If you notice any errors, please feel free to give me constructive feedback. English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, please mention them in the comment section at the end of the chapter. I do not own Overlord. All property rights belong to their respective creators. Let's begin the story!
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Chapter-32
Unknown Lands,
Deep inside the savage Hills,
New World;
Overlord Verse;
The eastern region of the continent was a never-ending layout of hills and sinkholes, encompassed by barren ridges. The wasteland stretched into the distance. Venturing into this region was akin to suicide for humans, elves, and dwarves. The region was home to various vicious demi-human races, each more savage than the last.
Inside the hilly terrain, bordering the barren hills filled with sinkholes to the north, the sound of boots slamming against the earth echoed. "Did we manage to lose them?" a voice called out from within the small group of humans. Despite the hoarse, worn-out voice questioning their situation, the humans ran along the desolate path. They had fled from the forest situated south of the hilly region.
They had slain the demi-humans they encountered, led by a human in full silver armor wielding a spear. His movements were odd, as if he were struggling—each swing of his sword marked by great pain. He was the great-grandson of King Elsion, a God-King to him. He had inherited a fragment of his prowess as a Level-100 player.
Though it angered him to no end that the weak—those who lived at the mercy of the strong and survived only because of his great-grandfather's actions—had labelled them greedy and bestowed upon them the moniker "Eight Greed Kings."
Those humans failed to understand the favor his grandfather had bestowed upon them: eliminating the Dragon Lords and the subsequent persecution of demi-humans and heteromorphs who had once threatened to drive humanity to extinction.
The prosperous regime that followed and the way the human species thrived under their rule was magnificent. To him, it was the golden era of humanity—and he always cursed his fate to be born too late.
So, after the fall of the Eight God-Kings, he had ventured to meet Decem Hougan, a fellow descendant. It had been his wish to revive their legacy for as long as he could remember, and he had hoped to start by bringing Eryuentiu under his control. But that wish was shattered upon discovering that the Platinum Dragon Lord had already laid claim to their legacy.
Hit by reality, he was left helpless, as the realization dawned that the dream which once seemed within reach had actually been far beyond his grasp. Despite the odds stacked against him, he did not wish to give up and had set out to find the other descendants of the Eight God-Kings—to find allies who would join him in his noble cause.
He had traveled far and wide in his search, and had been overjoyed upon learning of the son of one of the Eight God-Kings—King Hougan. The enmity that had existed among the Eight Greed Kings in their final moments was overlooked by him.
With high hopes, he went to meet Decem Hougan, who had established a nation for elves, only to be looked down upon.
Decem Hougan's indifference, paired with his disrespect toward his great-grandfather, had prompted him to raise his blade against the Elf King—and for the son of King Hougan to summon his pet, a creature gifted by his father: Behemoth, named after a famous raid boss back in Yggdrasil.
The fight had nearly destroyed the section of the royal castle, where the Behemoth had managed to inflict a fatal injury on Alexiar, the great-grandson of King Elsion. He had run short on health potions and mana from all the healing magic he had cast on himself, while his entourage was busy parrying the elven army.
They were talented warriors and casters, handpicked by Alexiar for his dream. The cream of the crop—each of them trained by his family while living in seclusion, in fear of other descendants and the remaining Dragon Lords. A sentiment not shared by Alexiar, as he had long surpassed the limits of humanity and become what the Theocracy termed a Godkin.
Alexiar lost many of his men in the fight, a loss he deeply regretted. Finding warriors and casters as skilled as them was an arduous task. By the sacrifice of his servants and comrades, he and a few remaining followers managed to flee the Elven Kingdom. They ran through the Abelion Hills, entering Demi-Human territory. Their decision might have been akin to suicide had they not been led by a Godkin and supported by warriors who bordered the realm of heroes.
Without the corpses of his fallen, it was impossible for him—or any other mortal—to resurrect them. Resurrection without a corpse was a feat only achievable by the Eight God-Kings.
They flew using their enhanced bodies, supported by buffs cast by their comrades. They flew until their mana ran dry, then ran until their legs gave out.
The dominating presence of the Behemoth, the Elf King's pet, had etched a deep fear into their hearts. They rested only after venturing deep into the Abelion Hills, long after sunset. Coming to a stop beside a river that flowed along the hills, they checked their surroundings and eliminated the nearby Demi-Humans.
Settling down in the region, they rested, using what remained of their mana to heal themselves and one another.
"It was quite humiliating," muttered one of them, prompting the others to glare at him, while Alexiar remained seated. He stared at the beautiful stars above, his back resting against a tree. Above him lay a box of otherworldly jewels that was rightfully his to claim—but a few thieves now hovered over his treasures.
The sight infuriated him, though he ignored the mutterings of his servants and the comrades he had found along the way.
******
Similarly, on the other side of the group, looking over at the weary and disheartened party of men, a boy who appeared no older than seventeen sighed.
"Percus, come help me fish." The voice pulled the young boy out of his daydream.
"Yes, Sir Serius," he replied with a groan.
With a nod in return, the boy stood up. Casting one last glance at the broken men sprawled across the land, he followed the man—who appeared to be in his thirties—toward the riverside.
'I wonder how that Behemoth they spoke about looked…' the young boy mused as he stabbed a makeshift wooden spear into the river.
Percus was an aspiring magic caster who was said to be quite talented—at least according to his village chief, who had first recognized his gift. He was told he possessed the talent to learn any spell taught to him.
Percus had grown up in a small village south of the Ivernia Kingdom. Born in the boonies, he was lucky to have even had a village chief who was a shaman, and he remained deeply grateful to him for discovering his talent and for the advice he had given.
So, when Alexiar and his entourage stopped by their village, Percus had been over the moon at the chance to express his wish to join them on their journey—to explore the world and learn more about magic.
Magic had always been his focus, hand-in-hand with his dream of traveling the wide world.
To Percus, magic was the creation of the gods—a divine gift granted to a blessed few. He had always envied those who were raised in environments where magic could be studied freely, surrounded by the privilege to learn and wield it.
After all, to the people of his village, magic that could summon lightning, fire, water, or earth was the stuff of legends.
All he and his friends had ever seen growing up was the summoning magic of the village chief, who could call upon the power of a bull on to himself, to strengthen his body.
So, the magic used by Alexiar's companions and servants had left Percus awestruck.
'If this Behemoth managed to chase away Sir Serius, Lord Marcus, Lord Montan, and casters like Lord Cahufer, Lady Castalia, and Sir Mercylon…' he mused, 'then it must have been incredibly powerful. But what about the Elf King who summoned it? Shouldn't he be incredibly powerful Magic Caster, the likes of no one have seen?'
The boy wondered as he fished for dinner alongside the man named Serius.
Percus had been left with his other companions—those who had joined Alexiar's journey with promising potential, outside the royal capital. Not all of them had been granted access to the capital, let alone the royal palace. Even at the palace gates, most were denied entry, much less permitted an audience with the Elf King.
Alas, Percus was the last of those promising young talents to survive and escape from the Elf Kingdom.
Percus was lost in thought, wondering about the possibility of learning the magic used by the Elf King. He thought of ways he might convince the Elf King to teach him—and, by extension, leave Alexiar's side to venture out and spread his wings.
The casters who served and accompanied Alexiar were great. 'They are the best casters humanity has ever produced, with Lady Castalia able to cast magic up to the fifth tier. I probably won't find others as capable as them. But being here… I haven't learned any new spells, much less grown stronger. Their pride and envy prompt them to gatekeep their powerful spells, and they take days just to prepare to teach me their useless ones,' he mused, cursing the slow pace of his growth.
Despite all their supposed preparation, he learned most of the spells they taught him within hours. Though many of the spells proved difficult due to his limited mana capacity.
'Sometimes it makes me wonder if they're nitpicking the ones that consume the most mana.'
Percus respected Alexiar and idolized him as the strongest mortal—comparable only to the Dragon Lords, the Six Great Gods, or the Eight Greed Kings, who were immortal.
So, when he learned that Lord Alexiar was a descendant of the Eight Greed Kings, he had been too shocked to speak—remaining dumbstruck for days. Growing up in a faraway village that treated those tales as mere stories and fantasies, it had been difficult to process.
"Get a few more before you make your way back," muttered Serius. "I'll take these to the camp and have them start frying them," he added as he made his way to their makeshift campsite. Pulling Percus, from his contemplation.
Despite being a magic caster, he had often been tasked with physical duties like setting up the campfire, procuring food, and various other grunt work. Given his status—and living among people who could be counted among the strongest humanity had ever produced—a lot of the menial work that sustained the group fell on his and his companions' shoulders, especially those who had joined under circumstances similar to his.
Percus had grown used to such tasks, having grown up in a village, and hadn't given it much thought. Compared to the chance to learn magic, explore the world, and accompany potential legendary figures of the future, the grunt work was a small price to pay.
He stabbed his makeshift spear into the river when he suddenly felt a wave of magic. It was minuscule—barely more than a breeze—but the spatial fluctuation that followed it was no secret.
Percus quickly scanned his surroundings, raising his wooden spear and preparing to cast teleportation magic to regroup with his companions. He glanced around again, noting how his companions, busy preparing dinner and setting up camp for the night, had failed to detect the disturbance.
Percus looked around and found the place eerily quiet, devoid of all sound. The chirps of insects had suddenly stopped, and he noticed no animals in his immediate surroundings.
It was then that he felt a sudden burst of violent, raw mana that sent a shiver down his spine—an alien and otherworldly mana, primordial in nature, that seemed to threaten the balance of the world itself and the end of everything with it.
The mana felt both native and foreign to the world—aboriginal, yet alien—but one thing was certain: he could feel its raw, chaotic power. As it suffocated him, threatening to devour his whole existence, by merely its presence.
When he looked up, he saw a tear in the sky—a literal tear through the heavens. He was left speechless, unable to fully comprehend the situation. He understood the workings of teleportation magic, which allowed a caster to move through space. So, the sight of a tear in the sky brought to mind memories of when he first learned the lesser teleportation spell, Dimensional Move.
A new thought took root—was this a tear through space itself?
He knew of no magic capable of such a feat, nor had he ever heard of one. The disturbance had drawn Alexiar's attention, prompting him to appear beside Percus before the others could register the burst of primordial energy.
Though the tear had closed, both Percus and Alexiar remained rooted to the spot. The magic had been so intense, so foreign, it felt as if it would erase their existence the closer, they got to it.
It wasn't long before the mana and the unknown energy disappeared.
Percus hadn't even noticed Alexiar's presence beside him and remained frozen in place, staring at the sky that had now patched itself up.
So when he finally regained his courage and looked toward the camp, he spotted Alexiar. Just seeing him there calmed his soul and brought a reassuring sense of stability, despite the situation.
Percus opened his mouth to speak, only to pause as he noticed Alexiar staring in awe at something on the other side. Seeing his expression, the words caught in Percus's throat. He turned to follow Alexiar's gaze—and was left speechless at the divine sight across from them.
Noticing the disturbance, the others had also arrived. Castalia, the genius magic caster of their group, was the first to approach, muttering her concern. But when her eyes met Percus's and followed the direction of his pointing hand, she too was struck dumb by the impossibility before them.
The same could be said for the rest of the group.
Across the river stood a divine structure, a giant pair of golden doors, inscribed with intrusive markings and runes, embedded with brilliant gemstones.
The doors stood tall, as if meant for dragons or giants, and their majestic exterior gave the impression that whatever lay beyond them was a realm fit only for gods. Just the details inscribed on the door, surpassed anything he had laid hid eyes on, even the Eryuentiu failed in comparison, to the divine aura it emitted. As, if it was abode to the Creator of Gods.
******
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**The End**
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