Free Web NovelChapter 171: Chapter 169: Sage Or Shadow.. Lord Vishnu’s Sacred Statue...
(A/N):
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Guys I choose to represent this tribe back story in a gray shade...
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The old tribe leader fell silent for a moment.
"...."
The crackling of the fire was the only sound that remained in the clearing.
Even the younger warriors, who had heard fragments of this story since childhood, sat quietly.
The expression on the old man’s face had changed.
There was no pride.
No satisfaction. No sense of victory.
Only sorrow. Deep sorrow.
As though the events he was about to describe were something his tribe wished had never happened.
The old man stared into the dancing flames.
Then continued.
"The warriors marched."
"They crossed rivers."
"They moved through the darkness."
"They followed the paths marked by the scouts."
His weathered fingers tightened around the wooden staff in his hands.
"At first, the chief intended to attack."
"A direct assault."
"A swift strike before the ritual could begin."
The old man shook his head.
"But hatred rarely remains satisfied with justice."
The words caused several elders to lower their eyes.
They knew exactly what he meant.
The tribe leader continued.
"During the march..."
"The chief’s anger grew."
"He remembered his father’s suffering."
"He remembered the years of war."
"He remembered every funeral."
"Every ruined harvest."
"Every child buried because of the worshippers."
His voice became heavier.
"And eventually..."
"He decided that killing them was not enough."
The clearing became silent.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Devara listened without interrupting.
The old man’s eyes reflected the firelight.
"Under the cover of darkness, several warriors entered the settlement first."
"They did not draw swords."
"They did not attack."
"They moved quietly."
"Like shadows."
The elders around the fire remained motionless.
Even now, generations later, speaking of it felt uncomfortable.
The tribe leader continued.
"They found the wells."
"The storage jars."
"The water reserves."
Then his voice dropped.
"And they poisoned them."
A chill seemed to spread through the clearing.
Even the younger warriors shifted uneasily.
The old man slowly nodded.
"Not enough to kill immediately."
"Enough to weaken."
"Enough to make people collapse."
"Enough to make resistance difficult."
The fire crackled loudly.
The old man’s gaze remained fixed upon it.
"The worshippers were preparing for their celebration."
"There was singing."
"Drinking."
"Prayers."
"They never realized what had happened."
His voice grew quieter.
"One by one..."
"They lost consciousness."
"They grew weak."
"They collapsed."
The old man closed his eyes briefly.
"The chief waited for his time like a hunter."
"He waited until the settlement became silent."
"Until most of them slept."
"Until most of them could no longer fight."
Several warriors clenched their fists.
This wasn’t a battle.
Not anymore.
The tribe leader continued.
"Then they attacked."
No one spoke.
The old man’s voice became hollow.
"The darkness became their ally."
"The silence became their shield."
"They moved from house to house."
"Tent to tent."
"Shelter to shelter."
His expression hardened.
"And they killed."
The words hung heavily in the air.
"There were no challenges."
"No warnings."
"No declarations."
"Only death."
Several elders lowered their heads.
One elderly woman quietly wiped her eyes.
The old tribe leader continued.
"They killed sleeping men."
"They killed those too weak to stand."
"They killed anyone they believed was part of the ritual."
The clearing remained silent.
Because everyone understood what had happened.
Hatred had crossed a line.
A line that could never be uncrossed.
The old man slowly looked toward Devara.
"They killed more than half the settlement before anyone understood what was happening."
Shakuni’s expression darkened.
"...."
Even Sage Veenadhara had gone completely silent feeling like they might have really killed him if it was not for the merchant.
For once, the boastful sage had no clever remark.
No riddle. No argument.
Only silence.
"...."
The old man continued.
"But eventually..."
"Someone discovered them."
The fire seemed to flare as a gust of wind passed through the clearing.
"The chief’s elder brother."
Devara’s eyes narrowed hearing it.
The source of those hatred.
The old man nodded.
"The very man who had once been exiled."
"The man who followed Pushpasura."
"The man blamed for everything."
His voice carried sadness.
"When he realized what was happening..."
"He sounded the alarm."
"Those who could still fight gathered."
"Not many."
"Perhaps twenty."
"Perhaps twenty-five."
"Most were already weakened."
"But they fought."
The tribe leader’s gaze drifted toward the darkness beyond the settlement.
"They fought because their families were dying."
"They fought because their homes were burning."
"They fought because they had no choice."
The old man slowly exhaled.
"And so the battle began."
Unlike the slaughter before it... This was a true battle.
Warriors clashed beneath burning torchlight.
Steel met steel.
Axes met shields.
Blood soaked the ground.
The old man’s voice grew distant.
As though he were seeing it unfold before his eyes.
"The worshippers were outnumbered."
"Weakened."
"Surprised."
Yet desperation made them dangerous.
"Men fought with wounds that should have killed them."
"Women fought to protect their children."
"Brothers fought brothers."
"Cousins fought cousins."
"Blood fought blood."
The clearing remained completely silent.
Because that was the true tragedy.
Not enemies. Not strangers.
Family.
The tribe leader continued.
"The chief cut through everyone who stood in his path."
"He was consumed."
"Consumed by hatred."
"Consumed by vengeance."
"He no longer saw people."
"He saw only the source of his pain."
The old man’s hands tightened around his staff.
"Eventually..."
"He found his brother."
A long silence followed.
Everyone knew what came next.
The old man slowly nodded.
"They fought."
"The elder brother was weakened."
"The younger brother was furious."
"The outcome was inevitable."
His voice dropped to barely above a whisper.
"The chief killed him."
No triumph. No glory.
Only sadness.
Then the old man added,
"He cut off his brother’s head."
The fire crackled.
No one moved. No one spoke.
The old tribe leader continued.
"And then..." fгeewebnovёl.com
"The settlement was burned."
The younger warriors lowered their eyes.
"The houses."
"The shrines."
"The supplies."
"The fields."
Everything.
The chief wanted nothing left.
No survivors. No memory.
No trace.
Only ashes.
The old man slowly looked at Devara.
But his eyes were not filled with anger.
They were filled with regret.
"The worshippers were greedy."
"They sought power."
"They betrayed their duty."
"They endangered the world."
His gaze shifted toward the fire.
"But our chief..."
He sighed deeply.
"Our chief allowed hatred to consume him."
The clearing became utterly silent.
The old man looked at every warrior present.
Every elder. Every child.
As though reminding them of something important.
"This is the lesson our ancestors left behind."
His voice was firm.
"Greed can turn men into monsters."
A pause to let his words sink.
Then he spoke again breaking the silence.
"And revenge can do exactly the same."
The story ended.
And with it came an awkward silence that lingered over the settlement.
"...."
"...."
"...."
No one seemed eager to speak.
The warriors stared into the fire.
The elders remained lost in old memories.
Even the children sensed the mood and stayed unusually quiet.
The tale was not one that left anyone feeling victorious.
There had been no heroes.
No glorious triumph. No happy ending.
Only a chain of mistakes that had continued to haunt both sides for generations.
For a while, the only sound came from the crackling fire.
Then Devara finally broke the silence.
His voice was calm and respectful.
"Elder."
The old tribe leader looked up.
"Yes?"
Devara folded his hands politely.
"You mentioned a temple dedicated to Lord Vishnu."
The old man nodded.
"I did."
"Would it be possible for me to visit it?"
Several warriors exchanged glances.
One of the younger men frowned.
But before anyone could speak, the tribe leader answered.
"There is no restriction."
Devara raised an eyebrow.
The old man nodded again.
"Our temple has always been open."
"Anyone who comes with respect may enter."
His expression softened slightly.
"The only thing forbidden was the sacred essence created from the divine flower."
A shadow crossed his face.
"That restriction became meaningless after the flower was stolen."
Several elders sighed.
Even after all these years, the loss still hurt.
The tribe leader slowly stood.
"You may visit."
Devara thanked him with a slight bow.
Shakuni rose from his seat.
Meanwhile...
A certain sage also stood up.
Very quickly.
Far quicker than necessary.
Devara glanced sideways.
"So you’re coming too?"
Sage Veenadhara immediately nodded.
"Absolutely."
His answer came without hesitation.
Shakuni narrowed his eyes.
The sage coughed awkwardly.
-Cough!
"I am merely interested in observing the temple’s historical significance."
Nobody believed him.
Not even a little.
The truth was painfully obvious.
The sage had absolutely no intention of remaining behind.
Not after overhearing discussions about burning him alive.
And definitely not after hearing the alternative proposal involving a six-foot-deep hole.
As far as Sage Veenadhara was concerned, Devara was currently the safest place in the entire forest.
The sage had already decided that maintaining a distance greater than one arm’s length from the merchant was a terrible life choice.
A potentially fatal life choice.
"...."
"...."
So when Devara started walking... The sage immediately followed.
When Devara stopped... The sage stopped.
When Devara turned... The sage turned.
After several minutes, Shakuni finally looked at him.
"Why are you walking so close?"
The sage looked offended.
"I’m not."
Shakuni pointed downward.
Their shadows were practically touching.
The sage looked away.
"A coincidence."
Neither Devara nor Shakuni bothered arguing.
The three eventually left the settlement and followed a narrow path deeper into the forest.
Several warriors escorted them.
The journey was not long.
After some time, the trees began thinning.
The scent of flowers grew stronger.
And eventually... The temple came into view.
Devara stopped in his track.
So did Shakuni.
Even Veenadhara became quiet.
The temple was not grand.
Not in the way royal temples were grand.
There were no towering gateways.
No massive walls.
No golden domes.
No elaborate decorations.
Yet somehow...
It possessed a quiet dignity.
The kind born not from wealth but from devotion.
Ancient stone pillars stood beneath towering trees.
Flowering vines climbed along weathered walls.
Small oil lamps burned near the entrance.
The structure itself looked centuries old.
Yet it was remarkably well maintained.
Someone clearly cared for it.
Very much.
The old stones bore signs of age.
But not neglect.
The temple felt alive.
As though countless prayers still lingered within its walls.
Devara slowly walked forward.
His footsteps echoed softly.
The atmosphere inside felt peaceful.
Different from the rest of the forest.
Different from the tribal settlement.
Even the air seemed calmer.
The main sanctum soon came into view.
And there... Standing within the shrine...
Was a beautiful statue of Lord Vishnu.
The craftsmanship was extraordinary.
Despite the passage of centuries, the divine figure appeared serene and majestic.
The conch.
The discus.
The mace.
Every detail had been carefully carved.
Yet something immediately caught Devara’s attention.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Because one part of the statue looked incomplete.
Lord Vishnu’s left hand remained extended.
Almost as though it was holding something.
Or rather...
As though it once held something.
Now that space stood empty.
The missing portion was obvious.
Time had not damaged it.
It had been deliberately removed.
Devara slowly approached the statue.
His gaze remained fixed on the empty hand.
A thought immediately formed in his mind.
’So this is where it stood.’
The sacred flower.
The flower mentioned in the story.
The source of the essence.
The object that had changed the fate of an entire tribe.
The object whose theft had started centuries of hatred.
The empty space felt strangely significant.
Like a wound that had never healed.
Shakuni also noticed it.
"So this is where the flower used to be?"
The escorting warriors nodded quietly.
One elder standing nearby answered.
"Yes."
His voice carried sadness.
"For generations, it remained there."
"We protected it."
"We prayed before it."
"Our ancestors believed it was Lord Vishnu’s blessing."
The elder looked at the empty hand.
Then sighed.
"Now only the memory remains."
Silence followed.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Devara continued studying the statue.
Something about it bothered him.
Not the missing flower.
Something else.
A faint feeling.
One he couldn’t immediately explain.
His eyes slowly moved across the carvings surrounding the deity.
The pillars.
The walls.
The ancient symbols etched into the stone.
Years of experience had taught him to trust such instincts.
And right now...
His instincts were telling him that this temple still held secrets.
Secrets buried beneath centuries of history.
Secrets that perhaps even the tribe no longer remembered.
Beside him, Sage Veenadhara was also examining the temple.
Though for entirely different reasons.
The sage occasionally glanced behind him toward the temple entrance.
Making absolutely certain that the tribesmen remained outside.
Only then would he relax.
For approximately three seconds.
Before checking again.
Which made Shakuni roll his eyes.
Meanwhile, Devara stepped closer to the statue of Lord Vishnu.
His gaze lingered upon the empty hand.
The place where the sacred flower once rested.
And for some reason...
He couldn’t shake the feeling that the missing flower was far more important than anyone realized.
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(Author note:)
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