The Guardian gods
Chapter 547

Chapter 547: 547

Doubt crept into the hearts of the citizens. The Empire’s image once unshakable now stood on trembling ground. And through it all, Kaelen watched with quiet satisfaction. His battle wasn’t only fought with sword or magic it was fought in minds, in perception, in belief.

And in that battle, the first cracks in the Empire’s armor had begun to show.

Once the Ratfolk entered the spotlight, public opinion began to shift in an unexpected direction. Once dismissed as scavengers, they were now seen in a new light as resilient, loyal, and fiercely united on the battlefield. The leaked videos of Ratfolk fighting alongside ogres stirred something in the people: empathy, curiosity, and most dangerous of all, doubt. Doubt in the Empire’s narrative. Doubt in its intentions. Doubt in its truth.

The Empire, always watchful, acted swiftly.

In the shadows, under false identities and through obscure channels, they reached out to the very groups now stirring with newfound influence and unrest: the goblin merchants and the thrill-seeking nobles. Cloaked in discretion, they came bearing what few could resist a long-buried secret that had floated about for years.

They unveiled a tale many had once been desperate to uncover, only to eventually abandon in the face of imperial silence: the death of the Sixth-Tier Mage, Gurnak, and the mysterious fall of the fortified city he had sworn to protect.

The Empire’s version of the story was carefully crafted. They didn’t simply state the facts—they designed them. They manipulated old images and altered video footage, all while seeding whispers into the ears of nobles hungry for secrets and meaning. The official narrative was replaced with something far more incendiary, and it spread like fire through the upper echelons of society before trickling down to the masses.

According to this new account, Gurnak hadn’t died in a noble stand against overwhelming odds. No—he had fallen due to a betrayal from within. The traitors? The very Ratfolk now gaining the people’s sympathy.

The manipulated footage showed them twisted and contorted, corrupted by the demonic influence of Vorenza, the infamous Demon Queen. Their features—once timid and meek—were now snarling, fanged, and wild. Eyes glowing with madness. Flesh warped by chaos. They were no longer seen as a misunderstood people, but as beasts driven by bloodlust, puppets of infernal forces.

And to further drive the nail into the heart of sympathy, the Empire unveiled something even more grotesque: the fate of the Ogres who had fallen into Vorenza’s hands.

In grim, grainy footage, the people saw ogres—hulking warriors once celebrated for their strength and stoicism—mutated into monstrous hybrids. Horns, scales, unnatural limbs; grotesque symbols of corruption etched into their skin. These twisted beings were shown attacking their former comrades, driven by a rage that no longer resembled anything human or ogre. Their transformation served as a warning, a visual horror that blurred the lines between victim and monster.

The message was clear: association with the Ratfolk and Vorenza would lead only to destruction.

The psychological impact was devastating. The sympathy that had begun to blossom among the common people now curled into unease. The nobles, once delighted by their exclusive knowledge, now became more cautious, unwilling to risk aligning with what the Empire now branded as "corrupted races." Goblin merchants, who had begun investing in their own networks to rival the ogres, now hesitated. The images had served their purpose. The Empire had regained control—at least for the moment.

But beneath the surface, not everyone believed the new tale. Some questioned how the Empire had obtained such perfectly timed footage. Others noted inconsistencies in the story—subtle details that didn’t align with earlier reports. And Kaelen, always lurking at the edge of the truth, saw the deception for what it was. He knew the Empire had just played a dangerous card, one that might backfire if handled incorrectly.

Deep within the cold marble halls of the Imperial Citadel, far from the watchful eyes of the public, the Empire’s highest echelon convened in shadow. The air was thick with incense and veiled intentions.

At the head of the chamber sat kaelen, who was responsible for the unrest the empire was currently facing, previously he was filled iwth laughter and joy, today he was just quiet.

He had just received the report—or rather, the performance—about the fall of Gurnak’s city. The Empire’s carefully staged reveal had landed like a hammer, swinging the tide of public sentiment back in their favor. It had worked—brilliantly. The people were shaken, the nobles were subdued, and the goblins were back in line.

And yet, Kaelen could do nothing but sit in silence, his clawed fingers curled against the armrest of his chair.

The problem wasn’t that he disagreed with the action.

The problem was that he hadn’t seen it coming.

Despite his position, despite his influence, the orchestration of Gurnak’s story had hit his blindspot—a place in the Empire’s web where even his reach couldn’t extend. He had no real evidence linking the imperial hand to the released footage. No signature, no source, no trail. Just a carefully polished lie presented as truth—and everyone had swallowed it whole.

He’d always suspected something was wrong when he was not considered or invited when it came to the experiment carried out by the empire and Gurnak.

Today him not participating was biting back at him and he could do nothing but sit and let it happen.

For the first time in years, Kaelen felt outmaneuvered.

Still, he was no fool. He understood the message hidden beneath the surface of this elegant manipulation. It wasn’t just meant for the people—it was meant for him.

He thought back on his recent decisions—reckless, emotionally charged, even borderline insubordinate. His frustration with the Empire’s passivity, his private criticisms, and subtle defiance had not gone unnoticed. He had believed himself untouchable, too important to sideline.

But now, watching the Empire twist public perception with such surgical precision, he realized the truth:

If he pushed further, they would act.

Not with assassination—no, that would be too messy. But they could isolate him, discredit him, erase his authority piece by piece until he was nothing more than a ceremonial seat at the table. And Vellok feared irrelevance more than death.

So, he calmed himself.

He adopted a new mask of calculated neutrality. His outbursts ceased. His movements became deliberate. The storm in his heart, though not gone, was now tethered by the chilling realization that he was not the only wolf among the sheep.

Meanwhile, in the heart of the Empire’s intelligence branch, the true architects of the Gurnak deception were gathering.

It was a closed session—no aides, no external recorders. Only the core of the inner council, cloaked in shadow. Figures with no names, only titles. The Chronicler, the Minister of Veils, the Architect, and others whose influence extended beyond public knowledge.

"This move bought us time," said the Chronicler, voice sharp as a razor, "but not forever. Kaelen may have retreated, but he’ll return with sharper tools."

"The goblins have quieted," noted the Minister of Veils. "And Vellok has finally stopped breathing fire down our necks. That alone is a victory."

There was a long pause.

Then, the Architect leaned forward, tapping fingers against the cold surface of the table. "We’ve established the illusion of control. Now it’s time we make it real. Begin preparations for the next operation. We’ll need something... conclusive."

"And Kaelen?" someone asked.

The Architect smiled. "Let him rest. We want him watching when the next piece falls into place."

The Imperial Palace was quiet. Too quiet.

Within the innermost sanctum—far beneath the gilded halls and towering spires—the Emperor and Vellok stood before an arcane scrying mirror, its surface rippling with the distorted images of the recent high council meeting.

The Emperor, his form still hidden beneath an opulent dark robe laced with runes, broke the silence. His voice was distant, muffled by age and power.

"What about the boy?"

Vellok didn’t answer immediately. He was absorbed into a brief memory of Rattan—a seemingly loyal operative, an obedient tool. A puppet dancing to the Empire’s tune.

"He’s behaved," Vellok replied at last, voice calm but clipped. "Since our last...conversation, he’s been useful. Already gave us everything we need to legally act against Kaelen. More than enough, in fact."

He turned slightly, folding his hands behind his back. "But his usefulness is near its end. Once we move, he becomes a liability."

There was a pause, almost tender.

"I feel bad he’ll have to be discarded soon."

The Emperor remained still, but there was something heavy in the air, an emotion too tangled to be named. He finally whispered:

"Once we do this... our brother will likely meet his end."

But Vellok didn’t allow him to finish.

"It has to be done." His tone sharpened like a blade drawn from a sheath. "If we hesitate now, everything we’ve built will fall. The lies, the blood, the entire veil we’ve pulled over the Empire—all for nothing."

Silence. For a long, cold moment.

Then the Emperor asked, almost as though speaking to something that once existed inside Vellok:

"Is there still some part of you left in there, brother?"