Lord of Deception

The grand halls of the Valmerith Cathedral were quieter than usual. No songs of prayer. No echoing sermons. Only the faint whispers of desperate clergy, murmuring among themselves.

High Priest Gregorin sat on his throne-like chair, fingers digging into the armrests.

The Royal Alliance was hesitating.

The nobles were watching.

The faithful were wavering.

It was happening.

Everything the Church had built for centuries—their divine authority, their power, their very existence—was starting to unravel.

Gregorin exhaled, his gaze darkening.

"This is not the work of mere rumor," he muttered. "This is a coordinated attack."

Someone was orchestrating this.

A force moving through the shadows, placing whispers in the right ears, turning allies into enemies.

A spider spinning a web around the Church's throat.

Gregorin looked up at the assembled priests and warriors before him. His voice was calm but cold.

"We must act. Now."

The gathered clergy exchanged uncertain glances.

One finally spoke. "How, Your Holiness? If we strike too aggressively, we will prove the rumors true."

Gregorin's lips curled. "We don't need to strike. We need a savior."

Silence fell.

Then, slowly, realization dawned.

A savior. A divine hand to silence the heretics.

A champion to restore faith.

Gregorin turned to the kneeling figure at the center of the hall. A man clad in pure silver armor, golden runes glowing faintly along his gauntlets.

The Hero.

"You have been silent for too long," Gregorin said. "It is time to remind the world why you were chosen by the gods."

The Hero raised his head. His blue eyes burned with righteous fury.

"I will bring them to their knees," he vowed.

Gregorin smiled.

"Then go, Holy Blade of Eternia. Show them the wrath of the divine."

"Perfect," Kael murmured, staring at the report in his hands.

Evelyne leaned against the table, arms crossed. "You were expecting this?"

Kael smirked. "Expecting? No. Guiding? Absolutely."

Everything had been set in motion for this moment.

The Church had been backed into a corner. Their only move left was to rely on the Hero.

And that meant—

"They are about to play directly into my hands," Kael whispered.

Evelyne raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning to kill the Hero?"

Kael chuckled. "No. Not yet."

She frowned. "Then what?"

Kael leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

"I'm going to turn him into a villain."

Evelyne inhaled sharply.

The Hero was loved. Respected. Worshiped.

But if Kael could make the world see him differently?

The Church's greatest weapon would become their greatest curse.

The city square was filled with tension.

The Hero had arrived.

Dressed in his legendary silver armor, he stood atop the marble steps, his presence radiating divine authority.

And before him—

The accused.

A man and a woman, dressed in rags, bound by chains.

Two "heretics" who had spoken against the Church.

The Hero raised his sword, voice echoing across the silent crowd.

"By the will of the gods, you are judged guilty of blasphemy. Do you have any last words?"

The man trembled but stood firm. "I only spoke the truth."

The woman held her chin high. "The gods do not punish those who question. Only tyrants do."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Doubt.

Suspicion.

The Hero's grip tightened. He was not here to debate.

He was here to remind them of faith.

"Then let justice be done."

He swung his blade.

The man and woman collapsed, blood pooling beneath them.

The silence was deafening.

And then—

It happened.

A single scream from the crowd.

Then another.

Then another.

"Monster!"

"How is this justice?!"

"He killed them!"

The Hero's eyes widened.

Wait. What?

This was divine punishment. A sacred act!

Why were they—

And then he saw it.

The painted blood on the cobblestones.

The sigil that had been drawn beneath the heretics' bodies.

A forbidden symbol.

A curse.

The Hero had unknowingly completed a ritual of sacrilege.

And the people had seen it.

"That's... blasphemy!" a priest gasped.

"No, this is a trick!" another shouted.

The damage was done.

The Hero had **killed two people in broad daylight—**and their blood now marked him as a heretic himself.

The crowd turned from murmurs to shouts of fury.

"Burn the heretic!"

"He has fallen to corruption!"

Chaos erupted.

And in the distance, hidden among the masses, Kael watched with a smile.

His voice was a whisper, carried only by the wind.

"You fell right into my hands, Hero."

Evelyne stared at the carnage from a hidden balcony.

"That was..." She exhaled. "That was insane. You just made the Hero a traitor to his own people."

Kael's smirk widened.

"It's not about the truth," he murmured. "It's about what people believe."

And now, the Hero was tainted.

His reputation fractured.

His own people turning against him.

But Kael wasn't done yet.

He turned to Evelyne. "Tonight, send word to the nobles. Tell them the Church is losing control of their 'champion.'"

Evelyne's eyes flickered with realization. "You want to make the nobles doubt the Church, too."

Kael chuckled. "It's not enough to weaken the Hero. We need to make sure he has nowhere left to stand."

And when the Hero had nothing left?

When he had lost faith in himself?

Kael would be waiting.

To be continued....