Ancestral Lineage - Chapter 482
Chapter 482: The Order of Voriel
Screams and the wet, tearing sound of flesh echoed through the darkened chamber. Blood crawled across the stone floor in slow, lazy rivulets, pooling beneath bodies that no longer twitched. Dry, broken coughs rattled from ruined throats—sounds that came from people who weren’t quite dead yet, but desperately wished they were.
Fortunately, no one normal was present. If there had been, the scene would have shattered minds.
This was an interrogation room in name only. In practice, it was a slaughterhouse that had already finished its work.
The Order of Voriel.
That was the name carved into Jerry’s thoughts as clearly as if it had been etched into his skull with a blade.
A newly risen Order. Fanatical. Organized. And worst of all, sanctioned.
They followed the will of Voriel, the Gravebinder, a god of Death who did not hide behind intermediaries or vague omens. He commanded. He claimed. And now, he was reaching outward.
The assassins who had attacked were never meant to succeed.
They were bait.
Cannon fodder sent to test the waters. To test Ethan.
Jerry stood with his arms folded, his expression cold and sharp, eyes reflecting the carnage without flinching. Beside him, Thomas leaned against the wall, wiping blood from his claws with slow, methodical movements. Neither of them looked particularly pleased.
Two figures remained alive in the center of the room.
Calling them alive was generous.
Their limbs were restrained by sigils burned directly into the stone, their bodies broken in ways that spoke of efficiency rather than cruelty. Jerry hadn’t enjoyed this. He hadn’t needed to. The truth had been extracted cleanly, layer by layer, until lies simply gave up and died.
Jerry exhaled slowly.
“So,” he said, voice calm, almost bored, “you weren’t sent to kill him.”
One of the captives laughed weakly, a wet, bubbling sound that ended in a cough of blood.
“K–kill?” he croaked. “We… were sent to measure.”
Thomas’ jaw tightened.
Jerry continued, tone unchanged. “And the Order answers directly to Voriel.”
The second captive nodded shakily, eyes glassy with pain and fear.
“The Gravebinder sees all deaths as his domain. The Emperor’s rise… the twins… the Path… it drew his gaze.”
That was the moment Jerry’s eyes hardened.
“Testing Ethan,” Thomas muttered darkly. “Like he’s prey.”
“No,” Jerry corrected quietly. “Like he’s a variable.”
Silence followed, heavy and dangerous.
“A god of Death forming an Order this openly,” Thomas said after a moment. “That’s not normal. Even for them.”
Jerry nodded. “Which means Voriel isn’t acting alone. Gods don’t move like this unless something scared them… or tempted them.”
The captive tried to speak again, desperation bleeding through his ruined voice.
“There will be more. Not assassins. Envoys. Champions. Even saints. Voriel wants…”
Jerry stepped forward and placed a hand gently on the man’s forehead.
“That’s enough.”
A brief pulse of power flashed. Mercy, sharp and final.
The body went limp.
Jerry straightened and turned away, his mind already racing ahead.
“An Order led by a god. A test aimed at Ethan. Timing this close to the naming ceremony.”
Thomas clenched his fists. “They’re provoking him.”
Jerry’s lips curled into a thin, humorless smile.
“They’re trying to understand what kind of monster he is.”
He glanced at the carnage one last time.
“And they’re about to learn they asked the wrong question.”
Far above them, the empire celebrated.
But beneath the laughter and music, Death had begun to move its pieces.
…
Jerry and Thomas left the interrogation chamber without another glance back. The door sealed itself behind them with a low, resonant hum, the sigils along its edges dimming as if even the magic wanted to forget what had just happened inside.
The corridor beyond was stark and clean, almost offensively so. White stone, polished metal inlays, soft ambient light. A deliberate contrast.
Thomas broke the silence first.
“So,” he said, flexing his fingers as if trying to shake off something clinging to his bones, “a god of Death has officially put us on his calendar.”
Jerry gave a short, humorless chuckle. “More like penciled us in. Voriel seems like one who doesn’t commit until he’s sure.”
They walked side by side, their footsteps echoing faintly.
“What worries me,” Thomas continued, “isn’t that he sent assassins. Gods always do that. It’s that he sent bad ones.”
Jerry nodded. “Exactly. He wasn’t trying to win. He was trying to observe.”
“And now?” Thomas asked.
“And now he has data.” Jerry’s eyes narrowed. “Ethan didn’t even step in. The defenses alone erased them.”
They turned a corner, the corridor opening into a wide balcony that overlooked the inner estate. Far below, lanterns floated in the air like drifting stars. Music carried on the breeze, laughter, cheers, the sound of a city in celebration.
The empire was still drunk on joy.
Thomas leaned on the railing, staring down at it all. “Timing’s disgusting.”
“It’s intentional,” Jerry replied. “The naming ceremony is a convergence point. Too many eyes. Too much faith. Too much symbolism.”
“New lives,” Thomas said quietly. “Cosmic twins. A Path awakened too early. An Ancestor of Death preparing to descend.”
Jerry glanced at him. “You’ve been paying attention.”
Thomas snorted. “Hard not to, when reality itself keeps coughing ominously.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Jerry straightened. “We need to inform Ethan. Not everything. Not yet.”
Thomas frowned. “You think he doesn’t already feel it?”
“I know he does,” Jerry said. “That’s precisely why we don’t dump this on him all at once. Right now, he’s a father first. Emperor second. Weapon third.”
“And when do we tell him about Voriel?”
“When Voriel stops observing and starts acting.”
Thomas sighed. “That won’t take long.”
“No,” Jerry agreed. “It won’t.”
A subtle shift rippled through the air, barely noticeable, but enough to make both men tense.
Jerry’s gaze lifted toward the sky.
Far above the estate, beyond the celebratory lights and drifting banners, something unseen twitched. A pressure brushed against the world, like a cold fingertip testing the surface of glass.
Thomas felt it too. “That wasn’t Ethan.”
“No,” Jerry said softly. “That was a reply.”
Somewhere far beyond the empire, beyond the Underworld’s borders and the mortal planes, a god of Death adjusted his grip on the reins.
The test was over.
The game, however, had just begun.