The Guardian gods-Chapter 813

His feet left the dusty ground as he drifted back toward the stars. He would return, he was certain of it. And when he did, his wife would be standing at his side. But for now, the gears of a grander design had to be set in motion. He needed to orchestrate a discourse with his son and carve out a path of escape for his children, ensuring they wouldn’t be trapped by his coming actions.

With that final resolve, his figure surged upward, breaking into the void of space once more. This time, his trajectory was set for home, the world of Nana.

Down below, shielded by the thick stone of the palace, Nwadiebube sat in his office. He moved through the mountain of paperwork with his usual stoic efficiency, but his focus had shifted. His eyes lingered longer on the ledgers of specific noble houses, tracking their movements and influence with a new, piercing scrutiny.

These were the noble houses that now boasted Paragons of their own, individuals gifted with power that rivaled the gods.

Every time his thoughts drifted to these Paragons, Nwadiebube felt a quiet surge of gratitude for his late father Omadi. It was the values instilled in him during his youth and the system established that had forged him into a leader of such character that, even with his subjects now wielding power far greater than his own, they still had a genuine respect to his throne.

Yet, while they remained loyal and showed no hint of rebellion, Nwadiebube found himself forced into a delicate political dance. To maintain the peace, he had become increasingly lenient, intentionally overlooking the "dirt" within those noble houses and even forgiving substantial debts owed to the crown.

Nwadiebube loathed his own perceived weakness. Deep down, it burned him that his authority felt like it was built on glass. Thankfully, he had Ezinne and his sister by his side. Both had ascended as Paragons in their own right, and the knowledge of their strength was the only reason he felt secure enough to remain on the throne.

To him, it was a shameful sight: a King who lacked the raw power to look every one of his subjects in the eye without fear. He had already taken desperate actions to remedy this weakness, but months had passed, and the silence in response to his efforts was deafening.

This realization forced a grim reflection. He understood that if no external answer arrived and he could not secure a personal power of his own, his only remaining choice was to swallow his pride. He would have to set aside his prejudice against the Paragon status and strive to become one himself.

In truth, he had been trying. He had pushed his spirit to the absolute limit, but the final threshold remained a wall he could not scale, a last step that felt fundamentally barred to him.

The weight of that failure felt even heavier when he remembered his sister’s words. Shortly after her own ascension to Paragon status, she had looked at him with eyes that saw too much and whispered, "You have been cursed, brother."

The existence of a curse wasn’t what surprised him, given him past history and the return of the gods, It has been expected. The terrifying part was his own ignorance. He had been walking, ruling, and breathing for months, completely unaware that something has changed within himself.

Signing the final parchment in front of him, Nwadiebube was about to set his pen aside when a sudden shiver raced down his spine. He raised his head to find a stranger sitting across from him, watching him with an expression of intense, amused interest.

The intruder had barely materialized before a second figure blurred into existence beside him. This time, the intent to kill was so thick it felt palpable in the air. The seated man froze, the mocking smile still etched onto his face as a cold realization of danger set in.

Nwadimma frowned deeply, her gaze fixed on the stranger whose life now seem to be held beneath her hand. As a Paragon herself, she was insulted, this man had managed to slip past her heightened senses and appear directly before her brother. If he hadn’t chosen to reveal himself to the King, she might not have noticed him at all.

"Is this how you treat your invited guest?" the figure asked suddenly, his voice smooth and untroubled.

Nwadiebube’s eyes widened, his heart hammering against his ribs. The fear was eclipsed by a sudden, sharp spark of hope. His answer, the one he had waited months for was finally standing in his office.

Nwadimma caught the subtle shift in her brother’s expression and slowly withdrew her hand, the suffocating tension in the room dissipating as quickly as it had arrived.

She glanced at Nwadiebube, and in that silent exchange, a thousand unsaid words passed between them. Acknowledging his silent command, her figure blurred and vanished into space just as abruptly as she had appeared.

Nwadiebube stood up immediately, smoothing his royal robes. "My apologies. We have had recent incidents of uninvited guest snooping around the palace, so we are in a constant state of high alert."

The stranger reached up to rub his neck, his casual demeanor returning. "I am partially at fault myself, appearing the way I did. However, any other entry would have risked exposure, something I am certain we both wished to avoid."

Nwadiebube nodded slowly, his mind racing. "Indeed we do. May I ask, then... who exactly are you?"

The figure shook his head, a faint, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. "I cannot speak of who I am, but I can speak of the one who sent me, my master, Murmur."

"Murmur."

Nwadiebube repeated the name internally. This was the first time the King had heard a name attached to the mysterious entity he had been seeking for months. The name felt strange on his tongue, heavy with a hidden, resonant power.

"An agreement was previously established between Mei, your master Murmur, and myself," Nwadiebube began, his voice steady despite being nervous "But due to unforeseen events, Mei met an untimely end. With her death, all forms of connection and communication with Murmur were severed."

He paused, a slight smile touching his lips. "I took a great risk recently to re-establish contact, and it appears I have finally succeeded."

The figure nodded slowly. "You did. Though, your method of communication was crude and risked significant exposure. Fortunately, we intercepted your message before it could fall into the wrong hands."

The stranger’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. "As for Mei, her death was an oversight on our part. We never truly expected her to fall as she did. Regardless, I am here to honor the previous arrangement and uphold our end of the deal."

He leaned forward slightly, his presence filling the room. "You have done an admirable job managing the aftermath of Osita’s actions, and my master is pleased with your progress. Because of that, I am here today to impart upon you the secret you have been seeking, the path to true godhood."

Nwadiebube’s breath caught. He was a King, trained in the art of the poker face, but he could barely contain the surge of raw excitement radiating through his chest. The answer to his weakness was finally within reach.

Nwadiebube clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. Finally, he would be rid of this suffocating weakness, the shame of depending on his sister for his own survival and the hollow charade of pretending his throne still commanded authority.

Yet, despite the hunger gnawing at him, he was not yet blinded by visions of grandeur. "And what is the price?" he asked, his voice low. "I am well aware that little of what I own would be of value to a master such as yours. What does Murmur gain from placing me in a position of such power?"

In response, the figure stood up and paced slowly toward him, his movements fluid and had a trance to it. He stopped just inches away, looking down at the king. "Does the price truly matter at this stage, King Nwadiebube?" the figure asked softly. "Given what you stand to lose without it?"

The question gave the King pause. He stared into the stranger’s eyes, the weight of his reality crashing down on him. Did it matter? To seize control of his own destiny, to break the shackles of a curse placed upon him by an Origin God, he had to take this path. There was no other way than to stand tall.

"It seems you have made your choice," the figure murmured.

He reached out, tapping a single finger against the King’s forehead. The contact was electric. Nwadiebube’s eyes rolled back into his head as his consciousness shattered, his body turning limp. The figure caught him before he hit the floor, gently lowering the unconscious King to the ground as the power began its work.