Chapter 339
Watching the Apelings interact with the human world revealed their naivety. Their willingness to flaunt their wealth as if it were normal was fascinating to him. When he started spreading the rumor, he believed it would work.
However, once the rumor took hold, he realized how little he understood the Apelings. The retaliation and brutality they displayed were no less than what the followers of Björn would do.
His failure reached the ears of the higher-ups, and he was given one last chance before being replaced. Despite the threat, he wasn’t as concerned about his position as he was about the indirect damage caused by the Apelings.
The small kingdom he had allied with began withdrawing after the Apelings’ actions, and even ordinary people became afraid to join Björn’s teachings. This news hadn’t yet reached the higher-ups, but he knew that if they heard of it, he would be killed.
In a desperate attempt, the priest turned his attention to the guarded land of the Apelings. Though desperation gnawed at him, he had come prepared. He knew the risks, but he also knew the rewards if he succeeded. If Nwadiebube, the enigmatic and powerful figure in the region, accepted his offer, the chances of success would skyrocket. But even without Nwadiebube’s assistance, the priest was confident that this mission could restore his standing and bring in a wave of new followers and worshippers for Björn.
Looking up at the sky, he noted that it would still be some time before the sun dipped below the horizon. Time enough to prepare. His gaze shifted to the group of red-robed figures standing before him, their faces obscured by deep hoods. These were the mages he had brought with him, each essential to his plan.
"Keep yourselves hidden and start laying the groundwork for the spell," he commanded, his voice low and urgent. "I’ll let you know when it’s time to activate it. Until then, stay concealed. We can’t afford to alert anyone."
The mages nodded in unison before disappearing into the shadows of the forest. The priest watched them go, ensuring they moved silently and undetected. He turned back toward the center of the camp, where a crude statue of Björn stood, fashioned from rough stone and wood. It was far from a masterpiece, but it served its purpose—a focal point for his rituals and the embodiment of Björn’s power.
His hand instinctively moved to the space ring he wore, his fingers brushing against its surface. A familiar sensation stirred within him, one he hadn’t felt in a long time. The warmth of power, the echo of his lost status, began to rise inside him once more.