Reincarnated with the Country System-Chapter 236: The Cracked Seal

The Ancient Holy Empire was a vast country, located far away from the continent of Ostra. The size of this country is so large that it is easily equal to Asia, which explains why this empire is a superpower and how widespread its influence was. This empire boasts of its thousand-year-old tradition, as it is over fifteen thousand years old. Legend has it that this empire, founded by the gods, is a holy land, where heaven and earth meet.

The country does not worship any particular god, rather it worships eight different types of gods and its capital has a huge temple dedicated to the worship of these eight gods. And this temple is easily the size of a small city.

The holy warriors who were assigned to protect this huge temple were the best warriors in this country. They were also called the hands of the gods. Because these people's ancestors were descendants of gods and angels. Because of this, holy blood is flowing in their bodies. Which makes them living saints. And these people are so strong that one warrior alone can face an entire army and this temple is protected by more than a hundred such warriors.

Although they were few in number, they were still strong enough to hold back the temple and the evil energy within it. Which had been locked away deep within this temple for thousands of years.

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"Are you sure you truly felt it?" The High Priest's voice was calm, but his aged eyes burned with intensity.

The young priest before him swallowed hard and bowed deeply. "Yes, Your Holiness. The energy was unmistakable—a surge of pure evil, unlike anything we have felt in a thousand years."

A heavy silence followed. The High Priest's fingers tightened over his staff. He turned, his gaze falling upon the two warriors flanking the doors—giants among men, their gleaming armor etched with divine runes.

"Open the doors," he commanded.

The warriors stepped forward. Their hands, clad in gauntlets blessed by the gods, pressed against the ancient stone. A deep, resonating groan filled the air as the doors slowly parted, revealing a chasm of utter darkness.

A gust of frigid air rushed out, thick with the scent of damp stone and something older, something vile.

The chamber beyond was pitch black, its depths unfathomable. A priest began chanting, and in an instant, thousands of torches ignited, their flames illuminating the vast expanse. The room was so enormous that its far walls seemed to vanish into the distance. Yet, all eyes were drawn to the center—where a monstrous statue loomed over them like a vengeful god.

This was no divine effigy.

The statue depicted a demon—six arms, twelve eyes, its maw twisted in a silent scream. Thick chains, reinforced with holy enchantments, bound its form, while four angelic statues stood at each corner, their stone hands gripping the chains as if restraining the beast from breaking free.

And now, for the first time in a thousand years, the statue bore cracks.

"The seal is weakening," the High Priest murmured, his voice heavy with dread.

Gasps rippled through the assembled priests. Some whispered prayers, others clutched their relics with trembling hands. But the warriors, the God's Hand, did not flinch. They had been forged in war, baptized in the blood of the gods enemies.

A woman clad in white robes stepped forward, her voice steady despite the tension. "Your Holiness, the evil energy I sensed originated from the Monstrous Sea, on the Ostra continent."

"Ostra," the High Priest murmured. "The land where the Alka Empire once stood. The resting place of the Chest of Eternal."

A heavy-set warrior, his armor gleaming with divine radiance, stepped forward. He was a behemoth of a man, nine feet tall, his presence alone enough to make lesser men tremble "Your Holiness, allow me to lead an expedition. If a great evil stirs there, we must eliminate it before it grows stronger."

The High Priest shook his head. "No, Morgan. As the leader of the God's Hand, your duty is here. The temple must not be left unguarded." His eyes then shifted to another warrior—Raihan, a seasoned champion whose blade had felled countless abominations.

"Raihan," the High Priest intoned.

Raihan stepped forward, kneeling with fist to chest. "Your will is my command, Your Holiness."

"You shall go to Ostra," the High Priest said. "Take the finest among our ranks. If the seal of In'Therak is weakening, you must stop it before it is too late."

Raihan did not hesitate. "I will not fail."

The High Priest placed a hand upon Raihan's head, murmuring an ancient blessing. A golden glow surrounded him, the divine favor of the gods settling upon his soul.

"Then go, child of war. Let your sword be the will of the gods, and may the wicked weep at its coming."

As Raihan rose, his expression hardened with resolve. The empire had stood for fifteen thousand years. He would not allow its legacy to fall now.

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By nightfall, a fleet of sacred flying ships ascended into the heavens, their massive forms shimmering with divine energy. They soared like celestial beasts, propelled by ancient magic, their golden hulls inscribed with prayers of protection. The sails shimmered like woven starlight, and beneath them, the vast ocean stretched endlessly, its waters glowing softly from the reflection of the Twin Moons.

At the helm of the flagship, Raihan stood, armored in silver and faith, his gaze locked onto the distant horizon.

A younger warrior approached, hesitant but resolute. "Commander, do you truly believe we sail toward something worse than war?"

Raihan did not turn. "War is fire and blood. Fire can be smothered. Blood can be staunched." His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. "But this... this is the unraveling of all things."

The young warrior swallowed. "Then why are we smiling?"

Raihan finally turned, a cold grin cutting across his face. "Because the gods did not forge us for peace."

The wind howled, carrying their ships onward toward an uncertain fate.