Chapter 206

Chapter 206

The overseers were burly men, but the natives worked in well-coordinated pairs, each pair firmly supporting an overseer’s limbs, trotting lightly toward the serpentine stone altar in the hills behind the estate without waking a single soul the entire way—the estate’s patrol guards had already been drugged and left unconscious in their watchtowers. At this hour, the only white people awake on the estate were Evan and Laura in the main house.

As the natives dragged the overseers, several others hauled firewood drenched in kerosene to the granary on the estate’s west side. The granary was packed with this year’s fresh sugarcane and raisins, vital supplies for the estate.

One native pulled out a flint and struck it. Sparks landed on the firewood, instantly flaring into a small flame.

A night breeze fanned the flame, which shot up, licking at the dry planks of the granary. A crackling sound grew, and thick smoke billowed, painting half the night sky red.

“Fire!” Evan’s eyes snapped wide as he spun around. The blaze from the granary cut through the midnight darkness, and the smell of smoke drifted into his room on the wind.

His already taut nerves snapped to full alert. The unease he’d felt finally found its mark—this wasn’t just a disturbance, but a premeditated rebellion!

At the serpentine stone altar in the hills, a different scene was unfolding.

The altar was built from massive, bluish-gray rocks, their surfaces carved with twisted serpentine patterns, gleaming coldly under the moonlight. Ten white overseers were tied tight to stone pillars at the altar’s center, unconscious, drool hanging from their lips, completely unaware they were about to become sacrifices.

Seventy natives knelt in a neat circle around the altar. The middle-aged native stood at the altar’s highest point, holding a dagger carved from animal bone, its surface etched with intricate patterns of the Feathered Serpent God.

The firelight from the granary lit up the natives’ faces. Their eyes held no fear, only fervent devotion. The middle-aged native raised the bone dagger and began chanting an ancient, obscure incantation. The chant was low and powerful, like a thunderclap from a bygone era echoing through the valley.

As the chant rose, the natives stood and began a ritual dance.

Their dance was simple and rough. They stomped their feet heavily on the ground, producing a rhythmic thump, as if resonating with the earth. Their hands traced serpentine gestures before their chests and above their heads, sometimes stretching, sometimes coiling, mimicking the Feathered Serpent God’s movements.

In unison, they hummed a ritual song, hoarse yet synchronized, weaving with the incantation into a chilling rhythm. Sweat trickled down their dark skin, glistening in the firelight like a coat of blood.

“With the blood of the invaders, we sacrifice to our god!” the middle-aged native suddenly shouted, his voice cutting through the song and chant with bone-chilling coldness. He swung the bone dagger down, precisely slitting the throat of the nearest overseer. Blood gushed out, splattering onto the serpentine patterns of the altar. The once-dull patterns seemed to awaken, faintly glowing red.

The overseer jolted awake in agony, letting out a short scream before being overwhelmed by pain and terror. He struggled futilely, but the ropes binding him to the pillar held firm.

The natives’ dance grew more frenzied. The stomping grew louder, the song more urgent, as if urging something on. The middle-aged native moved to each overseer in turn, the bone dagger falling again and again. Blood stained the entire altar, and the smell of blood mingled with the smoke, saturating the valley.

The blood of the ten overseers fully soaked the altar’s serpentine patterns. The red glow within the patterns grew brighter, like flowing blood serpents. The middle-aged native knelt, placed the bone dagger on the altar, clasped his hands, and prayed loudly: “Great Feathered Serpent God! Your followers offer this sacrifice, invoking your arrival with the blood of the invaders!”

“Invoke your arrival!” the seventy natives echoed, their voices shaking the valley with heart-wrenching devotion and resentment. “Punish those whites who stole our lands and oppressed our people! Let them pay with their blood! Grant us freedom!”

As the prayer ended, the ground around the altar began to tremble slightly. The spiritual fluctuations in the air turned violently chaotic. Moonlight seemed drawn by some force, converging above the altar into a massive silver pillar of light.

Within the pillar, a faint, enormous shadow writhed. The sound of scales scraping echoed, and an ancient, majestic presence slowly descended upon the valley.

Evan had already rushed to the main house’s entrance. Laura, awakened by the fire and commotion, stood beside him, sword in hand. Both stared at the eerie sounds and the silver pillar of light from the hills, their faces grim.

“It’s a supernatural ritual! They’re summoning something!” Laura said, her voice low, her grip on the sword hilt tightening until her knuckles turned white.

“No time to explain!” Evan’s voice was urgent but steady. “Laura, go wake Miss Lillian and Mr. Marcus. I’ll alert the other servants. Meet at the main entrance in five minutes. We leave by carriage immediately!”

“Understood!” Laura turned without hesitation, her silver knight boots pounding the stairs with urgent, forceful steps. Evan dashed into the main house, knocking on every servant’s door, his voice ringing like a bell: “Emergency! Gather at the main entrance immediately! Don’t bring anything unnecessary! Hurry!”

The midnight calm of the main house shattered into chaos.

Servants jolted from sleep, too dazed to ask questions, but Evan’s commanding tone left no room for doubt. They hastily threw on clothes and stumbled out of their rooms.

Evan’s voice cut through the corridors, reaching every corner. As he urged them on, he checked each room to ensure no one was left behind, his spiritual perception fully extended to guarantee everyone in the main house was awakened in time.

Laura made swift progress too.

She first knocked on Lillian’s door, her tone as gentle as possible but laced with urgency: “Miss, danger! Please get up immediately and come to the main entrance. We need to leave now!”

Soon, Lillian’s panicked response came from inside, accompanied by the soothing voice of her maid, Anna. Laura then knocked on Marcus’s door, quickly explaining the commotion in the hills and the decision for an emergency evacuation.

Marcus, just roused from sleep, turned pale at the words “rebellion” and “sacrifice,” but his years of business experience kept him calm. He replied immediately: “I’ll be right there!”

As he dressed, he shouted to the butler, Byrne, who had rushed over upon hearing the noise: “Check the stables immediately! Make sure the carriages are ready to go! Have the coachmen prepare!”

Five minutes passed in a flash.

At the main entrance, the servants stood in a neat line, their faces a mix of fear and confusion. Marcus, dressed in a neat suit, stood at the front with a grave expression. Lillian clung tightly to Anna’s hand, her face pale, her large eyes filled with terror, a thick cloak draped over her light yellow nightgown. Laura stood beside the group, sword in hand, her sharp gaze scanning the surroundings, alert to any potential danger.

Evan made a final headcount, confirming that all twenty servants, Marcus, Lillian, and Butler Byrne were present. “Butler Byrne, are the carriages ready?”

“Ready! Three carriages, all hitched and ready to depart!” Byrne’s voice trembled slightly but remained steady.

“Board! Miss Lillian and Mr. Marcus in the first carriage, the maids in the second, and the menservants in the third!” Evan issued rapid orders. “Laura, escort the first carriage. I’ll cover the rear!”

Everyone followed Evan’s instructions, scrambling but orderly, climbing into the carriages. Before boarding, Lillian couldn’t help but glance back toward the hills. The silver pillar of light there grew brighter, and faint, eerie chanting drifted on the wind, making her shiver.

Marcus gently patted her shoulder and whispered, “Don’t be afraid. With Mr. Evan and Miss Laura here, we’ll be fine.”

Evan watched the first carriage start, its wheels clattering over the cobblestones. He turned his gaze to the night sky and froze, his heart sinking.

The rays of light rising from the hills had now broken free of the pillar, spreading into the sky. Countless silver threads wove and intertwined in the night, like glowing serpents, darting and braiding together.

These threads grew denser, converging toward the center, forming a massive, slowly rotating ring. Its edges shimmered with eerie silver light, while its interior was a pitch-black void, seeming to devour all surrounding light. The spiritual fluctuations in the air grew even more violent, carrying a suffocating evil and majesty—different from the undead aura Evan had felt in the Sea of the Dead. This was older, purer, more destructive.

“A ritual to summon an evil god…” Evan’s voice carried a hint of gravity. He had read about such rituals in an ancient supernatural text—when the summoning threads wove into a ring, it signaled the imminent arrival of an evil god.

Such rituals required fresh life as sacrifices. The more complete the ring, the greater the chance of the god’s descent, and the stronger its power upon arrival. Those natives were summoning an evil god!

“Mr. Evan! Get in!” a manservant on the third carriage shouted, the carriage ready to depart.

Evan snapped back to reality, taking one last look at the main house and the hills.

The bluish-gray main house stood silent in the night. The silver ring in the hills grew clearer, the eerie chant louder, as if heralding some terrifying arrival. He hesitated no longer, turned, and leaped onto the third carriage, shouting to the coachman: “Go! Head for the docks! As fast as you can!”

The coachman cracked his whip, striking the horses hard. The horses neighed in pain, broke into a gallop, and raced toward the estate’s main gate.

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