Shadow Weaver: Sole Heir Of The Night-Chapter 177: Background

Some months ago, a faction of the Freedom Party had done the unthinkable and clawed their way into the sacred dungeons beneath the High God’s domain.

They did not come to protest or kneel. They came with blades drawn and eyes set on a single purpose.

They extracted a royal who was undergoing punishment under divine judgment.

The act itself was blasphemy.

To storm the prisons beneath a god was to spit at heaven and survive long enough to boast about it. The walls of that place had stood for eras, layered with seals, watched by entities that did not sleep, guarded by laws that bent reality itself.

Yet they breached it.

The royals trembled, not from fear alone but from insult. Such audacity could not go unanswered. It was a declaration that divine authority could be challenged. It was proof that the Freedom Party possessed not only strength but conviction twisted enough to gamble against eternity.

Retribution came swiftly. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Direct members of the faction were hunted down across continents, across star systems, across fractured dimensions. One after the other they fell. Some were dragged back in chains. Others were erased so completely that even their names thinned into whispers.

The message was clear.

No one defies the High God and walks untouched.

Unfortunately, the royal they had extracted vanished.

No corpse. No trace. No lingering divine signature.

It was as though she had slipped between the seams of reality itself.

"Good day, I hope everyone is doing fine?"

The voice broke the heavy silence of the chamber.

Projected across the wide obsidian table was the image of the new leader of the Freedom Party. He sat comfortably, fingers steepled, a soft smile resting on his face as if he were addressing colleagues rather than enemies.

He was merely a representative of a royal, yet even that title placed him above many gods in practical authority. His words could redirect resources, influence divine deployments, even sway minor pantheons.

Power clung to him like perfume.

The room did not respond to his greeting.

Eyes fixed on the screen with unmasked contempt. Others watched with razor focus. No one dared interrupt.

Alex V.

A man whose reputation preceded him like a foul odor. He had once lingered behind the former leader of the Freedom Party, always at her side, always whispering suggestions. A leech, some called him.

When she was lost in the chaos of the universe, devoured by forces even the High God refused to name, he was the one who crawled out of the aftermath intact.

Now he smiled as though fate had always intended this.

"Information reaching me suggests the lady will be released just before the Hunter Games in a week. We need to prepare a suitable team to support her."

His tone was calm, almost bored, but the weight of his words pressed down on the chamber.

The Hunter Games were no mere tournament. They were born from the High God’s strange philosophy of power. Though she stood far from death, she would periodically rotate her heir among her bloodline. Royal to royal. Child to grandchild.

She called it circulation.

A way to prevent stagnation.

A way to ensure none of her descendants grew too comfortable holding authority.

When power shifted, it did not pass gently. It tore through the heavens like a storm, reshaping alliances and igniting ambitions. The Games were the crucible through which potential heirs proved their worth.

Survival. Strategy. Ruthlessness.

Everything was laid bare under the gaze of gods.

"Saro will be the main officer in charge," Alex continued. "He will gather as many talents as he can. All of you will scout and submit recommendations."

Several figures in the chamber shifted slightly at the name.

Saro was efficient. Cold. Unbothered by morality when objectives were clear. If he was leading recruitment, it meant they intended to build something formidable.

Windhelm would be their hunting ground.

The city was a cesspool of ambition and violence. Fighters from shattered worlds gathered there, exiles, mercenaries, prodigies, fallen nobles. It was a place where talent either bloomed into legend or rotted in an alleyway.

If suitable candidates could not be found in Windhelm, they would struggle to find them anywhere in the universe.

"Also," Alex said, a faint crease forming on his forehead, "the lady insists there are two individuals in Windhelm. Enzo and Zeke. I have no detailed records on them, but you are to locate them and bring them to me."

There was a subtle irritation in his voice.

He did not like variables he did not understand.

He rose from his seat, robes shifting softly around him, and walked out of view.

The projection remained active.

For several long seconds, the room stayed silent, watching an empty chair on a glowing screen.

The tension did not ease.

If anything, it thickened.

Meanwhile in the outer rims of the city, where the polished towers of Windhelm gave way to rusted balconies and crowded markets, three figures stood beneath the looming shadow of City Hall.

The building rose like a blade of glass and steel, its surface reflecting the restless sky above. Streams of people flowed in and out of its wide entrance, their expressions tense with anticipation.

Above the doors, a massive digital flyer flickered against the daylight.

"You have to register to participate in the Hunter Games?" Enzo raised an eyebrow, staring up at the projection as glowing letters scrolled across it.

The announcement pulsed with authority.

The Hunter Games were not merely popular. They were an obsession. Fighters crossed galaxies for a chance to stand on that stage. Entire families pinned their hopes on a single contestant.

Glory. Power. Divine recognition.

Everything converged in those games.

Unfortunately, entry was not open to everyone. Participation was exclusive to representatives of gods aligned with the High God of Gaia. Alignment was everything. Without it, even the strongest warrior would be turned away.

It was not just about strength. It was about political order.

Of course, there were exceptions.

Some gods held brutal internal trials within their own domains, selecting champions through blood and hardship before handing out their limited slots. Those chosen emerged hardened, already tested by their own deities before ever stepping into the wider arena.

But for most, registration was the first gate.

"That’s necessary," Leon said, his gaze drifting toward the line they stood in. It stretched down the marble steps and spilled onto the plaza. "The higher ups wouldn’t want random nobodies bribing their way into the competition."

His tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp, scanning faces, measuring potential threats.

Windhelm attracted all types.

Prodigies with polished armor stood beside street fighters wrapped in patched cloaks. Some radiated divine blessings openly. Others kept their power buried beneath layers of restraint.

The air hummed faintly with restrained energy.

"It’s just a formality for you guys, as long as I’m here."

The voice was hoarse, almost lazy.

They turned.

Standing ahead of them in line was a man in a black monkey costume. The fabric looked cheap at first glance, the head oversized, the stitched grin frozen in a ridiculous expression.

Children nearby stared at him. A few fighters frowned in irritation.

Yet the moment one truly looked at him, the absurdity faded.

There was something beneath the costume. A presence too steady. Too controlled.

Minister Fin.

After being chased across half the city the day before like a hunted animal, the minister had vanished without a trace. Rumor had it he slipped beyond the city barrier, only to reenter hours later through unknown means.

Now he stood disguised in plain sight.

As ridiculous as the monkey costume appeared, it was layered with intricate concealment arrays. It swallowed his aura completely. Even gods scanning the city would find only emptiness where he stood.

A perfect mask.

Leon exhaled slowly. "You look stupid."

Minister Fin tilted the oversized monkey head slightly. "And alive."

Enzo suppressed a smile.

The line crept forward inch by inch. Registration attendants moved with mechanical efficiency, checking documents, scanning divine affiliations, verifying ranks. Any discrepancy resulted in immediate removal.

No second chances.

Eventually, they reached the entrance.

The interior of City Hall was vast, the ceiling arched high with embedded light panels casting a cool glow across polished floors. Transparent partitions separated registration stations. Behind each desk sat attendants dressed in silver uniforms, their expressions professional and detached.

Energy suppression fields hummed softly, preventing any outbursts of power within the building.

They were ushered toward an open counter.

"Next."

A young attendant gestured without looking up. Her fingers moved quickly across a floating interface.

When she finally raised her gaze, her eyes lingered briefly on the monkey costume before deciding not to ask questions.

"Here. Confirm your rank."

She extended a hand toward a smooth black orb resting on a pedestal.

The surface of the orb absorbed light rather than reflecting it. Faint symbols swirled deep within, shifting like distant constellations trapped in glass.

Enzo stepped forward.

For a brief moment, the surrounding noise seemed to dull. Conversations blurred into the background. Even Leon straightened slightly.

"Place your hand on it," the attendant instructed.

The orb waited in silence.