Chapter 727 The Second Half 2
Meanwhile, in the room that was attached to the vault that the Head had entered and was still sitting inside, thinking that everything was normal on the continent, Bartholomew was staring grimly at the display trinket which was showing the scene in the Kingdom of Lanthanor where that shell still lay there, sitting undisturbed ever since the Mad Doctor had left the area.
In fact, one couldn't actually tell whether his face was grim or not, because a skull couldn't really show that many deep emotions. All he had been told was to distract the Head, and to somehow use a few of the Heroes he could muster to distract other Heroes that might step in to support the Head and the one that he believed in, and he had fulfilled his job. What happened after that… Did not really matter to him, as he had proven his worth, and he would, from now on, be trusted among the Church.
Of course, he wasn't looking forward to the backlash he would soon face, but it was necessary. Ever since he had been born, he had known that if someone wanted something, there had to be pain, and he was ready to bear as much as was needed.
He knew that he was probably one of the strangest Heroes on the entire continent, and he also knew that behind his back, the other Heroes kept talking between themselves that there should be no one else like him who was given their powers using the Willstone. The only reason he was a Hero, right now, was because he had carefully manipulated everything so that he would be the only candidate at the time when the total number of Heroes on the continent was dangerously low. Just because power could be granted using the Willstone, it didnn't mean that it could be done to anyone, and there was a certain probability of the process failing if the candidate wasn't strong enough. In those cases, the Willstone would be deactivated for quite a long time. This was definitely not a scenario that anyone would want to play out, so the best of any generation were always chosen.
Most people only knew about his story from the time he had entered the Sect of Hedon, but what they didn't know was that he was born in one of the most unique locations that anyone could be born in on Angaria.
He was born in a graveyard.
Specifically, in the Kingdom of Axelor, there was a custom where greybeards would be maintained by certain people for whom the occupation was passed on in the family. Not many thought about these people, because they were just there to bury the dead, and there were a lot of those. Both the campaigns of the King and the constant massacres that he used to carry out had resulted in the graveyards always being full of traffic, and among all that macabre goriness, he had been born.
His mother had died after giving him birth, and his father had always blamed him for it. His father's friends had kept telling him that he shouldn't have a child in such an atmosphere, but the man hadn't listened, because he was selfish and he just wanted someone who could help him, and then take over the job as quickly as possible so that he could go and indulge fully in his habits of drinking and gambling.
And thus, the innocence of his childhood was accompanied by the wailing of family members who were seeing their departed being burnt to ashes or buried, according to their choice, and such sounds became as normal to him as those of the wind or lapping water.
On the outside, he looked normal, and the friends of his father were pretty astonished that growing up in such a place hadn't affected the child very adversely.
Little did they know that inside, a fascination for death and dead bodies had been born, because of viewing such sights on a daily basis.
Everything related to this topic interested him, and at the same time, a decision slowly started to form in his mind, which was that he wanted to take command of death, rather than letting it use its power over him, as he had seen it take its eternal hold on thousands of people. He never, ever wanted to be reduced to their state.
He had always been someone who was sure of himself, because he was used to being alone, and because he was his own best companion. His father's friends had used to say that that had been a trait of his mother, and even though he did not know whether it was true, he had taken it to heart.
One day, his father had come home heavily drunk, and he had slumped on the chair while dangerously close to the fireplace.
Choosing it as the right time as the man had been so drunk that he couldn't even remember his own name, he had left the Kingdom of Axelor and traveled for a long, long while, until he reached the border.
It was at the border that he had a stroke of luck - the first to grace him in his entire life until then. Axelor was a completely closed off Kingdom, and the guards had been ready to turn him back. Yet, fortune had it that someone from the Sect of Hedon had arrived to speak to the King, and he had spotted Bartholomew who had a collection of bones strung around his neck, because it had been his hobby to collect leftover bones after people were burnt to death.
Intrigued, the man had come to check Bartholomew's body, because he had just turned 15. Surprised that he had enough talent to be considered for training, he had asked whether he wanted to enter the sect, to which the only answer had been a smile.
To this day, Bartholomew was amused when he remembered the reaction that that smile had gotten from that emissary from the Sect of Hedon. His face had always been a mousy one - with a nose that was sunked, like a corpse's, and lips that were far too large. His father would sometimes beat him up on seeing him, saying that he was a blight upon the earth, and the beating would always stop when his face was covered.
That man had shook as if he was seeing a ghost, but he then grew embarrassed as he didn't want to admit that he had almost gotten scared of a simple human.
Whatever the case, Bartholomew was admitted to the Sect of Hedon, where he was not accepted into any faction, no matter whether it was that which comprised of those who came from the Central Continent, like him, or those who were born to the ones that were already in the sect.
He didn't really care, though. He had never needed companions, and because there was a joyous feeling that he reveled in which was a result of him slowly reaching for his goal, step-by-step, he plodded on. The atmosphere of the sect did wonders for him - it only enabled and encouraged those who had power, and even though he was not very powerful in the beginning, he used his mind to scheme his way into obtaining enough resources to push forward into the Warrior realm.
To the shock of the entire sect at that time, his breakthroughh to the Champion realm had been smooth, because it was as if his path had been decided ever since he was a child. All he needed to do was look inside himself for what he had understood in the place of his birth, and he had been able to step through. The sect elder who had examined him had said that this was possible in extreme circumstances where one's mind might be completely captivated with something, so much so that it would consume everything else, and that was exactly how it was for him.
As for the choice to let go of his face… He had made it at that moment, too, when he had broken through, both because it embodied his path, and because it was symbolic of him leaving behind the shackles placed by the world upon him.
From then, it had almost been smooth sailing, mainly because people wouldn't usually tangle with someone who had a skull for a head. Besides, his path also happened to be at the tier that was just below the top, and although he was despised, he was also valued, and given many resources to advance along so that he could stand for the continent.
Just when his thoughts reached here, he heard a knock on the door, and after seeing that it was Rayen, he frowned and open the door.
"Bartholomew, I need to talk to you about something. I think I found a way to kill the king without showing ourselves at all. I don't want to talk about it here, though. Being so close to the Head, even if he's locked inside, is not safe. Why don't you leave a clone here and follow me?"
Rayen had required quite a bit of time to recover from the shock that he had felt when the King's… Whatever it was, had affected him.
He had wondered whether it was his Champion Path, but that didn't make sense, because it wouldn't explain his feeling before that he wouldn't be able to easily defeat the king.
Understanding that finding out more might actually be detrimental for his mental state which had already disintegrated quite a lot due to the revelation that the king's means were as inexplicable and awe-inspiring as ever, he had just scolded himself that he should never underestimate the man again, and had resigned himself to many more moments like these, which he definitely expected would happen.
What he had done… Was just magical, and Rayen found himself itching to try it in battle, and see for himself its true power.
He saw Bartholomew pause for a moment, but he just waited, knowing that the man would follow. It was clear that his goal was to kill the king, so an opportunity for that would definitely not be ignored.
After glancing back at the display trinket which was showing the Head and seeing that there were no problems whatsoever, he said, "Alright. I've already made the adjustments to the formation based on seeing the Head till now. I guess I don't really need to stay here."
Walking outside, he followed Rayen as he led him down the rows of graves, and as they did so, Bartholomew would fondly touch each gravestone as if each of them meant something special to him.
Rayen saw this and was creeped out, but he controlled his emotions, and just continued walking. If Bartholomew had a normal head, he got the feeling that it would have been filled with ecstasy at the moment. Focusing on not letting more thoughts like these appear, he waited for the right moment to strike.
Finally, after reaching a point, he saw that Bartholomew had finally sensed something, which made him turn around and instantly activate the formations that he had already laid in place.
Barriers that were thick as stone walls rose up on both sides of them, going from the ground to the ceiling of the underground barrow that they were in. At the same moment, he saw the glow in the eyes of the skull that was Bartholomew's head intensify to another level, which caused a slightly heavy atmosphere to envelop the place where he was standing.
He wasn't really afraid, though… And the reason, was that the King of Lanthanor was present right below them, safely enclosed in a barrier, himself, and he had already activated the same thing that he had used before to make Rayen's jaw drop.
The swirling darkness that always engulfed his body instantly grew, forming into a globe, and it kept growing. Bartholomew saw it coming, but he knew that turning around to attempt to escape would only cause his back to be exposed, so he waited, believing in his own power.
The moment that globe expanded enough to include him, too, he instantly understood why Rayen was known as the King of Darkness among the Heroes of Angaria.
There was only pitch-black darkness around him, and he couldn't even see his hands. He tried conjuring a globe of light, but the instant it came into existence, it was gobbled away, almost as if there was a monster waiting to eat any light sources that might be activated in the area.
"Why are you doing this, Rayen? I thought everything was fine? True, the King might not be dead, but those injuries were so severe, and he was also tortured! We can make another plan later! Why attack me?"
The answer came in the form of multiple voices with seemed as if they were coming from all around him.
"I don't need to explain myself to a man who is about to die. If you want to blame someone, blame that ugly skull of yours. It's such an eyesore that I've always wanted to crush it under my boots."