"Status"
Personal Status
Name: Uvar Kolson Demure
Age: 32
Level: 123
Experience: 3,544,456/183,073,200
Title:
Enemy of Sol Pantheon(III)
Sword Master(IV)
Relentless(II)
Unbreakable(VIII)
Lord(II)
Skills (110/123): Show more
A heavy, pensive silence cloaked the battlefield. No clang of steel. No war cries. Just the breath of a thousand souls drawn in unison, men and women marching toward a single, defiant goal: freedom.
Freedom from the meddling hands of the gods.Freedom from pointless bloodshed masked as divine will.Freedom from being branded heretics simply for showing compassion.
Even now, as the storm brews on the horizon, I find my thoughts drifting back to a time when I was still innocent.A naive boy, clutching tightly to the promises whispered by priests: salvation, paradise, an eternal afterlife wrapped in gold and peace.
But it was all a lie.A cruel myth designed to chain us.To turn our devotion into obedience.To reduce us, all of us, into fuel for the divine machine.
And now, here we stand, on the precipice of destiny.This moment… this stillness before the storm… it is the breath the world takes before history changes forever.
The silence deepens.All around me, my comrades, my brothers and sisters-in-arms, watch me.Their armor worn, their eyes fierce.Not with fear, but with hope.
They look to me not just for orders, but for resolve.For the will to charge headlong into the jaws of gods and take back what was always ours.
Freedom.
And I will not fail them.
"Brothers, Sisters, My friends, Today, we do not march to war for riches, nor for lands, nor for the fleeting glory sung in ballads. Today, we fight for something far greater freedom.Not from kings. Not from empires. But from the gods themselves."
"For too long, they have sat high above, pulling the strings of mortal fate. They decide who lives and who dies. They hand out blessings like bribes, curses like punishments for daring to question. They call it divine will. I call it tyranny."
"They have made us kneel. They have demanded worship, not love. Obedience, not justice. They rule not with wisdom, but with fear. And we we who till the soil, raise our children, bleed and build, and are told we are too small, too weak, too mortal to defy them."
"But look around you. You are not weak. You are not small. You are soldiers, forged in pain, hardened in fire. You have survived loss. You have endured torment. And now now you rise not as subjects, but as free men and women."
"The gods call us heretics. Let them. They will call us fools. Let them. Because the truth is this: they fear us."
"They fear what we have always known in our bones, that divinity is not birthright, it is not stolen power."
"It is courage. It is will. It is the refusal to be chained."
"So today, We tear down their thrones not to become tyrants, but to end tyranny. We take back the sky, not to dwell in it,but to make it ours again."
"We fight so that no child ever again is born beneath a yoke called destiny."
"Today, we fight the gods. Tomorrow, we write a new world, with our own hands, in our own names."
"Now raise your weapons, freedom is watching."
.
.
.
The familiar ceiling greets me as my eyes flutter open.That same plain wood grain. That same soft glow of morning light spilling through the curtains.But the dream, the dream of freedom, still clings to my mind like smoke.A distant war. A stand against gods. A moment of defiance.
Even in this fragile body, that fire hasn't gone out.
Instinctively, I begin replaying the previous battle in my mind, frame by frame, like a tactician reviewing a lost campaign.
My first mistake:Charging in without a real weapon.Back when I was level 100, I could've crushed an armored knight with a spoon. But now? Charging an assassin with a pen was less bravery and more stupidity. I might as well have washed my neck and handed him the dagger myself.
But something nags at me harder than my own incompetence.
The assassin. He didn't use a single active skill.
Not one plunge. No poison mist. Not even a basic strike.
Was he untrained? Unskilled?Unlikely for a professional killer over level 10. Getting active skills without a mentor is hard, but not impossible and an assassin without them is like a bow with no string.
So why didn't he use any?
Was he still in training? Or did his contractor send him in with nothing?
A tight-fisted employer... or something darker?
And why target my sister? Why Eloise?
"Brother… are you okay?"
The voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I turn, Eloise.Perched at the edge of my bed, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, locked on mine with trembling hope.
She's alive.Alive because I was there.
I saved her.
The weight of that truth crashes into me like a tidal wave.My breath catches. My chest trembles. And before I know it, I'm crying.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I sit up and wrap my arms around her.
"I'm okay," I whisper.The words come out broken, choked by the sob in my throat.
"I'm okay… I just..."A whimper escapes me.
"I'm okay."
And for the first time in two lives, I actually believe it.