of nowhere, where one grew stronger simply by gaining levels, and where he himself possessed abilities that shouldn't have been possible.

So how could he confidently say that a story about a god of death was nothing more than a story? He couldn't.

Apparently, the others felt the same.

Jason and Kesh actually looked somewhat excited by the idea, while Nate had finally stopped joking about everyone dying.

Rayne looked down at the paper in his hands. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to think about.

Still, there was no reason not to participate.

If nothing else, it gave everyone something to focus on before entering the inner city.

Rayne held the paper before burning it with mana. The edge caught fire almost immediately.

The flames slowly spread across the paper, and as Rayne stared into them, the fire developed a faint darkish glow, probably because of his death aspect leaking in.

Rayne frowned slightly but didn't stop it. Instead, he continued staring into the flames.

And for the first time in a long while, he genuinely thought about his goal.

At first, the answer seemed simple—He wanted to leave the Godless Ruins alive.

Perhaps he wanted to become stronger too. More skills, higher levels, greater strength.

Those were all things he wanted.

But as Rayne continued staring into the flames, he realized something.

Those weren't really goals. They were simply things he wanted to happen.

So what was his actual goal?

The question lingered in his mind. For some reason, the answer didn't come immediately.

Rayne had spent so much of his life reacting to circumstances that he rarely stopped to think about what he actually wanted from his future.

Then something clicked. A quest he had barely thought about for a long time appeared in his mind.

A monarch.

Rayne stared at the flames. Did he actually want to become a monarch?

The thought was strange.

He hated many of the things that had been forced upon him throughout this life.

There had been countless situations where he hadn't really had a choice in what happened to him, and even now, he often found himself following paths created by circumstances rather than choosing them himself.

But there was one thing he couldn't deny.

He liked leading. He liked being in charge. He liked having people listen to him and being the person responsible for deciding what happened next.

But was that enough to become a monarch? Could he actually lead an entire nation?

Rayne didn't know.

He wasn't even sure what kind of ruler he would become if he somehow reached that point.

Maybe that was something he would have to figure out later. For now, there was another goal in front of him.

Becoming a knight.

The next step for the quest. That was something he could aim for. Something he could work toward.

He could become stronger, gain experience, rise through the ranks, and eventually see where that path took him.

Perhaps becoming a monarch was still too distant for him to understand.

But becoming a knight? That was something he could certainly do.

Rayne looked into the flames for another moment. Then the paper finally burned away.

The remaining ashes broke apart and scattered into the cold morning air.

Around him, the others had finished as well.

Everyone looked at one another. No one said what they had vowed.

That was another part of the tradition. The vows belonged to the person making them.

Bran looked at the group for a moment before giving a small nod.

"Let's survive today no matter what."

***

Kesh muttered, “I don't think I will survive here.”

“You need to,” Weskins said without hesitation. “You all are my body shields for today.”

Kesh simply clicked his tongue at that, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. Rayne only gave the two of them a brief glance before looking ahead again.

The sight of the inner city stretched out before them was enough to make even him hesitate.

The road was wide, far wider than most of the streets they had passed through in the outer ruins, though large sections of it had been swallowed by cracks and rubble.

Old stone buildings stood on either side, their walls blackened by age and covered in patches of moss and strange growths.

Some had completely collapsed, leaving piles of broken stone behind, while others remained strangely intact despite having been abandoned for who knew how many centuries.

The city had once been magnificent.

Rayne could tell that much even through the destruction. Tall buildings rose above the surrounding structures, their upper floors disappearing behind broken walls and collapsed roofs.

Faded red banners hung from some of the buildings, moving slightly despite there being no noticeable wind.

Statues stood along the road, though most had lost their heads or limbs.

Their weathered faces were impossible to recognize, leaving Rayne wondering what kind of people had once lived here and what had happened to them.

Yet it was the pressure in the air that made the place truly different.

Rayne took a step forward, and even that felt strange.

The air seemed heavier around him, as if gravity itself had suddenly increased.

It wasn't crushing him, at least not like yesterday, but every movement required more effort than it should have.

His muscles felt heavier, his breathing slightly more difficult, and there was a constant pressure against his skin that made him feel as though he were standing beneath an invisible ocean.

They had already crossed the ruins and then moved through the sewers as quickly as possible.

Even before entering the inner city, they were tired. The hours spent running, squeezing through narrow passages, going through filthy water and constantly keeping their guard up had drained them more than Rayne had realized.

Now the inner city was adding another burden.

They had climbed the ladder, and already swallowed the potions Weskins had prepared for them. Yet even with the potions helping, Rayne could feel the strain building inside his body.

He looked down the road again.

There was no telling how far they would have to walk before reaching the magical fog, and that was only the beginning.

Beyond it waited the Lost Sanctum, assuming the old records were even accurate.

Rayne wasn't sure how much farther he could go today.

Judging by the expressions around him, the others were thinking the same thing.

But they couldn't turn back. Not after coming this far.

Rayne took another step forward, forcing his body to adjust to the unnatural weight surrounding him.

He drew in a slow breath, feeling the strange mana enter his lungs, and then looked toward the distant ruins.

“Let's go,” he said. “We have a sanctum to find.”