Imprisoned for a Trillion Years, I Was Worshipped by All Gods!

Sitting in the position of the Grand Duke of Winterrealm often required difficult decisions. Mercy, as noble as it seemed, frequently complicated matters unnecessarily.

On the other hand, resolute and ruthless actions could sometimes provide the simplest, most direct solutions.

These were some of the lessons Ryze's elder brother had learned after assuming the mantle of Grand Duke.

Their father had been a ruthless man.

"Perhaps," Ryze said, patting his brother on the shoulder. "But at least in my eyes, you'll become the greatest Grand Duke Winterrealm has ever known."

"The Grand Duke…" his brother sighed. "Doesn't he still depend on the whims of people like you?"

Ryze didn't respond to this jab but instead allowed the conversation to drift elsewhere.

The Grand Duke shifted topics. "You've been scarce lately. Is there something you need my help with?"

"No," Ryze replied with a faint smile. "Perhaps… I'll be leaving Winterrealm soon."

"Leaving? Why?" The Grand Duke's confusion was evident.

"Honestly, if not for certain matters keeping me here, I might have left years ago," Ryze said, meeting his brother's gaze. "But now… things are finally wrapping up. Brother, take good care of Winterrealm. I hope it thrives under your rule."

With those words, Ryze turned and left, leaving the Grand Duke alone in the cold, unwelcoming chamber. A long while later, the Grand Duke sighed heavily.

...

Cyre, meanwhile, had been drowning himself in drink ever since he left the royal court.

Afraid that alcohol might loosen his tongue and cause him to say things better left unsaid, he had locked himself in his quarters for days.

His son, Nossa, had tried to talk some sense into him, but Cyre refused to listen to anyone.

Left with no other choice, Nossa wandered the halls of Winterkeep Citadel aimlessly, unwilling to leave his father completely alone.

As Nossa meandered, he began to pick up fragments of conversations. The pub, as always, was lively with chatter.

It was a place not just for drinking but also for trading news, and today the talk revolved around a new and formidable faction rising in Winterkeep Citadel: Coven.

The emergence of Coven had shaken the foundations of the old order. The once-prestigious Winterrealm Guild, a group made up of elite talents, had found itself overshadowed and struggling under Coven's growing dominance.

Rumor had it that the Winterrealm Guild was now being forced to recruit new members—something they had rarely, if ever, done before.

Traditionally, joining the Winterrealm Guild required a strict nomination process, followed by grueling tests and evaluations.

Now, however, desperation seemed to be rewriting those rules.

This sudden change was proof enough for many that the guild was buckling under the pressure exerted by Coven.

Voices in the pub buzzed with speculation, some mocking the guild's decline, others lamenting its fate.

"Coven's already unstoppable," one patron declared.

"Winterrealm Guild? It's nothing but scraps at this point," another added, shaking his head.

Supporters of the guild tried to argue otherwise, but every defense faltered under the weight of undeniable facts. Coven was winning—decisively.

The pub door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. The lively chatter died instantly. Even the staunchest defenders of the Winterrealm Guild averted their gazes, unwilling to meet the newcomer's eyes.

The figure—a woman—approached the bar counter, placing something heavy on the surface.

"Please wait a moment while I record this," said the pub keeper, leaning over to examine the items. The bar, it turned out, wasn't just for drinking but also served as a hub for accepting and completing tasks.

The items on the counter were trophies—proof of powerful spell beasts slain.

Each head represented a beast that had once roamed outside the Winterkeep Citadel's magic array, dominating its own territory. And now, they were all dead, thanks to this woman.

Her attire bore the unmistakable emblem of Coven, drawing everyone's attention.

Nossa watched her from the corner of the room. His breath caught as recognition dawned.

It was her. Sarra.

As the pub keeper logged the kills, the scoreboard on the wall lit up, displaying Coven's dominance in stark numbers.

Their points surged far beyond those of the Winterrealm Guild, cementing their position as the undisputed rulers of Winterkeep Citadel.

Before leaving, Sarra's gaze swept briefly across the room, lingering for a moment in Nossa's direction. That single glance left him frozen.

It's really her, Nossa thought, his mind racing.

As Sarra left the pub, the crowd exploded back into chatter.

"That must've been someone high up in Coven, right?" someone asked.

"Of course! Didn't you see what she brought in? And alone, no less! Coven must have plenty more like her!"

"She's definitely the Ice Maiden of Coven!" another chimed in. "No wonder—I felt a chill as soon as she walked in!"

"What's her role in Coven, anyway? I don't know much about their hierarchy," a curious patron asked.

"Well, Coven isn't just for women, if that's what you're thinking," a seasoned drinker replied. "The name comes from its founder—a little girl, of all things! I was there the day it all started, right here in this pub. The Ice Maiden was the second to join, and now she's one of their top figures."

"Really? You saw it happen?" someone asked, eyes wide. "Tell us more, and this round's on me!"

"Gladly!" The man leaned in, ready to recount the tale. "It was years ago. I was sitting right over there…"

...

Nossa left the pub, Sarra's image still vivid in his mind. Coven. The name lingered on his lips as he walked, its weight heavy with implication.

If he wanted to find the two people he sought, Coven seemed like the only place to start.

But could he?

The gap between him and Sarra had been painfully clear the moment she stepped into the pub.

Despite five years of relentless effort, Nossa realized he was still no match for her—and that didn't even account for Nina, who had been even stronger than Sarra back then.

His determination faltered as he approached Coven's headquarters. He hadn't even realized where his feet had carried him until he stood before their doors.

Why am I here? he thought. Anger? Resentment? Something else?

A voice interrupted his thoughts. "I didn't think you'd come."

Looking up, Nossa saw Sarra standing before him, her expression a mix of surprise and nostalgia.

"Honestly, I didn't think we'd ever meet again," Sarra said, her tone laced with genuine emotion. "But here we are."

"Yeah," Nossa replied, unsure of what else to say. The bitterness in his voice was hard to miss.

Five years ago, during a fateful trial, he had lost to Sarra by the narrowest of margins. And now, seeing her again, the difference between them was staggering.

For her part, Sarra couldn't help but reflect on their past. Back then, she had won only because Nina had lent her a mana core. Without it, Nossa might have bested her.

"You've made a lot of progress these past years," Sarra said, her tone genuine.

"Don't mock me," Nossa muttered bitterly.

"I'm not mocking you," Sarra insisted. "Your talent is undeniable. Even here in Winterkeep Citadel, you'd rank above average. If only you had—" She stopped herself before finishing the thought. If only you hadn't stayed in Westwind Pass.

Instead, she changed the subject. "Come on, let's go see some old friends. The head might even offer you a chance."

With that, Sarra turned and walked into Coven's stronghold.

Nossa hesitated, her words echoing in his mind. A chance. The opportunity to prove himself. Steeling his resolve, he followed her inside.