Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (ink book reader .txt) 📕

and glittering bronze rivets, he found himself in a spacious hall, the ceiling of which was lost in waves of thick, sweet smoke that rose from the numerous torches and braziers. Everywhere you looked, there were copies of the man he had met back in the forest. Bald, dressed in the same robes he had been given (although tied with more skill, which made them look better), they sat in strange poses, their legs so tightly intertwined that just looking at them gave him cramps.

At the very end of the hall, on a pedestal, sat an old man whose skin resembled old parchment dotted with black spots. His long, almost transparent beard braided in an odd fashion, gave him an even more frightening appearance. Behind him, towered the statue of their God.

The deity inspired no fear or admiration. His thin body and small face would never make an enemy troop retreat in fear of divine punishment. There was no way that this was a God of the Thirteen Kingdoms.

“I see you’re awake,” the old man said. The monks seemed to wake up from their meditation, summoned back to reality by the voice of their teacher.

They held their palms out in front of them, so that the edge of their hands touched their chins and the little finger pointed in the direction of the statue. After bowing to their God, the monks got to their feet and turned to Ash in unison.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Good question,” the man replied, his eyes still closed. “Do you ask about your body or your mind?”

Ash said nothing. He had no clue what the old man was on about.

“Well, you seem a simple man. I assume you ask about the mundane,” the old man’s voice was flat, but there was a hint of pity in it. “You are in the Shao Monastery located on Mount Mok-Pu.”

Ash strained to remember his geography lessons, but he could not remember any mention of this place.

“Am I a prisoner?”

“We are all prisoners in a way. It doesn’t matter who deprives us of freedom — our own passions or the enemy’s sword.”

Ash sighed. All this philosophy was getting on his nerves.

“Can I go?”

The old man gave a slight nod. Ash turned around and walked back to the huge door that led to the courtyard where the students were still practicing balancing. Ash thought that they must be really uncomfortable like that, but their faces were calm and serene.

Reaching one of the higher courtyards, Ash couldn’t help but gasp when he crossed the threshold. The view from the platform was spectacular, with endless mountain peaks shrouded in fluffy clouds and snowflakes that glittered in the sun.

The vast sky, for all its severity, was as serene as a six-year-old with his right leg over his head, keeping his balance by standing on the big toe of his left foot.

Ash took in the calm of the land forgotten by the Gods and mortals. It seemed like the time flowed slower here, as if it was trying to preserve this land in its original form. There were no people or animals for miles around; only a couple of birds circled overhead, looking at the monastery and hurrying to tell other sky travelers about it. For the first time in his life, Ash thought about “tomorrow.”

He looked into his past but found nothing that called him back. He had no doubt that the king would do everything in his power to find the last person that had seen the Dragon’s Essence. But even if he could convince him of his innocence, he had sullied his hand with sin to the point of no return.

As soon as he returned and restored his honor, he’d be immediately sent on another campaign. He didn’t want to listen to the screams of the dying anymore, didn’t want to hide in the shadows from fires, and wash his hands clean of dried blood.

He turned to the elder who had appeared behind him but didn’t even need to speak for him to understand.

“You can stay,” he said to the young mage.

With a smile, Ash turned back to the endless sea of mountain peaks. He wanted to find the thing that people called “peace.” By the Gods, no one deserved it more than him.

Chapter 42

3rd Day of the Month of Krag, 322 A.D., The Plains

A sh pushed the memory away, surprised to find that evening had already fallen on the grass, promising the imminent arrival of the night, led by Queen Myristal. The Stumps were still riding. Tul, sitting on one of the boxes, kept muttering curses through his teeth as the cart thumped again and again over bumps and potholes. The sight made Ash crack a smile.

In his travels, he had seen places where such roads were a gift from the Gods. Looking at the road he pondered how it was possible that wherever they went, the Stumps managed to fall into a trap that lay on top of another trap visible only to him.

But now, things were different. The plain didn’t meet them with its famous bandits or wander monsters or other boogeymen that feasted on blood and flesh. Somehow, the lack of danger made him more worried than when there was danger.

“I see pink lights ahead” Lari yelled, removing the brand-new telescope from his face.

“Aqueals,” the adventurers said in unison.

Every traveler knew that if they saw a pink light in the distance, they’d soon meet the people of Balagan. Traveling artists considered this color the symbol of their patron Goddess and always lit magic torches in her honor. Something told Ash that many thieves and bandits used this to attract tired travelers looking for a place to stay for the night. They flocked to the Aqueals like moths to a flame.

“Should we leave?” Blackbeard asked.

Mary