Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 73: Walking Among Spiders

Narinder, after his "friendly" interaction with Jalala, made his way to his temple with a solemn air. He climbed the black stone steps, softly ringing the bell that hung at the entrance. The echo resonated throughout the cult, calling the followers to congregate.

One by one, the cultists entered, bowing to their leader, their faces filled with fervor and devotion. Narinder watched as they took their places, his gaze fixed on each of them as he waited for the temple to fill to capacity. Once everyone was present, he stepped forward, ascending the altar with commanding grace.

"Today, my faithful," he began in a deep, resonant voice, "I will speak to you of a feeling that many view as a weakness, a flaw in character. Envy."

His words hung in the air, capturing the attention of each and every one present. Some of the cultists exchanged uncomfortable glances, while others listened with a mix of curiosity and fear.

"Envy," Narinder continued, "is not a sin, it is not a curse that we should fear. It is a spark. It is the fire that ignites the soul when we see what others possess, what we desire, what we believe we deserve. Envy, at its core, is the seed of ambition, of the desire to excel. Why should one feel shame in wanting the best for themselves? Why suppress the impulse to take what we believe is rightfully ours?"

He paused for a moment, letting his words sink into the cultists' minds. The flames from the temple's candelabras cast shadows across his face, giving him an almost demonic appearance as he continued.

"Was it not envy that drove me to seek more power? Was it not envy that drove me to seek revenge against those who betrayed me, to claim my place among the gods? Yes! And I do not regret it. You too, my faithful, must learn to embrace that feeling. Let envy be your guide, not your chain."

The atmosphere in the temple became tense, charged with energy. Narinder spread his arms, as if encompassing everyone in his dark sermon. "He who feels envy recognizes himself as someone worthy of more. Envy is not a defect, it is a sign of greatness. And those who deny their right to feel it... are destined to be trampled upon."

With those words, the cultists seemed to understand the true message behind the sermon. One by one, they approached the altar, offering their devotion, feeding Narinder's power with their prayers and submission.

When the last of them left their offering, Narinder, satisfied, dismissed his congregation. He watched as they filed out in silence, processing his teachings. Then, he turned to the dog who served him diligently.

"Go and find another prison guard. We must maintain order at all times," Narinder ordered.

The dog, smiling with pride at serving his master, bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord, your wish is my command."

When the temple was empty, Narinder stepped out and strode steadily towards the portal of Silkcradle. His eyes, cold and calculating, fell on the half-open door, where darkness and cobwebs hid what came next.

"I am ready... Shamura, I will come for you soon," he murmured, his voice barely audible but full of determination. And with that thought, he moved forward, knowing that the end was drawing ever closer.

Silkcradle was, without a doubt, the most feared and devastating of the four bishops' domains. A twisted and hostile landscape, where dead trees rose like black fingers, stretching towards a leaden sky, and petrified grass crunched underfoot as if the ground itself were cursed. Giant cobwebs stretched everywhere, covering every corner, and the creatures lurking in the shadows did so with an insatiable hunger.

Narinder walked without hesitation, his sickle gripped tightly in his hand. Every step he took resonated with cold determination, an echo of the dark purpose that had brought him here. All around him, monstrous spiders emerged from the gloom, their eyes gleaming with killing intent. But he was not afraid. With a single swing, his sickle sliced ​​through the air, mowing down the beasts before they could get close. He continued forward, unstoppable, like a gale of death.