Transmigrated as the Villain: I Will Destroy Fate

The man stepped aside.

Maren led them deeper into the chamber, and Ronan counted everything. Possible exits, armed members, possible mages, anyone who looked like they bore positions of authority. There were a few rank 1 mages scattered among the crowd, but no one looked too overwhelming.

That made the cult seem less dangerous on the surface.

But if the ritual was real, and they were somehow using it to communicate with demons from the northern continent, the people in this room might not be the true threat.

Aura remained quiet, though the way her fingers twitched told him she’d noticed something too.

They reached the main gathering area.

A dark stone basin sat near the front of the chamber, its inside stained deep red from repeated use.

Several small knives rested beside it on folded cloth, their edges clean, but no longer sharp, probably from overuse. Behind the basin, strips of fabric hung from the wall – dozens of them, each marked with names, phrases, or symbols.

Ronan stared at the wall, trying to find any meaning behind it.

Perhaps the cult was using blood not only as sacrifice, but as a record of sorts.

An older woman stepped forward from the backside of the chamber.

She had tired eyes, a calm expression, and a gentle, motherly look. She greeted Maren by a false name – Kira – proving Maren had already built an identity here.

Then she looked at Ronan and Aura.

"Did you come willingly?"

Ronan answered immediately.

"Yes."

Aura hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying the same.

The woman nodded.

"Willingness matters. The Blood Deity does not cherish blood taken without meaning. Purpose will drive you here"

She turned and addressed the room.

Her voice was not loud, but it carried a certain weight to it. Like she actually cared about each of them in the room, and she was speaking directly to them rather than to a crowd.

"Hunger. Grief. Weakness. The kingdoms abandon their own people to rot. They leave you in the streets, tell you to survive, and punish you when you do, sending their dogs to rid the streets of you. But the Blood Deity remembers every wound the kingdom – the world! – ignores."

Ronan listened carefully.

The speech was effective because it was not only promising refuge, but it was appealing to hatred as well. It seemed that the people they have chosen had some deep rooted hatred towards the kingdom of Xyta.

Appealing to that hatred... to people like this, that might be even more dangerous than promises of power.

While the woman spoke, Maren scanned the crowd, clearly searching for someone. The person she’d lost.

The woman gestured to the basin.

"New petitioners have come tonight."

Several people turned toward Ronan and Aura.

"Every petitioner must offer blood and speak what they seek. Protection, revenge, strength, forgiveness, or a place to belong. Our deity can provide it all."

Ronan understood.

This was the initiation test. Not complicated, but intimate enough to make newcomers expose themselves.

Maren leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper.

"You have to play along."

Ronan already knew.

He stepped forward first, took one of the knives, and cut his palm. A sharp pain went through him, but he kept his expression neutral.

Blood dripped from the cut, pouring into the red-stained basin.

The blood did not splash normally. It spread thinly across the red-stained stone, crawling along the edges like veins.

The older woman stepped closer.

"Speak what you seek."

Ronan kept his answer consistent with the lie he had already built.

"I want revenge against the kingdom for taking my family from me. And enough strength that no one can take anything from me again."

It was a basic ambition.

The people in the chamber murmured quietly, nodding with approval. The answer was accepted easily because it matched the ambitions of those in the room. Revenge and strength were desires everyone here understood, and a hatred towards the kingdom as well..

The older woman kept her gaze on him for far too long, but her expression remained gentle.

Ronan lowered his gaze again, allowing his silence to be interpreted as grief or fear.

Then Aura stepped forward.

She took the knife, and cut her palm similarly, letting her blood fall into the basin.

The moment it touched the stone, something strange happened. Not dramatically enough for the whole room to notice, but enough for Ronan to catch it because he was already watching Aura more than he was the ritual.

The blood in the basin reacted differently than it did to him. His blood shot out towards the edges like veins, but Aura’s blood looked more like thicker roots. Was it due to her demon blood?

No one seemed to notice.

Not even the older lady

Aura’s expression did not change, but her shoulders went still.

The older woman asked what she sought.

Aura paused long enough that Ronan almost considered intervening, then answered simply.

"I want a way home."

That wasn’t the answer she’d given the scarred man. This answer was honest. Aura was telling the truth, just not in the way any of them understood.

Why was she suddenly being honest?

He still did not ask. The room was too attentive, and the wrong question could expose both of them.

The older woman smiled with soft sympathy.

The initiation continued.

Other petitioners stepped forward one by one.

A laborer offered blood and asked for revenge against a magistrate who took his home.

A sick woman asked to live long enough to see her child grow.

A young boy asked for his missing sister to return.

A criminal asked for strength.

Each person cut their palm and spoke their need into the basin, offering their blood as sacrifice.

Ronan watched the process carefully and realized the ritual was collecting more than blood. It was collecting intent.

Maren stood beside them, but her attention was no longer on the initiation. Her gaze kept drifting to the wall behind the basin, where blood-marked strips hung in uneven rows. She was reading the words, trying to find any sign of the person she mentioned.

Ronan followed her line of sight and noticed her focus settle on one strip in particular. Her face became pale as she did.

She had found something connected to the person she lost.

She did not move toward it, though. That restraint told Ronan she had either been warned not to touch those strips or approach them, or that she didn’t think it would serve any purpose at the moment.

The older woman finished receiving the offerings and raised both hands. The room quieted immediately.

"The Deity of Blood does not answer every wound at once. Some wounds must be carried longer. Some must deepen before they become loud enough to reach the other side."

Aura leaned close to him while pretending to lower her head with the others. Her voice was barely audible.

"Do not put any more blood into the basin. And do not lie anymore to the basin."

Ronan kept his head still, but he whispered back.

"Why?"

Aura did not answer, however, keeping her gaze focused on the blood-stained basin.