A week later, in the kingdom of Vandor, inside the palace.
Knock, knock.
"Enter."
King Aldric, a man whose face was a roadmap of worry lines, looked up from the treaty. The ink was barely dry. The parchment felt heavier than a mountain in his hands, a signed confession of his own failure.
The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside.
"Care to explain this?" The king's voice was brittle, thin, like ice cracking under pressure. He gestured sharply towards the treaty laid out on his mahogany desk.
"It was necessary, Father."
Prince Alaric, his only son and heir, stood in the center of the chamber. He wore a simple white shirt with black pants that hugged him in all the right places, showing off his toned physique. His blonde hair was slightly messy, and there was a dark look in his crystal blue eyes. But it was his posture that truly captured the king's attention—a tired slump of resignation.
"Necessary? To bend the knee to that... that creature? To allow her spawn to construct that... monstrosity within sight of our borders?" The king's voice rose, cracking with fury and humiliation. "We are Vandor! We are the shield of the faithful! We do not make deals with demons!"
"Then what was the alternative?" Alaric shot back, his own anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Let them all die? The elves? The beastfolk? Our own Grandmaster and his knights? We were defeated, Father. Utterly. Her power is beyond anything we have ever faced."
"We should have fought to the last! We should have—"
"We should have been smart," Alaric cut him off, his tone cold and final. "The holy crusade was a mistake from the start. We should've focused on the elves and the dwarves in the north. But no! You had to follow your 'holy' visions..."
The king flinched as if struck.
"The visions... they were pure. From Uriel herself."
"Where was your goddess when her chosen Grandmaster was taken?" Alaric gestured towards the southern border, towards the unseen direction of Fortune's Gate. "Where was she when our finest warriors were brought to their knees? Her silence is the only answer we need."
"Watch your tongue, boy!"
"I am speaking the truth you refuse to see, Father," Alaric said, his shoulders slumping again as the anger drained away, leaving only bone-deep weariness. "The world has changed. Our old certainties are dust. Uriel is silent, and a new, terrible goddess has risen from the blood. We survived. For now. Later, I don't know."
The king stared at his son, seeing not just defiance, but a stranger wearing his face. The boy who used to practice sword forms in the courtyard, dreaming of crusades, was gone. In his place was a pragmatist forged in the fires of defeat.
Before the king could muster a response, a hesitant knock echoed from the heavy oak door.
"Enter," the king snapped, annoyed at the interruption.
The door opened to reveal one of the royal assistants, his face pale and his hands trembling slightly.
"Your Majesty, my prince," he stammered, bowing low. "We finished receiving our captured men from the... demons... but..."
"Well? Spit it out!" the king demanded.
"It's... they changed, Your Majesty." The assistant swallowed hard. "They are suffering from a sickness."
"Sickness? What kind of sickness?" Prince Alaric asked, stepping closer. "Did the enemy torture them? Curse them?"
"No, my prince." The assistant shook his head, looking even more distressed. "It's not that. It's... it's weird."
"Explain."
"They are..." The assistant hesitated, not sure how to explain. "They are acting like... like... whores..."
"..."
"WHORES?!" The king's roar made the assistant flinch violently. "Speak plainly, man! What do you mean?!"
"I mean... they are... different, Your Majesty," the assistant gulped, sweat beading on his brow. "The knights... they don't carry themselves with pride anymore. They... they move differently. Their hips sway when they walk. They touch each other... inappropriately. And when they think no one is watching... they... they touch themselves. Their faces are... flushed, their eyes... and some would beg to be fucked."
Prince Alaric's face had gone stark white. He looked at his father, a dawning horror in his crystal blue eyes. He knew what the assistant was trying to say, and the implications were more monstrous than any simple curse.
"Where is Grandmaster Gideon?" Alaric demanded, his voice tight. "Where is he now?"
"He is... resting," the assistant said, looking at the floor. "In his chambers. He asked not to be disturbed... compared to the rest, he seems... fine."
"Take me to him. Now."
Alaric didn't wait for his father's permission. He was already moving, but the king stopped him.
"No," the king said, his voice heavy with dread. "Not yet. Leave him to rest for now... and I'll go see him myself later."
Prince Alaric wanted to protest, but one look at his father's face told him it would be pointless. The king was crumbling, and Alaric knew he had to hold things together. He gave the assistant a sharp nod.
"Keep this quiet," Alaric ordered. "No one speaks of this outside this room. Understood?"
"Y-yes, my prince. However, we can't keep it a secret for long. The knights are already causing... disruptions among the guards and servants."
"Do what you must," the king said, waving a dismissive hand. "Just... keep them away from the public."
"Yes, Your Majesty." The assistant bowed and scurried out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
"By Uriel..." the king whispered, sinking into a nearby chair. "What has she done to them?"
"Something far worse than death," Alaric muttered. He walked over to the window and stared out at the city below. He could already guess what happened to them.
It was as simple as removing the restraints that the 'holy' goddess placed on them.
And by doing so, she unleashes their true desires... but in a twisted, corrupted way.
She didn't just break their bodies; she broke their souls and remade them into... something else. Something that craved the very things they were sworn to fight against.
"Damn her..." Alaric cursed under his breath. They spent so much and had to bend their knees to this goddess, only to reclaim broken men who wanted nothing more than to spread their legs for their new master.
"Father, we need to prepare," Alaric said, turning back to the king. "This is just the beginning. She is not done with us yet."
"Prepare for what?" the king asked, his voice hollow. "We have nothing left. Our knights are... compromised. Our goddess is silent. We are alone."
"We make do with what we have." Alaric's jaw tightened. "I'll ride north and speed up the campaign against the dwarves. We need their steel and their mountain passes."
Unlike the humans and the elves who established their own kingdoms, the dwarves were still scattered among the mountains, fighting each other for resources and territory.
A perfect target for Vandor to absorb and strengthen itself.
"The dwarves?" the king looked up, confused. "What do we need with them? They are stubborn and greedy. They will never ally with us."
"I'm not seeking an alliance," Alaric said coldly. "I'm seeking their resources. Their steel, their gold, their under-the-mountain fortresses. One of the few good outcomes of the treaty was that we no longer have to worry about the elven kingdom for the time being. We can finally focus on the north."
"Hmm..." King Aldric stroked his white beard, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I always hated those stubborn midgets..."
"Me too," Alaric agreed. "But we need their steel, iron, gold, and their isolation makes them vulnerable."
"The north..." the king repeated, a slow, dangerous glint returning to his eyes for the first time since the defeat. "Yes... the north. That could work... that could work indeed..."
"Good." Alaric nodded. "I will leave tomorrow with the royal guard. I will handle it personally."
"Personally? Is that wise?" the king asked. "You are my only heir."
"I know, which is why I must go," Alaric said firmly. "This is our only chance to recover. We have to make sure it works."
"What about the south and this new city of hers?" the king asked, a flicker of fear in his eyes. "What if she..."
"She won't," Alaric said, though he wasn't entirely convinced himself. "She got what she wanted. A city, land, and... playthings."
Although Prince Alaric said it, he didn't believe it for a second. A being as powerful as her wouldn't be satisfied with just that. She would want more. She would always want more.
He knew it. He felt it in his bones.
And so did the king.
Unfortunately, they were powerless. At least on the outside.
"I already sent spies mixed in with the slaves we freed. They will be my eyes and ears inside her city," Alaric added. "And when her city is established, I'll move as mercenaries to infiltrate her ranks."
"Clever boy." The king smiled, a genuine smile this time. "You have my blessing. Do what you must. Rebuild our strength. Restore Vandor's honor. And when the time is right... we will strike back."
"We will," Alaric promised. "I swear it on my life."
And with that, he turned and left the room, but when he reached the door, he paused and turned back.
"Father," he said, his voice low and serious. "Make sure that the Church of Uriel won't cause any trouble while I'm gone."
The king's face darkened at the mention of the goddess's name.
"They will not," he said with a heavy finality. "I will handle them."
"Good."