Chapter 1174 - 86: The Avenger

Chapter 1174: Chapter 86: The Avenger

Despair, ashen, and endless hatred towards the world.

In the midst of burning ruins, a lifeless mother cradles a long-dead infant, the cold child’s body stained with pitch-black blood. Her vacant pupils fail to focus for a long time, only marked by dried bloody tears at the corners of her eyes. Drop by drop, blood, and tears mixed together, streamed down her face, and seeped into her cracked and withered lips.

She had been kneeling here all night.

As if she had lost all vitality, this mother’s life was like a lingering candle in the wind, on the verge of extinguishing. She didn’t know why she was still alive, or how she survived that night of despair. She only knew she couldn’t die yet.

A heavy footstep sounded.

Soon enough.

A young priest in luxurious robes appeared. He glanced in this direction, hurriedly approached, and reached out to touch the cold body of the infant, full of anger. He wanted to help the frail woman before him, but for some reason, she refused to rise, remaining kneeling motionless in the ruins.

"Mentor."

The young and handsome priest shook his head towards the hastily arriving elder, casting a look of pity at the ashen, lifeless woman beside him.

At this moment, a warrior’s figure approached, saying in a deep voice, "It must have been the work of the Scantlin Association."

"There might also be Baal’s death eaters in action."

The elder’s gaze was solemn, with a hint of anger in his eyes. He knelt slowly on one knee, looking straight into the desperate woman’s eyes, trying to help her up, yet she remained unmoved.

After an unknown period, a trace of vitality returned to the defeated mother’s eyes. Her hollow stare fixed on the elegant elder before her, she murmured, "I have devotedly served Lathander all my life..."

"My husband died... killed by beastman robbers..."

"My son died... amid the turmoil years ago..."

"Now..."

"My only daughter is dead too..."

"Is Lathander really watching over me?..."

He is.

Lathander never abandons hope.

The elder opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but stopped, ultimately remaining silent, for he suddenly didn’t know how to comfort this hopeless woman.

The despairing mother staggered to her feet, refusing the young priest’s support beside her, only holding her infant child’s body tighter, turning her head towards the darkness.

The dawn had yet to rise.

The morning light could not reach this dark land.

Tiverton.

In 1358 of the Valley Calendar, Tiverton suffered devastating damage when the gods were cast to the mortal realm, partially destroyed, but survivors begun rebuilding their home thereafter.

By 1360 of the Valley Calendar, the city gradually recovered, but the power struggle between Shadowdale and the Scantlin Association continued to impact the area.

In 1370 of the Valley Calendar, the Scantlin Association launched a raid to control the northern corridor of Comer, razing the city and then using the ruins as a military stronghold.

A speck of dust from the era, when it falls on an ordinary person, is like a mountain.

The Tiverton of today has not yet been massacred by Shirek’s followers, but the long-lasting conflicts have made this desperate woman lose everything—her husband, son, daughter, everything. Her life’s countdown has begun, unable to find the meaning to continue living.

The Lord of Dawn, Lathander, one of Tiverton’s main deities, seemingly couldn’t protect this pitiful city.

The woman stumbled towards the cemetery.

She was going to bury her daughter.

At least, the child should not be disturbed by an unclean death after passing.

She heard crying.

She thought it was also a pitiful person like her who lost loved ones. She couldn’t offer comfort since her heart was already gray and barren, only able to cast a hollow look ahead.

It was the Joybringers...

Do they cry too...?

These people are good, at least they are closer to the common people’s lives than the Lord of Dawn’s priests, for they just want to bring a speck of joy to others, even if it’s only a placebo.

The goddess of joy had a good relationship with the Lord of Dawn, possibly one of her few supports besides Shunni.

A woman in bright, tight-fitting attire cradled a cold body; Joybringers like colorful and splendid clothes, yet now they were stained with mottled blood and filth. She was injured, her abdomen bleeding.

Lyanne Flamet.

She cradled her sister’s body, eyes filled with infinite sorrow as though sensing a gaze; she looked up to see the mother whose soul seemed to wither bit by bit.

"My lady."

"We must take revenge!..."

A Joybringer with bloodshot eyes, full of hatred, clenched her teeth, blood seeping from her lips, "Please, your grace, take action..."

"Were you not once his attendant, my lady?"

Lyanne Flamet remained silent, only that blood seeped from her clenched hands.

Would such a great figure really care about such a small affair?

She did not know.

But she longed for revenge, willing to pay with her life for it.

Revenge?

A spark seemed to rekindle in the defeated mother’s eyes; she staggered into the cemetery, using whatever money she had left to pay for a burial plot, leaving the money at the gate of the cemetery grounds even if no one collected it.

Her beloved daughter at least deserved a decent resting place.

Revenge...

How could a frail and powerless woman avenge?

The gods wouldn’t care.

They reign above.

The only ones she could pray to for power were those evil and terrifying beings; she knew what it was, demons of the abyss, devils of hell.