CH1442 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1442: A Powerful Current

Hermes, in the old Holy City.

The past month had been a roller coaster, and Marwayne knew it.

When the Sky Lord had carried him up to the Deity of Gods, Marwayne had made his decision: align with this power and never waver. Firearms and iron birds were nothing against a floating city. This was the true miracle — the one people ought to bow before.

He had worked to prove his worth. Swept away old records, organized labor, drove construction until the Sky Lord praised him by name. His status among the nobles steadied and rose. He began, quietly, to feel like their leader.

Then a letter from the north dismantled all of it.

He never imagined the Sky Lord would attach such weight to that scrap of paper — but Hackzord had disappeared for weeks, and upon his return the first thing he did was move them to Hermes and Everwinter to wait for a second letter: no sender named, no timeline offered, no collection point specified.

Marwayne had not wanted to leave the Deity of Gods. Even surrounded by demons, none of them could take his position from him. But the Senior Lord’s command could not be disobeyed, so he had chosen Hermes over Everwinter for no reason beyond proximity — it was closer to the island.

At that time the Four Kingdoms’ northern regions had been swallowed by Red Mist, and Graycastle appeared to be fully occupied resisting the demon advance. Marwayne lived away from the Deity of Gods in the style of a duke — citizens below him, a handful of nobles at his disposal. The waiting, however, corroded everything. The mission had no deadline. In his anxiety he expanded his subordinates’ range of activity, risking the possibility of their escape in the hope of finding the letter sooner. Escape attempts multiplied; he hanged the traitors as warnings and offered generous rewards for information. The letter never came.

Then the Deity of Gods began to move.

It rose, flew east, and vanished from his sight — and Marwayne’s world came apart at its seams. The floating city had been his greatest source of leverage. Without it, every day became a calculation of risk. Sky Lord stopped revealing himself, as though the secret letter had been entirely forgotten.

Not long afterward, word reached Marwayne that Graycastle had shot the island down.

He did not believe it. A floating mountain with a radius of over five kilometers — if Graycastle had possessed the means to bring it down, why had they waited so long? It was a preposterous lie. Unfortunately, not everyone was as clear-headed as he was.

Instantly, the other nobles wavered. He found he could no longer control them.

Sky Lord’s continued silence did not help.

Marwayne retreated into wine and women. His days collapsed back into the shapelessness of his old life in Everwinter.

“Zack! Zack!” When the grape wine ran out, he called for his butler.

“My lord, how may I assist you?” The man pushed through the door.

“Find me some women tonight. Young and pretty—”

“But, you ordered them yesterday to—”

“That was yesterday. I am the duke and this is what that means. They give up everything for me — understand?”

“Yes. I understand.” The butler lowered his head.

“And those men we dispatched — any news?” His disbelief in the rumors had not stopped him from trying to verify them. When the Deity of Gods left the Hermes Plateau, he had sent troops to follow and determine its destination. Barely a handful had returned.

The butler shook his head. “We know only that Graycastle has not engaged the Deity of Gods in open battle. We may have something concrete in another two days.”

“Useless scum.” Marwayne opened a fresh bottle. “Dismissed.”

Then we wait another two days.

The Red Mist was dissipating, and the Graycastle forces would return eventually. He needed a retreat. The Sky Lord’s command said nothing about remaining in place — whoever eventually collected the letter would be making a contribution regardless of who stood there to receive it.

He was not going back to Everwinter. That kingdom had already proven it could not hold against Graycastle.

He had heard from other Senior Demons that a new Deity of Gods was coming — this one carrying the city of the Demon King himself. That was the place to retreat to.

So long as I follow the demons’ route, it should not be hard to find.

He told himself that only the most loyal nobles would earn the privilege of leaving with him.


Nightfall came, but his women did not.

He waited an hour, rage building in slow, airless layers. When footsteps finally sounded outside, he had a full catalogue of curses ready.

The door opened to a group of civilians in dirty clothes — hoes and carrying-poles in hand, mud from their boots already soaking into his fur rug. Marwayne stared at them, genuinely unable to process what he was seeing.

Then he found his voice. “Soldiers! Soldiers!”

No response came.

A blow struck the side of his head — not from the mob, but from Zack, his old butler, standing behind him.

The wine went cold in his blood.

“What are you doing—”

“Everyone has had enough, Marwayne Parker!” The leader’s voice cracked through the room. “For your orders, good people died in the quarry from exhaustion — you never listened, never asked, and you docked our wages. We are not your servants. We are not your slaves.”

“Graycastle was right — nobles are not above us!”

“We spend our days breaking stone for this monster and send our wives and daughters to him at night. You are the true demon!”

“Surrender and come with us to Graycastle, or don’t set foot outside this house again!”

Idiots, Marwayne thought, his mind snapping to focus. Every one of them brainwashed. If he had known, he would never have sent them to the old Holy City to investigate. He reached for the sword on his table — a real blade, not their farm tools — and drew himself upright.

The title of duke commanded fear. He was not Zack, some ordinary man. The Parker family had ruled Snow Reflection Castle for generations; to any citizen of Everwinter, his station was beyond question. He believed this. He had always believed this. He let it settle into his spine and looked down at them.

A stone came out of the dark and caught him across the cheek.

The pain stopped him utterly.

They actually dare—

An old man burst from the crowd, weeping and howling, and threw himself onto Marwayne. The sword moved on reflex. It drove through the old man’s chest.

Then the crowd was on him.

The old man’s death was a drain pulled loose — everything they had kept pressed down for months came flooding out at once. Hoes and carrying poles fell like rain. He thought he heard his own bones break.

“You scum, stop—”

“No — stop — stop hitting—

“Cough — cough — I beg you—”

His voice grew thin. Then it stopped.

The mob only ceased when there was nothing left to strike.

“We killed a noble,” someone whispered, trembling.

“So what. Graycastle doesn’t recognize nobility, and he was Graycastle’s enemy.”

“What about the other Everwinter nobles? They have horses and armor — if they come after us—”

The leader looked around at the room, at the blood on the rug, at all of their faces. “We aren’t the only ones who’ve been ground down. The demons are gone. So why don’t we—”

“Fight them with everything we have.” Someone else finished it.

“Fight them — then go to Graycastle.”

The words passed from mouth to mouth, and then they were chanting it together, and the sound moved out through the open door and into the pitch-black lands beyond — a current, powerful and cold, spreading through the dark.

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