Reincarnated with the Country System
Chapter 272 - 272: The Circle of Sacrifice

They stood in a circle—robed, masked, cloaked in silence.

A hundred strong, their breathless stillness made the air itself seem to shiver. At the center of the vast underground chamber yawned a pit, its rim ringed with jagged obsidian spikes, each one etched with runes that pulsed with a dull, infernal red. Smoke curled from the glyphs, carrying a stench of scorched copper and ash.

Within the pit lay a mound of bodies—men, women, and children. Some still twitched, caught between death and the final breath. Most did not. Blood soaked the stone floor, tracing ancient symbols that hummed with energy older than empires.

Nia stood at the edge, her boots soaked crimson. She stared into the pit with glassy, fervent eyes. Around her, the other high-ranking Shadows chanted in a low, rhythmic hum. It was not a song, nor a language—it was a vibration of will, a frequency meant to cut through the veil of the world.

"Bring him," Nia said.

"Bring him," Nia said again.

From the side entrance, two Shadows dragged a man forward—half-conscious, bruised, and gagged.

Eric.

He was tossed forward like a sack of meat. His face hit the blood-slick floor. He groaned, struggling to lift himself, but the drugs still clung to his mind like fog.

Nia knelt beside him, her voice low and smooth. "You're lucky," she whispered. "You get to die for something greater than yourself."

Eric spat blood. "You're insane..."

Nia's smile was thin and joyless. "We are faithful."

A slow clap echoed through the chamber.

From the shadows stepped a tall man, his face hidden behind an ornate silver mask. The crowd parted for him like a tide. He walked with grace and contempt, as if gravity were merely a suggestion.

When he reached Eric, he removed his mask.

Nile.

Eric's breath caught in his throat. "Nile…?"

"Yes," Nile said, smiling with thin lips. "Me."

Eric's voice cracked. "I thought... I thought you were afraid of my brother. That you hated what he became…"

Nile laughed—low, cold, theatrical. Nia joined him, her laughter like breaking glass.

"Hate him?" Nile crouched, lifting Eric's chin. "We made him. Your broken, grieving brother would have faded into obscurity if we hadn't given him something to believe in. Power. Purpose."

Eric shook his head. "You're lying…"

"Oh no," Nile said, with the calm certainty of the devout. "Your brother, Prince Caspian Alka—the Ghost Prince—was never our master. He was our puppet."

Nia twirled a bloody lock of hair around her finger. "You really thought that crippled boy rallied an army, summoned forbidden magics, shattered three kingdoms by himself?"

Eric's blood turned to ice. "You—used him."

"We gave him purpose," Nile said. "We whispered lies sweet as honey. Told him his mother could be resurrected. That he could rebuild the Empire of Alka from ash and glory. And he believed us."

Eric's voice wavered. "Nia… you were his lover. His most loyal…"

"Lover?" Her expression curdled. "My ass."

She seized Nile's collar and kissed him—long, devouring. When they parted, her lips were stained with Nile's blood from where she had bitten him.

"We used him," she said, voice hard. "Just like we'll use you."

Nile leaned close, whispering with quiet reverence. "Let me teach you something, Prince. The Shadows were never Caspian's. We were here before him. Before Latvia. We are not rebels. We are remnants of a truth the world buried."

He gestured to the pit, the glyphs, the death. "This is not about war. Not about vengeance. This is liberation. The god entombed in the Chest of Eternal—In'Therak, the Fractured Star—stirs. He was sealed by your ancestors. But we've broken the locks."

Eric stared, trembling. "The Chest… it's supposed to require four keys. Caspian died before he found them all."

Nia smirked. "He could have done it. We were so close to our goal. If that Bernard Empire hadn't come and destroyed everything, we would have succeeded so many days ago. However—"

"…we found another way," Nile finished. "The seal is more than metal. It was bound with blood—from each noble line of the old Alka Empire. And since you are descendants of the ancient Alka Empire—"

From the shadows came movement—two more prisoners dragged into the light.

Callum and Kiera, the last heirs of Jimland. Bloodied. Chained.

Callum roared, fighting his bonds. "You'll die for this. The gods will see—"

"Which gods?" Nia cut him off. "The ones who watched your country burn? Or the ones that feed on fear and blood and truth?"

"You're royalty," she said, pointing between them. "Blood of Alka's shattered legacy. One bloodline for each of the Four Seals. Britannia's blood fed the first. Now, you two will feed the second and third."

Eric gasped. "And me…"

"You are the fourth," Nile said, eyes gleaming. "The pure Alkan line. Direct descendant of the one who bound Him."

"You'll never succeed," Eric said through gritted teeth. "Even if you break the seal. The Bernard Empire will find you. They'll kill you all."

Nia laughed again. "The Bernardians are insects crawling over a tomb they do not understand. Their empire will crumble. All empires do."

"Begin the rites," she said, turning to the high priest.

Torches flared. Drums pounded a heartbeat rhythm.

Callum was dragged to the pit's edge.

"No!" Kiera screamed. "Let him go!"

"You don't get to protest," Nile said coldly. "You get to witness."

The obsidian dagger gleamed red as it plunged into Callum's chest. He gasped, eyes wide—then fell still.

The glyphs on the floor blazed, bathing the room in red light.

"The seal weakens," whispered the priest. "The fracture stirs."

Eric's voice cracked. "You killed innocent people... You burned down village after village and blamed it all on the empire..."

Nile's voice turned cold. "And they believed it. That is power, Eric. Not swords, not crowns. Belief."

"We've sown so much fear, so much rage, that the people now see angels as devils, and devils as liberators," Nia added. "That's the world we've built. On blood and lies."

Eric screamed and lunged—only to be caught midair by a spell. Suspended. Helpless.

Nile approached. "He was brave. You should be proud."

He nodded to a priest. "Take the left hand."

"No!" Eric yelled. "Please—"

The blade flashed. Pain exploded through him. Darkness swallowed his world.

...

When he awoke, he was on cold stone, blood pouring from a crude bandage where his arm had been. His body trembled.

Nia stood above him. "You won't die yet," she said softly. "But you'll wish you had."

Across the room, Kiera knelt—chained, trembling, crying—but her eyes were fire.

"You're not giving up, are you?" she whispered.

Eric met her gaze. "Never."

Then—gunfire.

A thundercrack of war shattered the silence.

From the upper tunnels, Bernardian commandos poured in, shouting commands. Shock grenades detonated. Smoke spread. Cultists screamed.

A disruptor grenade exploded near the pit—shattering glyphs. Blood boiled. The ritual faltered.

Nile's voice cut through the chaos. "Finish the rite!"

Nia raised her blade to strike—

—but Kiera surged forward, breaking her chains with a scream. Her magic flared, wild and raw. She slammed into Nia, knocking her back.

Eric crawled for a dagger, seized it with his good hand, and buried it in a priest's leg. The man collapsed.

A Bernardian soldier reached Eric, pulling him upright. "We've got to get you out!"

"Not yet," Eric gasped. "We have to stop it."

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