Edgar 5: The Uroboros Ritual
For the first six months of Edgar 5, we focused on identifying those directly connected to Rowen. Through Duke Crosby's secret intelligence network, we uncovered Rowen supporters within the knight order, and learned they were in contact with certain court nobles. By day, we investigated; by night, I studied magic under the duke. It began with simple defensive spells, but gradually evolved into deeper life magic. "The darker the shadows grow, the more the light of life is needed," the duke often said. "Someday, this magic will save your life."
"It seems Count Walter is at the center," I said as we entered the first year of investigation. The duke nodded. "Count Budan and Viscount Risty are suspicious too. They seem to meet frequently."
As we approached the second year, we discovered our first major clue. Among Count Budan's letters, the words "ritual" and "offering" appeared repeatedly.
By the end of the third year, Duke Crosby's study was filled with the documents and evidence we'd gathered. The walls bore a map showing the names of implicated nobles and the threads connecting them. Names linked by red string multiplied, with Counts Walter and Budan at the center.
"Any progress?" On the last day of spring in our third year, the duke asked as he opened the study door. His hair had whitened further, and deep wrinkles etched his face. The endless secret probe weighed heavily on him, yet his resolve remained ironclad.
"We found a new clue at Count Budan's estate," I said, carefully unfolding the letter I'd discovered. My hands trembled slightly—I'd risked my life to obtain it. "This is a secret communique to Count Walter. Look here."
A mention of a new mine, and the word Mesmeris boldly emphasized.
"This is..." The duke's eyes flashed. He strode to a bookshelf in the corner, unlocked an iron drawer, and retrieved a tome bound in aged leather.
"A forbidden book from Michael's temple archives?" I asked in surprise. The duke nodded silently. "Rescued during the temple's great fire years ago. I've seen records of Mesmeris in ancient texts."
As he opened the book, an illustration appeared: a gem swirling with blue and black light, like a living entity at its core. Around it stood figures in black robes forming a circle, corpses offered at their feet like sacrifices.
"Mesmeris is a rare ore that drains life force," the duke said in a trembling voice. "They use the blood of those drained by it in rituals to dark gods. Blood tainted by the ore blurs the boundary between our world and theirs, allowing demons to cross over."
"The descent of a dark god..." I murmured.
"Exactly. Now the evidence is complete." The duke pointed to the documents one by one. "Count Budan secures Mesmeris through his mines and supplies it to Count Walter. Walter leads the rituals. And Rowen..."
"Was his subordinate," I finished. The puzzle was finally coming together. Rowen's unnatural promotions in the knight order, Count Budan's sudden wealth and influence, Count Walter's secret gatherings... It all painted a clear picture now.
Yet unease gnawed at me. Something felt missing. The pieces fit too perfectly, as if someone had arranged them for us to find.
"Tomorrow, we take this evidence to His Highness," the duke said resolutely. "We can't hide any longer. The kingdom's fate hangs in the balance."
That night, I slept fitfully from tension. Tomorrow, our three years of secret work would bear fruit. But when I woke and sought the duke, his bedroom was empty. The tidy bedding was disheveled, and stark black stains marred the white sheets. Blood.
My heart plummeted. Instinctively drawing my sword, I scanned the surroundings. The mansion was eerily silent—no servants' footsteps, no breakfast preparations.
Sensing crisis, I rushed to the study to secure the evidence. But upon entering, something felt off. The desk papers showed faint signs of disturbance. Someone had been here.
Scanning frantically, my blood froze. The very letter the duke had mentioned about Count Walter lay open in the desk's center. And atop it, fresh writing:
Today.
Checking the letter's date, a sharp blow struck the back of my head. Lightning-like pain exploded. My spine chilled as my body staggered. Before collapsing, I glimpsed Count Walter's signature and the words "next ritual." Then the world went black.
...
Pain surged. My head throbbed as if my skull would shatter—like a hammer to the cranium.
What happened...
I slowly opened my eyes. Pitch darkness filled my vision. A cave? But the air felt different—cold, damp stone scent, the stifling staleness of a poorly ventilated underground space.
I tried to move, but couldn't. Wrists and ankles bound tight with sturdy leather straps. Immobile.
Where am I...
Memories flickered dimly. Reviewing documents in Duke Crosby's study. Spotting the letter with Count Walter's name... Then nothing but the distant blow to my head.
Three years of investigation, on the brink of fruition—ending like this.
Is the duke safe...
My teeth ground together. I'd steeled myself for this from the start. No regrets. But...
A sound—something moving. In the dark, candles ignited one by one, pushing back the shadows. Dim light revealed the space: an underground chamber of black stone ceiling and walls. Cloaked figures in black robes stood in a circle between tall pillars.
At the center, a circular altar protruded from the floor. And I was bound to it.
Damn.
Instinct screamed: this was the dark god cultists' ritual site. The very place we'd hunted for three years, found like this.
I drew a deep breath. No panic. Assess first.
Faint patterns etched the altar floor: a serpent devouring its tail. Inside, three stars formed a triangle.
Uroboros. We'd learned of it deeply with the duke—an ancient symbol of eternity, but also of dark god worshippers.
The lines glowed faintly. Closer inspection: fresh crimson blood tracing the pattern, not yet dry.
Sacrificial blood...
And I was next.
The robed figures' faces hid under hoods. They chanted lowly, their murmurs weaving into eerie music.
"Great Abraksas, we await your descent..."
Abraksas...
My heart sank. The dark god of ancient legends—one of the mightiest in the Demon Realm. This wasn't mere superstition. The ritual was real.
The murmurs swelled. One figure stepped forward, lowering his hood. A face I'd seen at court: Count Walter.
"Abraksas, open the gates of blood and shadow, descend upon this world. Your glory shall blanket the earth in darkness..."
Walter held a dagger etched with strange runes. Its blade gleamed like transparent glass, but black smoke swirled within. Cold dread crawled down my spine. That blade would soon pierce my heart.
Candle flames flickered without wind. Shadows danced on the walls. Dried blood dripped from cracks—plink, plink.
The duke too... in a place like this...
To meet our quarry this way. I forced calm, upholding my noble and knightly dignity. But the cold sweat down my back wouldn't stop.
"This sacrifice is special," Walter said. His voice echoed oddly, like many speaking as one. "The sole survivor of the kingdom's Second Knight Order. The last witness to our identity."
Laughter rippled through the robed figures—not human, more like shattering glass.
Walter approached. Red light gleamed in his pupils—not mortal eyes.
"Fear not, Edgar Haind. Your blood and soul will lay the foundation for a new world."
I gritted my teeth, steeling against his soul-draining tone. "I haven't the foggiest what you mean. This is treason—against the kingdom, against the light god Michael." My voice held firmer than expected.
Cold scorn curled Walter's lips. "Treason? Is this treason? No, this is liberation. Freeing humanity from the gods' chains after millennia."
He flicked his hand. Blood on the walls floated up. Crimson droplets hovered, then traced the Uroboros, slowly converging on the altar.
Black magic...
Watching his precise dark spell, I gauged how long he'd served the dark gods.
"We merely summon the ancient ones. The true masters who ruled this land before the gods."
He paced the pattern, slithering like the serpent itself.
"When Lord Abraksas descends, Michael's era ends. A new age dawns."
Another robed figure approached with a scroll. Lowering his hood: Count Budan, the kingdom's richest man, owner of the Rosberry mines.
"Is the sacrificial blood prepared?" Budan's voice quavered, eyes mixing awe and fear. Unlike Walter, he seemed not fully immersed.
Walter assented. "Perfectly. Lord Abraksas will be pleased."
Budan unrolled the scroll, revealing intricate patterns. Placed on the floor, it soaked into the blood of its own accord.
Complex patterns awakening in blood.
This is...
The situation grew stranger. But instinct warned: immensely powerful, immensely dangerous ritual.
"Count Budan." He startled, looking at me. "Where is Duke Crosby?"
Budan hesitated. Walter answered instead. "His blood already forms the ritual's cornerstone. Yours will complete it."
My chest iced over. Our three-year comrade, advisor—sacrificed already.
Walter advanced again. The dagger darkened, absorbing light.
"Proud heir of House Haind. Your sacrifice won't be in vain."
Hesitating briefly, I spoke. "Wait. This sacrifice isn't using Mesmeris. Won't that invalidate the ritual?"
Walter's gaze wavered. Silence fell.
"Clever question, Edgar," he replied slowly. "Mesmeris enhances blood, but isn't essential. Especially..." He pointed at me. "...with special blood. Lineage of the kingdom's seven great houses, swordmaster Haind blood no less. Yours is tenfold a common sacrifice."
Then I understood why the duke had met such a gruesome end. He too hailed from an ancient house.
Suddenly, something emerged from the dark. Air twisted, an indefinable form materializing.
What is that...
Humanoid, yet alien. Elongated limbs ending in razor claws glinting in shadow. Face defied recognition—brain rejected the form despite my eyes.
"Abraksas's herald has arrived," Walter intoned reverently. "Will you accept our offering?"
Indescribable malice poured from it, filling the chamber. Reality blurred with nightmare.
The herald approached slowly. Twisted fingers reached for my chest, digging into flesh.
"Arrrgh!" Agonizing pain pierced my body. Soul tearing. Not mere physical torment—existence itself denied.
Stay focused, Edgar!
My oath to protect the kingdom flashed. Duke Crosby, vanished on the same mission. Fellow knights lost to Rowen's labyrinth magic. Cloud's mangled corpse. Their sacrifices couldn't be for naught.
Then, the impossible: like a gale, House Haind's secret art awakened. Wind Blade. Swordless, wind aura enveloped me.
How...
Shock brief; instinct drew the power. Duke Crosby's basic magic recalled—he'd taught secret resistance spells.
Wrist bonds loosened. Mind-wielded wind sliced the leather. One hand freed.
"Kekekeke!" The herald wailed oddly—painful, yet gleeful. Reveling in this.
Walter's eyes blazed fury. "How did you break free...!"
The herald twisted toward me. Claws lunged lightning-fast at my face. I dodged instinctively; they grazed my ear. Burning pain spread.
"Ngh!"
I freed my other hand and feet hastily. The herald charged again—faster, fiercer. Its form hard to track. I rolled aside; claws shattered stone like paper.
"You're special indeed. When Abraksas claims your soul, all barriers crumble."
Walter sneered coldly. My vision blurred—herald's flung energy, black blades slicing air, piercing me.
"Urk!" Something snapped inside. Life force draining.
No! Can't fall like this!
I gathered wind, hurling blades at the herald. They rent its form, but it reformed like shadow.
Normal attacks won't work.
It assaulted again—from front, back, sides simultaneously. One entity, multiplying attacks. I desperately wove wind barriers, but assaults intensified. No breath left.
Think, Edgar. Recall Duke Crosby's teachings.
Memory surfaced: his final advice. "Fuse the wind in your blood with the light of life I imparted."
House Haind swordsmanship. Wind propelled me skyward. Eyes closed midair, I focused. Infusing life force into wind blade per the duke's last lesson.
Hand extended, slashing air. Wind blade and life magic merged—blue winds and golden mana birthing radiant green sword aura.
"Th-this is...!" Walter cried in horror.
"Krrrk!!" The herald shrieked piercingly. Aura engulfed it, but didn't destroy fully. Its power dawned on me.
But enough. Ritual disrupted.
The chamber quaked. Stones fell from walls, cracks spidered the ceiling.
"The ritual failed! The herald's out of control!" A scream rang out. Robed figures scattered.
With final strength, I loosed another aura strike—at the ceiling. The chamber collapsed.
Wind maximum, I launched upward through falling debris. Dodging rocks was hell; many struck, but I pressed on.
Light appeared. Moonlight through the ruined ceiling. Escape.
Must survive. Must tell all.
Last leap. Blood poured from my chest—herald's claw wound. But not yet time to die.
Outside, I surrendered to wind. A massive green sword aura cleaved the sky—a message all could see.
House Haind... never yields.
My body lightened. Consciousness fading, a lethally sweet scent brushed my nose.
King of bugs...?