Unholy Player Chapter 540 Crumbling Beliefs

Arvyn hailed from a commonplace race, neither overly mighty nor utterly feeble, boasting sufficient legacy and vigor to endure within the Midlands.

This race dwelled mainly in arid zones, sustaining themselves by pursuing prey over barren plains and sandy hills where vegetation seldom endured.

They weren't born soldiers, yet each one fought instinctively. Rather than tilling soil for sustenance, they hunted to live, developing rough palms, keen senses, and the skill to tread softly across vast expanses.

Regarding Arvyn's departure from her kin to align with the Blood Sect, no grand motive existed. No devastating event or pivotal moment stood out as the cause.

From youth, she tracked beasts for her meals, from morning fare to evening feasts. Alongside this, a craving for blood shaped her, teaching her young that hot blood signified nourishment, endurance, and might.

These elements merged to forge her essence and fuel her thirst for dominance, proving sufficient. She forsook her old Path, embracing Blood as the true reflection of her inner self.

Until then, her tale remained ordinary. True madness emerged thereafter.

Upon entering the Blood Sect and shifting her Path to Blood, she acquired the bloodline ability called Sanguivore. This power allowed her to boost her attributes by consuming blood, transforming each slaying into tangible advancement within her form.

Her initial sect assignment post-talent acquisition was to revisit her origins and eradicate her whole clan and village, slaughtering all, ensuring no remnant of her past endured.

She embraced the task without protest. Beyond merely ending the lives of those she once cherished as family, she absorbed their blood to empower herself. She sipped it with the serene intent once reserved for readying supper.

Henry regarded the woman while absorbing her account in quiet reflection. Her scarlet locks were tied into a tail. Her blood-red gaze locked onto him unblinking, while jagged, serrated fangs lined her jaws. She resembled a feral beast sustained solely on raw flesh.

Slaughtering kin purely for power gains already defied mortal morals. Compounding the horror was her narration, delivered as if routine. No quiver marred her tone, no regret tainted her stance, offering stark evidence of her profound derangement.

She poses a threat. Henry rendered his verdict swiftly, his features unchanging.

Potential ally, yet utterly unreliable.

Liora and Zephan's expressions betrayed raw revulsion, as leaders who cherished lineage and bonds above all, their clenched jaws revealing the effort to restrain themselves.

Fortune favored that they curbed their impulses and remained mute, allowing Henry to hold sway in the chamber, though their stares lingered on Arvyn relentlessly.

Henry maintained composure. He avoided probing their origins or condemning their paths. Instead, he conversed lightly to glean details on their sect, then subtly guided discussion to the Blood God they sought to revive.

"The artifact, the Heart of the Blood Palace you're pursuing, I suppose it's to rouse your deity? What's your method for employing it?" Henry inquired, reclining in his seat.

He lacked insight into divine resurrection. Nonetheless, deducing the treasure's role proved simple, given the lengths they'd traversed in quest of it.

Kaelor validated his assumption. "Exactly." He pressed on with fervor. "Crafted by the Corrupted King prior to ascending to Godhood, even in ruin it retains its maker's core, so we intend to harness it for finalizing the vessel the Blood God shall inhabit."

Henry drummed his fingers on the chair's armrest. This tic aided in calming his pulse and quelling the burden of fresh revelations, even as thoughts whirled.

Kaelor's depiction portrayed a divinity pre-Godhood attainment. Such a thing eluded the Outer Region entirely—no tales, no chronicles, not even dubious murmurs.

Zephan and Liora appeared rattled and captivated too, their prior loathing momentarily eclipsed by intense curiosity as they voiced queries.

"Do records exist of the Blood God from his pre-divine era?" Zephan questioned, heedless that such discourse might offend, his attention fixed on the revelation over propriety.

Liora's inquiry differed. "This Blood God remains unknown to me. How does He connect to the four prevailing Gods, and exist others beyond Him?"

Raised under God Astrael's banner, her existence revolved around faith and supplication to that singular deity. Discovering additional ones now compelled her to probe deeper, unwilling to squander the moment, as responses might upend her worldview.

Arvyn responded this round. "Our insights stem from our Sect Leader. During rites, she imparts fragments of her wisdom to us occasionally."

She halted, eyeing Henry, before proceeding. "Truthfulness eludes me fully, but from what's revealed, the Blood God counts among the primordial deities, predating the four recognized ones."

She faced Liora, a broad grin splitting her features as she replied mockingly. "Indeed, greater numbers of Gods once thrived. Far more. Antedating even the four you cling to as all-powerful."

"How could that hold?" Liora's convictions wavered, resisting the notion.

In her understanding, the four Gods formed the eldest pantheon, originators of all, the bedrock of creation.

God Astrael molded the tangible realm, birthing mountains, earth, rocks, waters—every perceivable element, the firm substance graspable and quantifiable.

Goddess Aetheris infused those structures with spirit, bestowing individuality's wonder, elevating inert material to vibrant life.

God Ignivar ignited dynamism in their static forms. He bestowed evolution and expansion upon every work, infusing flux so existence advanced rather than stagnating.

Finally, Goddess Nethera introduced mortality and renewal's wheel to all. She wove the web sustaining equilibrium, binding all in perpetual rotation of closure and rebirth, inescapable from nature's poise.

These four deities birthed reality from void, the sole architects transforming absence into being.

Yet revelations of predecessors, ancients predating them, baffled her, rendering her devotions abruptly diminutive, targeted at mere facets of verity.

Liora and Zephan withheld instant credence, shifting eyes to Henry for cues of rebuttal or amendment on his countenance.

Yet he remained serenely composed. No urge surfaced to intervene or amend, prompting their growing acceptance of the claims. Henry held his tongue, grappling with his own astonishment.

Naturally, his jolt paled against Liora and Zephan's turmoil.

They confronted the prospect that centuries of perceived truth rang hollow, or at best partial. For Henry, though, the disclosure merited gravity. Unraveling the Beyond's authentic past rivaled bolstering Humanity's prowess in significance.

Earth's chronicle, even its plight, intertwined with this realm. The loop ensnaring Earth culminated periodically in apocalypse. All reset, thrusting Humanity to origins anew, confining them eternally within their planetary cage.

Henry sought a fitting query, wary of betraying his gaps. Ere he uttered, Liora and Zephan advanced relentlessly, unwittingly aiding his pursuit.

"What befell the rest of those Gods? With so many preceding, why merely four persist, and why indoctrinate us to view them as paramount, our very originators?"

Zephan demanded, voice quivering faintly.

Though oblivious to it, Henry discerned the man's convictions fracturing gradually.