Chapter 1074: A Shortcut to Power
“Mother, perhaps I should go north myself,” Isilra proposed. “I could search for the Tree of Life and, at the same time, determine whether this new faction is friend or foe.”
Staghelm City was isolated. The Nightwing race to the south were not an option for an alliance due to bitter past grievances. They desperately needed allies, wherever they could be found.
“Patience,” Gima’s voice advised. “In a few days, the two demonic hordes will meet. Then we will know if the Black Towers will turn on each other, or if they will unite as one.”
The Moonwell demigod was not opposed to Isilra venturing out. The girl was protected by a sliver of Gima’s own demigod will; unless she was ambushed by two or more demigods at once, she would always have a chance to escape. Besides, Isilra was a Moon Elf. As long as the moon was in the sky, any place touched by its light was a potential escape route.
“Very well. I will listen to you, Mother,” Isilra conceded. “I will wait a few days before heading north.”
She closed her eyes and submerged her consciousness in the moonlight. Her physical form began to shimmer and fade, as if she were dissolving into the pale, ethereal light.
The Cult of Four, within a Black Tower.
In a cavernous hall, Clown and Witch sat across from each other, a great distance separating them.
“Interesting,” Clown said, his neck cracking audibly. The puppet body he inhabited had been motionless in a pose of deep thought for so long that his movements were unnaturally stiff. “It seems that since our departure, the Champions Alliance has cultivated a formidable new talent.”
“We didn’t ‘leave’,” the four-winged Fallen Angel corrected him from across the hall, an eyebrow arched in irritation. “We defected.”
“Such a harsh word, Witch,” Clown chided, shaking his head. “Must you insist on calling yourself a traitor? I prefer to think the Champions Alliance’s vision was simply too small to contain our future.”
“Let me remind you, Clown,” she shot back, “that as far as we know, the Deputy Commander, Arthas, and Alexander have all reached the demigod realm. Leonidas hasn’t shown his face, but do you really think he’s lagging far behind? Or are you truly satisfied with this… pseudo-deity status of ours?”
Pseudo-deity. Witch wasn’t wrong. In truth, both she and Clown were stalled at the Archlord-Peak. However, by channeling the immense faith of the Cult of Four, they could wield the power of a demigod—a power that, in some cases, surpassed that of a newly ascended one. Clown, in particular, as one of the Cult’s twelve Pontiffs, could draw upon a far deeper well of power than she could. It was one of the reasons he was so much more committed to their path.
“Honestly, hearing that Arthas and the others have ascended… it does inspire a certain envy,” Clown’s voice echoed softly, a strange, unfamiliar note in his tone. “Had I known this would be the outcome back then, I might have hesitated. I might not have turned my back on them.”
His voice suddenly sharpened, ringing with unshakeable conviction. “But that path is closed to us now, Witch. You shouldn’t entertain such unrealistic thoughts. We have thrown our lot in with the Cult of Four, and there is no going back.”
He met her gaze. “Yes, I admit that in terms of our own innate strength, we have fallen behind them. But now we are part of the Cult. We wield the divine power of the four gods and have limitless faith to command. If we were to face Arthas and the others in open battle right now, I’m not so certain we would lose.”
There was no regret in his voice, only cold confidence. Power was power, no matter the source. Whether it came from the Champions Alliance or the Cult of Four was irrelevant, so long as he could use it.
“Besides,” Clown’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, a reminder of their old partnership. “Surely you understand the principle of using their ladder to reach our own goals?”
If he could secure Witch’s full support, he was certain he could climb higher within the Cult, perhaps even to the rank of Archbishop. And with his influence, he could see her elevated to Pontiff. But to do that, they needed to be united.
“Use their ladder?” Witch laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “I’m worried we’re the ones being fattened for the slaughter, Clown.”
“You underestimate yourself,” he chided gently. “And, of course, you underestimate me.”
His ambition was boundless. Since they had joined the Cult, he believed they should embrace it completely. In an age where the gods were silent, they could ascend the ranks, claim the title of Archbishop, and become the supreme mortal arbiters of the Cult’s power.
And when the day came that the gods could once again walk the earth, was it so impossible to imagine usurping them—seizing their power, their followers, their very divinity?
Clown was certain their chosen path was no detour. It was a shortcut. By embracing the Cult, they had millions of followers who would lift them to the highest peaks of power.
“Witch, we have no retreat,” he said, rising from his seat and making a gesture of prayer to the four gods. “Our only choice is to embrace the Cult and bathe in the glory of our new masters.”
Her willingness to even be here, to send an avatar to participate in this plan, told him that deep down, she still believed in the choice they had made. The truth was, the old Commander of the Champions Alliance had left an indelible shadow on her soul—an image of unbeatable power.
Clown felt that shadow too, but he was convinced that one day, he would not only match the Commander’s strength but surpass it, wiping that shadow from existence forever.
“If you think of this as a race, we haven’t fallen behind,” he said, his puppet’s eyes empty yet seemingly profound. “On the contrary. Arthas, Alexander… they poured out their blood and sweat, they struggled and fought, just to reach the same position of power we now hold. From that perspective… are they not the ones who are trailing us?”
He was shoring up her wavering faith, reinforcing her commitment. But he knew words weren’t enough. Witch needed external pressure. And their old comrades in the Champions Alliance were the perfect instruments to provide it. That was the secret reason he had worked so hard to lure her into this scheme in the Silverwood Realm. He didn’t need to kill Arthas or the others. He just needed to create enough trouble to draw their full attention, to make them bleed.
Seeing them struggle, seeing them look weak, would solidify Witch’s resolve. And with her truly at his side, he was confident he could one day challenge the four gods for their thrones. After all, the Cult of Four worshipped gods. Whether they were old gods or new ones made little difference, did it?
Witch remained silent. She hadn’t been won over by his speech. Arguing the point was meaningless. She was the type who never made a move without a guaranteed reward. Until she saw a tangible, undeniable profit, she would not be swayed by Clown’s grand designs or honeyed words.