The God of Underworld-Chapter 105 - 5: The Sentinels

Mortal world, State of Herion.

The wind howled gently atop Herios Mountain, carrying with it the breath of ancient time.

Wisps of cloud clung to its jagged cliffs like ghostly fingers, forever swirling around its peak.

Each step up the sacred stairs felt like a journey between the world of men and the cradle of gods. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

Lord Calion of Herion, descendant and named after General Kaerion, now in his twilight years, ascended the final flight.

His hands, weathered by the weight of both sword and scepter, grasped the smooth marble rail.

His white cloak, trimmed with gold thread, billowed in the mountain winds like a banner of the old world.

Behind him, no guards followed.

After all, although the Temple of Herion was not off limits and can be visted by anyone, what lies ahead is something not just anyone is qualified to traverse.

Beyond where the temple was located, is said to be where the tomb of Herios is located, and is guarded by elite warriors.

This final stretch—the Path of Silence—was one only the City Lord of Herion was permitted to walk.

The city lay far below now, hidden beneath a sea of clouds.

Above, the Gate of Herios stood waiting—an enormous pair of golden doors embedded into the very mountain itself.

Runes glowed faintly on its surface, and mist curled around it like veils on a sleeping giant.

Beyond this gate is a tomb.

But not just ordinary tomb.

This was the Sanctum of the First Flame, where the founder, the savior, the legend of humanity—Herios, The King Where All Began—was entombed.

Calion reached the gate and placed both palms upon its surface.

"Open," he whispered.

A sound like a breath exhaled from the mountain itself echoed through the air.

The runes pulsed once, then the gates creaked open—not outward, but inward—revealing a world of cloudlight and shadowed marble.

No matter how many times he have seen this scene, Calion couldn’t stop himself from feeling awestruck at the beauty of this place.

He stepped inside.

The mist thickened immediately, curling like spirits around his feet.

The pathway into the sanctum was long and lined with statues—depictions of Herios in every stage of his life.

A youth, a warrior, a leader, a king. And then at the very end: Herios seated upon a stone throne, eyes closed, hands resting upon his knees, his form carved of obsidian, veins of gold running through the stone like frozen lightning.

But Calion did not get far.

Suddenly, the fog stirred unnaturally.

A sharp, metallic tremor resonated through the air—clang... clang... clang...

From every shadow, they emerged.

A hundred figures, clad in obsidian-black armor, stepped silently from the mist. Each bore no symbol, no banner, and no exposed flesh.

Their visors were featureless helms of nightglass, smooth and polished like river stones.

And from within their armor pulsed a soft, dull red glow—as if embers lived inside their chests.

Their formation was perfect. A circle, wide and unbroken, surrounding Calion in the middle of the temple court.

The Sentinels.

An order so secretive that most dismissed them as legend.

An elite brotherhood created the descendants of the soldiers who accompanied Heriod, tasked with guarding his tomb, his legacy, and the world against ancient threats that mortals were never meant to know.

They moved like ghosts. Soundless. Deadly. Eternal.

"Greetings Sentinals, I am Calion of Herion."

And then, one stepped forward.

His armor was darker than night, trimmed with scarlet, and a long, curved greatsword rested across his back.

His helmet had no eye holes, yet a deep red line ran across it like a silent glare.

When he spoke, it was with a voice layered in both man and echo—as if multiple beings spoke through him.

"Lord Calion. It’s been 30-years since you last visited ....you look old."

Calion did not flinch nor offered a response.

He bowed deeply, a gesture of honor, not submission.

"Commander Varn. I have come not as a lord, but as a messenger. I bring a prophecy... one spoken by the Oracle of Lady Hecate. And I feared that I may have to disturb you and the rest of Sentinels to aid us soon."

A pause.

The mist swirled.

"... Tell me the details." Varn said.

Calion stepped forward, eyes steady despite the encirclement of a hundred silent warriors.

"According to lady Hecate, war is rising—not between men, but between the divines who resided in the skies. Already Olympus trembles, the heavens are cracking, and the earth is breaking. If the war really starts, the one who will suffer first will be us, the mortals.

He looked around, locking eyes with the faceless helms.

"You must know, we have always been hated by the gods, but simply tolerated us for the sake of our faith. If they can get rid of us through this war, then..."

A chill swept through the temple.

The red glow in the Sentinels’ armor seemed to pulse faster.

Varn did not move. But his voice changed—more solemn, more alert.

"Herion will not fall. Not even gods can make us kneel. We didn’t bow down centuries ago, and we won’t bow down even now."

Calion nodded. "The mortal world will become a battlefield. As the birthplace of heroes, I am sure that we will be targeted first. Our state is a threat to any would be conquerors."

Varn slowly raised a hand.

Immediately, the Sentinels dispersed, stepping away from Calion—but not out of sight. They stood at the edges now, watching like shadows behind pillars.

Then Varn unsheathed his sword with a sound like metal breathing.

The blade shimmered—not steel, but something older. Black metal with red veins that moved like lava beneath the surface.

"Then we must awaken the old defense."

Calion stiffened.

"You mean the—?"

Varn nodded.

"The Eclipse Protocol. The last order of General Kaerion, given in whispers before he died. If ever a threat from the heavens or below threatens mankind again... we do not wait. We do not pray. We act."

He turned to the statue at the end of the tomb.

Behind it, hidden by illusion, was a second set of stairs—spiraling deep into the mountain.

"Come with me, Lord Calion. If this war truly will consume the world, then we must ensure we will be able to protect it."

Calion nodded, following after Varn.

And as they walked into the depths of the tomb, mist curling behind them, the Sentinels followed in perfect silence.

Above them, in the skies beyond the mountain, thunder cracked once more.

War was coming.

And in Herios’ resting place, the weapons of old began to stir.