Personal Diary of Champion of Light Luan
Dark days. The commander failed, lives were lost, and though he will serve the garrison for his failures, it won’t bring the people back. No, I write this to remember: ignore the goddess’s advances, do not get swept up in her petty games. Remember you are doing this for the people. Despite the deaths, you can prevent more. Just… keep fighting. Yet, even as I write this, I’m tired of all the death, and the goddess’s invitations persist… No. I’m not her pet. I serve the light and wish to save the people. That’s why I keep fighting. Read these words when in doubt: she’s not worth it. The people are.
—Page lost to time - A Passage Written by Light Champion Luan
The garrison held, thanks to the blessed wood, but the endless roar of monsters outside the walls was maddening. It was always the same—they came in droves, assuming they couldn’t be stopped, then fled like rot from light when he appeared.
Luan returned to the inn, annoyed. He’d been staring out at the wasteland beyond the walls, frustration gnawing at him. The cleansed areas never lasted. The rot always returned, creeping back like a tide that couldn’t be held. Without constant vigilance, without burning corruption to its source, everything he fought for crumbled back into wasteland.
He’d tried leaving goddess crystals in the cleansed areas, hoping their sustained light would maintain the barriers he’d fought to create. The others called it a waste of precious power—abandoning valuable crystals in empty wasteland. But he knew that if you pushed the rot back far enough and held it long enough, you could create a barrier it couldn’t cross. Then you could push it back further, over time, until eventually…
More roars echoed from beyond the walls—a sea of beasts held back only by thin, blessed barriers.
This wave didn’t seem to know he was here, or they wouldn’t be surrounding the walls, testing the defenses. While he sat in the garrison’s tavern, Luan knocked back another shot of hard liquor, knowing death was coming but would be met by others. Setting the glass down before the keeper, he watched as the tavern master’s hands shook while pouring, spilling half the contents on the counter. He pitied the man’s fear—when had he ever failed them? Perhaps the keeper was new to these rot lands and knew nothing more.
Seeing the man’s panic, Luan tried to put him at ease. “Calm yourself. I never fail—they’ll soon leave or meet their death. Just keep the place clean. More will come for drinks after. I’ll handle them alone.”
He was tired of the needless death. The garrison troops kept trying to fight the monsters without the light’s protection. It could be done, but at a terrible cost. He should know—he’d once fought among them with no divine power. Now, transcended and empowered by the crystals that kept rot at bay, burned monster flesh, and enhanced his movement beyond mortal limits, he didn’t even bother with armor anymore—it just slowed him down, and claws could tear through metal anyway.
Walking among the garrison troops, he saw their fear at each monster roar. The only thing keeping them from blind panic was seeing his light and knowing he would face the horde for them.
At the main gate, he gave his order: “Open it.”
“Are you mad? Let them in?” One guard rushed forward in blind panic, trying to stop him. A knight quickly struck the man down for questioning the champion.
“Sorry, Champion. Do you need an escort?” the knight saluted, awaiting orders.
“No. In fact, you shouldn’t even be here. This is a garrison in the rot lands—let the unworthy prove themselves before knights risk their lives in this waste.”
Better that the desperate and worthless die first, proving their valor as he once had. He’d risen from nothing; so could they. It wasn’t cruelty but practicality. The roars rose in chorus as he waited for the gate to open.
As the gate slowly opened, some monsters foolishly pressed against the burning holy wood, trying to force a wider entry. So eager for death, he almost laughed.
The creatures thought they merely had to endure burns to reach the flesh inside. They didn’t understand why the burning grew worse as the gate opened wider, not better. Only when the gate flung fully open did they see what none of their kind lived to describe: the Champion of Light.
They tried to scatter, but those behind pushed forward, unable to flee. The writhing mass that had seemed unstoppable now faced damnation they couldn’t avoid.
Luan held light in one hand, sword in the other. Where he arced the divine radiance, beams carved through their ranks, reducing dozens to ash. He rushed the survivors before they could regroup, his enhanced speed making him a blur of destruction across the battlefield.
To the few monsters still alive, a glowing figure swept through their numbers like divine wrath, leaving only ash and terror. Those desperate enough to rush past him toward the open gate found the light circling back, creating more devastation in its wake.
It made no sense to them—how could one being be so powerful? With that, the legend of the Champion of Light was burned into the surviving monsters’ minds, to be whispered in fear as they fled deeper into the blight, where rot was safer than the champion’s radiance.
The pattern never changed for Luan. An endless sea of monsters would gather; a sea of ash was all that remained after. The crystal in his hand, while powerful, wasn’t truly his—it was borrowed divinity. But it let him save lives, so it was enough. When he finished here, he’d leave it behind like all the others, another anchor point in his war against the endless rot.
The garrison commanders called it waste, but they couldn’t see the larger strategy.
Hours passed hunting through the corrupted lands. The creatures would stay away for at least a week before attempting such numbers again. It was the first wave he’d repelled, and certainly not the last.
Making his way back to the garrison, he saw the people’s smiles, the sea of hope in their faces, and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. They’d never know it, but he did this for them. He just wished they understood that power required effort, not kneeling and prayer.
But something was wrong.
The distance to the gate wasn’t lessening—it was growing farther. The smiling people began to melt, turning to ash and rot before his eyes.
“No!” He rushed forward, desperate. Not more death, not more failure. Not again. He couldn’t save everyone, but he should at least save them. They were supposed to be safe. This couldn’t be how it ended.
As he reached forward, his hand turned to darkness. Where was the light? He looked at his form in horror—not just his body, but the entire world had become shadow.
“Abaddon,” a gentle, sad voice whispered.
Slowly, he felt it try to hold him in the dark, a cloak to keep him safe in a sea of night. Fragments of his mind scattered, unable to grasp how he got here. Yet, deep within the darkness, something pierced through—burning eyes of light bloomed, searing his core.
The eyes stared at him, not with malice, but with possessive desire. “You are my champion. My light. Come back to me.”
“I need only you.”
Deep in the mountains of rot and barren lands, Abaddon rested in his cave. The places he’d tried to nurture remained fragile. Despite what he changed and began to grow, none of it lasted—the rot and light saw to that. Corruption crept back like a wound that wouldn’t heal, reclaiming every inch of progress he made.
He’d experimented with leaving dark crystals in areas he’d cleansed, hoping their sustained power would hold the barriers he fought to create. But, just as Luan had learned with his light crystals, the effect was temporary. Without constant presence, without destroying corruption at its source, the taint always returned.
As his power waned during his long recovery, so did his control over the lands. But like a receding tide, it was a false calm before the wave that would follow—one that would engulf everything.
And he woke, the sea of unknown fading with the clarity of his sight, once more.
The dream clung to him like smoke. He wasn’t sure whose memories they were, but he felt… aversion… betrayal… light… no, something deeper.
Had he once held light? Had he once fought for the light and embraced it? The memories felt like his own, but that made no sense. The eyes of light in his dream seemed to weep as they faded, leaving him with more questions than answers.
“Are you well, my lord? Your shadows are writhing, and I sense uncertainty.” Ezra, his first disciple, spoke with evident concern.
Abaddon focused, calming his form into stability. “I’m fine. Merely wondering who I was.”
Ezra looked confused. “You’re our lord. Anything else is what you choose to be, nothing more.”
Abaddon’s shadowy form remained smooth, with only his eyes visible, still seeming indifferent to all, but Ezra meant much to him, and he wished him to know the comfort he brought.
“Thank you. I dreamed of a past I vaguely remember, and it troubled me. But let’s not dwell on it anymore.”
Ezra bowed. “We live to serve you, lord, but ask no more,” he said, returning to meditation, leaving his lord in peace.
Abaddon flexed his hand, noting how much richer and deeper his form had become. The constant drain on his essence had stopped, and power flowed back stronger. Many had died in his name, and their souls’ energy came to him.
He could expand again, likely maintain his influence more stably this time. But he didn’t want to reveal himself so easily just yet.
He’d been foolish before, trying to understand his divinity too quickly, rushing too far too fast. Now he used patience, letting his pieces move first. He could sense Vespera’s actions—she’d secured the slums, a pleasant surprise. And Tom was progressing with the knights, though the church remained an issue.
The thieves’ guild was another concern he’d been blind to before. His fractured memories had hidden many things, but clarity was returning.
He would wait for his servants to complete their tasks. The pieces were moving, and he had time. He didn’t want to sleep again—the dreams showed him things that confused him—but perhaps next time he would understand more.
Until then, he would plan and consolidate his growing power. The others had ruled these lands long enough. Soon, it would be his turn to reshape the world.24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfTphQa5IXq
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