A Journey That Changed The World

Archer was relaxing in the treehouse with Talila, Maeve, Brooke, and Tiamat, who appeared an hour after dealing with her business that she chose not to talk about. They were all sitting in front of the roaring fire that was beating back the Long Winter’s cold. It was invading the treehouse, causing their breath to show.

While sitting there, he turned toward the Dragon Goddess to ask her when she had to return, but noticed a smile stretching across her face as she revealed. ”My love. I have to get back and arrange a few things before I can stay on Thrylos. It’s possible to take some time off as I wait for things to get started.”

”How long will it take for you to return?”

”A few months at least, but I can visit from time to time.”

”Alright,” Archer replied, hiding his disappointment, but he knew they’d be able to spend more time together now. ”In that case, I’ll conquer the rest of the world and battle it out with the northerners.”

Tiamat’s smile grew wide as she looked at the other women with happiness glowing in her Draconic eyes. ”Make sure he stays out of trouble, girls. You know it loves to follow him like a bad smell.”

Everyone giggled, but Archer shook his head. ”I’ve known him since a boy and been there ever since,” Talila was the one to respond. ”And I’ll be there when we all pass to the other side, whenever that may be.”

Archer’s heart raced as he looked at the mixed Elf; his intense eyes made the brown-skinned woman’s face go even darker. Everyone laughed at her reaction as the silver-haired beauty was normally serious. After a few minutes, Maeve stood up once they calmed down, looking concerned.

”We should deal with the rebels, make sure none of our people get the idea of doing something like when you’re not here,” she suggested.

”You’re right,” he said, standing up and stretching his arms. ”I should deal with it personally so people learn not to do it again; this would be a nightmare every time I go somewhere.”

Several pops echoed out as he closed his eyes, only to see through the ones of a Venomwing that was pinning down the rebel commander. When seeing this, Archer ordered his horde to stop attacking as he was going there and deal with them himself. Once that was done, he opened a portal to Pluoria with a wave of his hand.

After bidding farewell to Tiamat, who vanished in a burst of violet light, she returned to the God Realm to deal with whatever business she had. Archer gave up asking when she stopped talking about it, and he wouldn’t push the Goddess into it. Following that, the four stepped through the portal onto Pluoria.

They emerged outside a towering castle that dominated the landscape. It was the last stronghold in the northern part of Pluoria, but he paid it no mind. He drew a deep breath, then unleashed a rage-fuelled roar that rolled like a shockwave across Thrylos. Every rebel soldier on the continent heard it.

The enemies knew who had arrived and began to panic as they all knew how ruthless he was when it came to the people who betrayed him. Archer wasn’t finished with just the roar. In a flicker of movement, he vanished from the group and began appearing in rapid succession before clusters of soldiers scattered across the battlefield.

He blurred into a whirlwind, materializing amidst the rebel ranks like a storm of sharpened fury thanks to his chaotic mana swirling around him. ‘Looks like some Dark Gods will appear, but fuck it,’ he thought, grinning.

His claws extended as he tore through the first group of soldiers. Limbs flew, screams echoed in the air, and blood painted the ground in arcs. He didn’t linger; vanishing again, he reappeared before another cluster, his tail whipping through armor like a scythe through wheat, killing foes before they could raise their weapons.

The rebellion crumbled under his onslaught thanks to the Crown of Stars taking out the soldiers that tried to attack from behind. Groups that had once besieged the castle now scattered in terror, but there was no escape. He hunted them, teleporting to flanks, ambushes, and hidden camps across Thrylos’s vast plains.

He crushed shields with bare hands, snapped spears mid-thrust, and unleashed bursts of mana that incinerated squads in blinding flashes. Explosions erupted all around the battlefield. Bodies piled in his wake, the air thick with the metallic tang of slaughter and the acrid smoke of charred flesh.

One by one, the rebel forces fell until only the commanders remained, five figures who had orchestrated the uprising alongside his father, huddled in a desperate last stand atop a rocky outcrop. They barked orders to phantoms, their faces pale with the realization that their army was no more.

Archer appeared before them in a haze of displaced air, his eyes glowing thanks to the unquenchable rage. He disarmed them, shattering blades and crumpling armor, then bound them with ethereal chains that burned like fire against their skin. With a wave of his hand, he summoned massive wooden stakes from the earth itself, jagged and unyielding.

He impaled each commander alive, hoisting them high as they screamed in agony. But his wrath extended beyond the leaders, turning his gaze to the rebels across the battlefield. In a surge of magic, he animated the stakes to rise en masse, piercing the corpses of every soldier, thousands, creating a forest of impaled bodies that stretched for miles.

The field undulated like a sea of the damned, the air filled with the final gurgles of the dying and the creak of settling wood as screams echoed across the battlefield. From the castle’s shadow, the three women watched in stunned silence as they didn’t get a chance to fight, thanks to him dealing with it all.

They had known his power, but this was a display of brutality that chilled them to their cores, a reminder that beneath his protective exterior lurked a force capable of reshaping worlds in blood. Once Archer was down, he let out a breath of relief and turned back to the trio, laughing at their reactions.

”Everything okay, ladies?”

Maeve was the first to speak after shaking her head. ”We didn’t expect you to impale thousands of people; it’s shocking.”

The others nodded in agreement, causing him to explain. ”Well, I needed to put on a show and kill the rebels, impaling them, but let me deal with the commanders, then we’ll return to the palace.”

Archer didn’t hurry as the last rebel watched him turn, and something in the man broke before he ever reached him. The battlefield had gone quiet, no screams, no steel, only the sound of his boots moving forward, slow and measured, as if the world itself had learned better than to rush him.

Each step pressed down on the air. Bodies lay everywhere, yet Archer walked through them untouched, his gaze fixed on the lone survivor like a judgment already passed. The man forced himself to stand, shaking so badly he nearly dropped the dagger he drew from his belt.

Archer stopped a few paces away. He looked at the weapon. Then he smiled at the man, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Not wide. Not cruel. Certain. Seconds later, he reached up, tearing his shirt apart. The fabric gave way easily, falling from his shoulders to reveal a chest carved with old scars, deep, pale lines etched there by battles long finished, by enemies who no longer existed.

”Go ahead,” Archer said quietly.

The words weren’t a challenge; they were his permission. The rebel screamed and charged, driving the dagger forward with every ounce of rage he had left. Moments later, the blade struck and shattered. The sound cracked across the field like a gunshot. Metal burst apart against his skin, fragments spraying outward.

Archer didn’t flinch. His chest didn’t so much as redden. He looked down at the broken steel. Then back at the man. A soft breath of amusement left him. ”That’s the limit of a human life,” he said evenly. ”All of it, spent in one moment.”

The rebel fell backward, scrambling away, eyes wide and empty, as if he had just stared into something too vast to understand. Archer stepped closer. Close enough that the man had to crane his neck to look up at him. ”You’ll live,” he said. ”Not because you deserve mercy, but because fear will do more damage to your cause than your death ever could.”

Only then did Archer turn his head toward Maeve. ”Give him gold,” he said, tone effortless. ”Make sure he survives long enough to tell everyone exactly what happened here.”

Talila and Brooke could only stare as the orange-haired beauty tossed the coins at the fleeing rebel. He ran like the world itself was chasing him, never daring to look back. When he was gone, she turned to Archer, still trying to process what she had witnessed. ”Why spare him, husband?”