Becoming a Monster

Chapter 378: Becoming part378: Kingdom Cores

Silence should have engulfed the room.

Every single person was mesmerized by the scene; no one was able to let out a breath.

Yet the room carried with it a hope-inspiring melody.

The melody was almost indescribable. Instead of listening with their ears, they opened their hearts, and there, their minds envisioned the gates of heaven welcoming them.

Mark’s doubts felt as if they were dissolving.

But something was wrong. His brows furrowed, and his lips twitched. Despite the euphoria, he sensed something was wrong. He didn’t notice that his aura had enveloped him the moment his beliefs began to sway.

He looked around, noticing the others’ awed expressions. He felt this whole thing was wrong. But... he also couldn’t bear to interrupt. He felt his stomach twist at the sight, especially when his gaze fell upon his sister.

Hope.

For the first time in forever, Jasmine’s face glowed with it. Her tears weren’t of despair, or a courageous front, but an unshakable joy.

How could he deny them this?

This moment helped to solidify his conviction. He wanted his sister to remain this way forever, even if that meant relying on a God impartial to their suffering, a being who looked at the bigger picture rather than the strokes that made it unique.

He planned to stand by and finish watching Isabelle perform. Golden motes danced around her hair. The energy began to condense within her palms. The energy elongated, forming a staff of energy and slowly began to solidify.

"Bear witness," Mark glanced towards a voice speaking softly aloud. It wasn’t just her, all of her guards were kneeling behind her.

"The angel of the Most Beloved has chosen her vessel. The bridge that connects us to salvation. Through her, we shall endure our trials."

Instinctively, Mark felt bitter. His chest burned with pride, with denial. Because he was the one who was supposed to save everyone, and yet all of the glory was going to Isabelle.

Yet just like before, his aura enveloped him without his intention. A calm overtook him, though his mind was still very much active.

Instead of envy or jealousy, he looked towards Isabelle with a trace of concern. He could just imagine how the people of this world will treat her from now on. The burdens she will have to carry, the persona she will have to wear.

He was fully aware of the weight she would carry, because he had to do the same.

But the irony wasn’t lost on him. His role as the hero was to become her blade, and to become the people’s shield, while she would be the one to garner their faith.

He wanted to laugh. His title as a hero felt to him like nothing more than becoming a tool.

But he was resolved for this.

He didn’t know when it happened, but somewhere between the battles, the losses, and the promises he couldn’t keep, he’d already accepted it. Becoming a tool to save everyone didn’t feel wrong anymore. It felt inevitable.

If Isabelle was to carry the faith of the people, then she would bear the weight of their survival.

A blade doesn’t need glory. A shield doesn’t need worship. It only needs to hold until the very end.

Mark’s eyes lifted from Isabelle. They softened as they lingered on his sister. If that smile could stay up until he fulfilled his duty, then his role was already worth it.

_____________

Unlike the rest, Thalric and his three prominent members remained still. They weren’t in awe, but their expressions were unreadable as they watched Isabelle’s display. Thalric’s men may not have experienced this phenomena before, but they had heard of what was transpiring. Everyone who resided in their world has heard of it.

A divine priestess was being made.

Thalric looked over to the priestess still kneeling, specifically towards the staff that she tightly clutched.

That staff was the symbol of a divine priestess. A staff created from the essence of God’s purest energy. For generations, humanity had leaned on its bearer as proof of divine favor, the energy that all of humankind depended on to thwart the endless tides of demons whose numbers and strength seemed to overcome their own.

The staff has chosen its successor after successor for decades. There has never been another staff of its kind. Never.

Thalric looked intently towards the woman who was making history. By now, he could make out the energy turning into a staff, but something was different. If the staff was supposed to be the same, then why did their own priestess staff feel insignificant compared to the energy radiating from the one being created.

Nothing made sense.

First, strangers appeared out of thin air, along with their strange fortress. These strangers claimed to have been fighting an enemy that doesn’t appear to have existed. Then, the same room that held the aura of their temple gods was present in the same space as that of a demon?

Thalric’s jaw tightened.

Were these people truly saviors sent by the so called heavens, or a calamity disguised in holy light?

_____________

By the time his thoughts settled, the miracle was complete.

Isabelle stood with both hands wrapped around a staff no mortal craftsman could have forged. Even the dwarves’ ancestors wouldn’t be able to accomplish the feat. The shaft was pure gold. At its crown rested a sphere. Its radiance was so dense that it was too blinding to look at for a prolonged time. The energy was like a beacon, so vast it felt as though it could power an entire kingdom for a lifetime.

Every mote of golden light that had bathed the room was gone, absorbed into the staff.

The priestess was still on her knees. But her eyes weren’t focused on Isabelle anymore. She was looking above her, as if she was giving her prayers to the one who made this all possible.

But Thalric, his men, and even the priestess guards reacted differently as they eyed the sphere of energy. It was smaller than what they knew, but the comparison was undeniable.

In this world, there were dungeon cores. Cores left over from creatures whose power existed past the realm of mortals. These cores gave rise to territories that protected, strengthened, and benefited those who were able to bind themselves to them.

Then there were kingdom cores. Cores that were no different than dungeon cores, but labeled differently for those of "superior" races. All four main races; humans, dwarves, elves, and beastkin, were known to have a core of their own. A core that was left behind by their ancestral people.

And what Isabelle now held... looked far too similar.

Thalric’s brows knotted. His men muttered under their breath.

Even the armored knight who was most loyal to the divine priestess felt unease.

The emergence of another kingdom core was a revelation greater than any prophecy, any divine declaration. A blessing to the ignorant, perhaps. But to those who truly understood the weight of such a thing, it was a curse.

To Thalric, it was the worst possibility. A kingdom core that didn’t reside fixed in a territory. A core that could be moved freely. The allure of such a thing would spread like wildfire. Kings would march their armies. Guilds would betray their oaths. Even allies might turn blade against blade, driven by greed.

Humanity’s alliance with the other races was fragile at best. Elves, dwarves, beastkin, each had their own pride, their own grievances. They weren’t bound by love or trust. They were bound by necessity, united only because they all shared one common enemy: the Demons.

In the end, the balance of power between them was tenuous, but stable. Each race strong in its own right, none so far above the others that dominance was unquestionable. Equality kept the peace.

But this core... this staff... could potentially shatter that balance. It tilted the scales into the unknown. If whispers of its existence reached the other kingdoms, the unity of the four races could collapse. The demons would cease to be their greatest threat.

First, there would be demands, and then attempts to steal the staff for themselves. Then, when that failed, there would be attempts to steal the staff in secret. And when theft was discovered and accusations flew, sooner or later, retaliation would follow.

None of them would bow to humanity holding a second core. War would spill across the continents, leaving them divided and exposed for the demons to pick them apart.

___________

Isabelle was unaware of all of this. Her eyes closed as she calmly listened to the voice’s final words of guidance.

The voice spoke of how to use and control the staff. The lesson wasn’t simply heard; it was inscribed within her spirit, etched so deeply that forgetting would be impossible.

For such a prideful, seemingly intelligent woman, Isabelle was still frail in her own way. A woman who longed for someone to rely on, to confide in, no matter how fiercely she tried to deny it.

Not once did she fight against the voice. She yielded, as if surrendering was the most natural thing in the world.

As she took in the voice’s teachings, her staff slowly began to lose its radiance. Its aura grew weaker until eventually the core lost its glow altogether. What was left was a golden crystalized orb that resembled an ordinary catalyst.