Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story Kirill Klevanski (reading books for 6 year olds .TXT) 📖

Having reached the hacked and burning gates, the two put their hands onto the burning iron ornament. The flames died away and the wood exploded, crushing all who had stood behind it and making way for the legion.

“Haha!!” Racker laughed, mad eyes searching for his next victim.

Ash looked down at his staff and let out a sigh full of sadness. The weapon that had been faithfully serving him for a year now had been reduced to cinders. Ignoring the sound of battle raging all around him, he turned toward the temple. This was the first time that he had experienced something that could be called distress and guilt. The staff had been a gift, after all.

The people of Zadastra ignored Ash like a hare would a wolf when it saw it in the forest. After all, what were people if not sophisticated animals? If he wanted to, Ash could’ve incinerated a hundred soldiers and leveled the town hall with the ground, but he still didn’t know what it meant to want something. Racker, on the other hand, knew that he wanted to enrich his collection of enemy heads.

At the steps of the temple of the Goddess of Fire, Sheirai, patron of wandering acrobats, Ash cast his gaze toward the sky. A dome of crimson loomed above them, adorned with heavy clouds of fire and smoke. Ignoring the soot that stuck to his sweaty face, he entered the temple.

Fearful eyes stared at the demon who dared trespass in the domain of the Gods. Women hid their children, elders muttered prayers, and the priests cast protective spells. What was the point, Ash wondered, of keeping them so far from the battlefield?

“What do you want?!” the high priest shouted. He was an old man dressed in a white cassock, clutching an ornate wand made of adamantium. It was said that one ounce of this magic metal could cost a hundred gold, if not more. It was difficult to imagine how much an entire wand made out of it could cost. But Ash cared little about gold. All that he cared about was the order given to him by the king.

“Not even soldiers dare invade the house of a God!” one of the younger priests yelled.

And although that was true, there was no word of God or law that’d stop Ash.

“I’m not a soldier,” he replied immediately

“You’re something even worse. A general,” the high priests said calmly, enveloping the people and the altar with the golden shield. “Leave, or you shall feel the wrath of Sheirai.”

“Is that her?” Ash asked, looking at the golden statue of a dancing maiden clad in fluttering ribbons that stood by the door. She, like all other goddesses, was extremely beautiful. Then again, if they weren’t, people wouldn’t pray to them.

The priest nodded. “It is,” he said and then gasped in horror as flames engulfed the statue, melting it partially. Sheirai’s torso rolled across the floor and stopped by Ash’s foot. With a kick, he turned it around and spat on her face.

“The first form –Incarnation!”

“Heretic!” the priest yelled.

Ignoring the screams, Ash took a leather pouch from his belt and threw it at the foot of the altar.

“Bring me the thing shown on that scroll, and I’ll spare you and your flock. Refuse, and I’ll level the temple to the ground and take what I’ve come here for.”

As if to demonstrate that his threat wasn’t just empty words, he burned through the priest’s shield as if it was nothing more but mere cobweb. The king’s staff finally crumbled to ash, but that didn’t bother the young mage. He was far too close to his goal to care.

The high priest wiped the sweat off his brow and removed the scroll from the pouch. Having gazed at the parchment, he turned pale as a ghost.

“Never!” he protested. But before he could do or say anything else, his head rolled on the ground.

“Always thought that they were a bunch of charlatans,” Racker spat, leading the soldiers into the temple. Judging by the number of heads tied to his belt by their hair, he had been working hard.

“We’ve been looking for you, general. It’s not polite to plunder without approval.”

“Later,” Ash said in a flat tone.

He looked around the crowded room, wondering how many people were hiding in the darkness of the columns and pews. His estimate was about several hundred, if not more. All of them had hoped to find salvation in the temple, but little did they know that it’d turn into their funeral pyre. Children cried, clinging to their mothers who tried to hold back their screams and tears. Some were more successful than others. Both youth and the elders stared at the blood-soaked altar, seeking salvation. All the civilians seemed to have gathered here. They weren’t soldiers. Hell, most of them only ever saw weapons on pictures and on the belts of the city guards. They didn’t pose a threat.

“Kill,” Ash ordered.

“Should’ve said so right away!” Racker smirked.

Laughing and roaring, the soldiers dragged the mothers away from their children. They didn’t spare the little ones, no. They forced the mothers to watch them be hacked into pieces. One of the elders, a brave, but foolish soul, tried to stop them, but the soldiers pushed him aside, hoping that someone else would finish the pest off. He wasn’t worth their time.

As if slaughter wasn’t offensive enough, some soldiers defiled the women right where they caught them. They screamed and called for help, but little did they know that the heads of their husbands had already been placed on the banner of the legion.

“Racker, you’re with me.”

“But...” He turned around to protest, but the glare in the young man’s eyes made him change his mind. “All right,” he sighed and let