The Guardian gods Chapter 842

Lunara’s gaze fell upon the ring, the very instrument of such devastation, now destined for a return to the Menagerie. A mental note was made to discuss this with her brother; clearly, stricter regulations were needed for the distribution of such potent artifacts, especially with the Godlings poised to expand their influence beyond their own territories.

For Lunara, the stakes were the very survival of her people. Confronting a visible, audible foe that could be scouted and evaded was one challenge. However, facing an unseen menace, a predator lurking in plain sight that eliminated the innocent one by one like a phantom in the snow, was an entirely different ordeal.

The sound of two pained groans snapped her from her reflections. She turned her attention to the shimmering orbs, observing the effects of the potent healing water spell, a technique acquired from her brother’s wife. This magic, she noted, had evidently proven its efficacy.

Leiko, never one for subtlety, vibrated his mana until his containment sphere erupted in a cloud of white steam. Magnus, in contrast, emerged from his own sphere with composure. His attire was little more than tattered remnants, compelling him to continuously channel mana to form a protective shroud of warmth against the piercing northern gale.

A sharp-toothed, roguish grin spread across Leiko’s face as he turned to Lunara. "Thanks for the warm-up, Snow. That healing bath was more needed than I'd bargained for."

Magnus, despite his ruined garments, executed a modest, gentlemanly bow. "Your healing was masterfully crafted and its execution exquisite, my lady. My sincere gratitude."

Lunara observed the pair, a subtle, knowing smile gracing her lips. "Don't mention it," she replied playfully, her eyes alight with mischief. "Just be sure to factor in my share when you finally claim that bounty."

"Naturally," came the immediate, synchronized response from both.

Leiko cast a glance at Magnus, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips as he turned back to Lunara. "So, did you happen to notice who landed the final blow while the other chap was too incapacitated to even move?"

Lunara let out a soft chuckle, gracefully bringing a hand to cover her mouth. "I witnessed the gaping, smoking cavity in the Beast King’s chest. I certainly didn’t require a witness to confirm that particular feat was your doing."

Magnus audibly grumbled, his brow furrowing in irritation. "It appears someone conveniently neglects to recall who created the opening in the first place," he muttered. "You wouldn’t have even had a target if I hadn’t immobilized him."

"It merely highlights my inherent superiority," Leiko retorted, his tone light and self-assured. "Your role is simply to provide the indispensable support that allows my brilliance to shine."

Lunara’s gaze drifted towards Nova, who observed their bickering with an air of profound disinterest. The diminutive companion met her eyes and slowly shook his head, clearly unimpressed by the display of inflated egos. Lunara couldn't help but offer him a sympathetic smile; it seemed certain things remained eternally unchanged.

Lunara tossed the recovered ring towards Magnus. He caught it with a swift, adept wrist movement, his eyebrows rising in curiosity as he inspected the small artifact.

"That is your means of contact," Lunara explained. "Utilize it to reach the Menagerie and retrieve precisely what you seek."

Magnus’s grip tightened around the ring, his head nodding slowly, but his attention was swiftly diverted. A frown creased his brow as he watched Leiko stride with purpose towards the colossal, mountain-sized cadaver of the Beast King.

Leiko halted before the scaled edifice. He extended a hand, his gaze fixed on the distant point where his blade had been cast aside amidst the fierce battle. With a potent surge of his will, his sword flew through the air, a blur crossing the space before embedding itself firmly in his outstretched palm.

He made no move to sheathe it. Instead, he raised his other hand, his fingers closing around the exposed steel as if grasping a hilt. With a deliberate, cold motion, he drew the sharp edge across his own palm, the keen metal slicing deeply and initiating a steady trickle of crimson blood.

Leiko commenced a slow, measured circuit around the immense corpse, allowing his blood to fall consistently onto the ice as he began to chant a low, resonant prayer.

"Lord of the Fractured Mind, Weaver of the Crimson Storm, receive the tithe of this day. Accept this offering as my supplication. Through the blood, I am perceived. Through the madness, I am made whole."

By the time the last syllable faded, the spilled blood had coalesced into an expansive, elaborate magic circle upon the frozen ground. Concurrently, a dense, palpable crimson mist began to seep from his sword, twining around the blade like a sentient entity.

Leiko’s focus returned to the immense carcass. His initial objective had been the heart, yet he had incinerated that vital organ during the height of their conflict. He would have to content himself with the next most desirable trophy.

With a casual, light swing of his blade, he unleashed a thin, hyper-compressed wave of air. Shrouded in that same crimson mist, the strike shrieked through the air, cleanly decapitating the serpent. The head, the size of a manor house, thundered onto the ice with a bone-shaking thud. Unfazed, Leiko walked toward the severed trophy, allowing himself to be drenched in the torrential downpour of leaking blood as he dragged the massive head into the center of his waiting circle.

"Here is my offering, O great Björn."

As the name left Leiko’s lips, a crushing, stronger will descended upon the clearing. It felt as though the very sky had lowered to witness the ritual. The presence cast a cold, discerning glance over the icy expanse, briefly lingering on the two spectators. Lunara watched with interest, her eyes tracing the flow of power, while Magnus turned his head away, his expression one of pure, unfiltered disgust at the bizarre display.

The will then shifted its focus to Leiko and the colossal, severed head. After a heartbeat of silent judgment, the presence receded as quickly as it had arrived. With its departure, the offered head dissolved into fine, grey dust, swept away by the arctic wind.

Leiko stood at the center of the fading circle, staring down at the shimmering blessing left behind by Björn. Usually, he would have consumed the gift himself, pulling the raw essence into his own soul to bolster his strength. But a glance at the still-averting Magnus sparked a different thought. Leiko extended his consciousness, brushing over the debris of the battlefield until he found exactly what he was looking for.

With a flick of his wrist, the shattered remains of Magnus’s bow flew through the air and snapped into his hand. The glowing blessing settled onto the fractured wood, and Leiko’s voice took on a dark, rhythmic quality as he smoothed the energy over the weapon.

"The gift of Björn is a hungry gift," he murmured.

As the words took hold, the splinters groaned and knit back together. The blessing was swallowed by the grain of the bow, fusing the wood back into a single, seamless whole, stronger and more predatory than it had been before.

Meanwhile, Magnus had turned his back the moment Leiko began his approach toward the corpse. No matter how many times he witnessed it, the sight never sat right with him; it felt like a stain upon the natural order.

Every time Leiko performed the ritual, Magnus’s opinion of the god Björn withered further. To him, the entire display was nothing short of barbaric. As a proud and devout worshipper of the Goddess of the Moon, he found such demands for tribute to be beneath the dignity of true divinity. In his eyes, only a god of malice would require an offering of warm blood to grant their favor.

The wet crunch of footsteps in the snow drew nearer, bringing with it the heavy, metallic scent of gore. Magnus turned, an irritable retort already forming on his lips, but he froze.

Leiko stood there, hand outstretched, holding a weapon that should have been forgotten. His broken bow was back, not just repaired, but visibly thrumming with a newfound energy. Subconsciously, Magnus reached out to reclaim his bow, but his hand stopped mid-air. His nose caught the unmistakable, lingering scent of the ritual’s blood clinging to the wood. In that instant, he understood exactly how the weapon had been mended.

Magnus began to withdraw his hand, his pride warring with his need, when Leiko’s voice cut through the tension. "Take it. Now I owe you nothing for stealing the final kill."

The words acted as a bridge for Magnus’s conscience. He knew he shouldn’t accept a gift born of such a ritual, but the bow was a part of him. He reached out and grasped the riser, feeling the dark, revitalized pulse of the weapon beneath his fingers.