As a gang of swindlers and killers, the cultists were naturally despised by the civilized world.
Even the Northern Kingdom often dismissed as a land of barbarians harbored a deep hatred for these chaos-sowing murderers. If not for the looming threat of the Rose War spreading to their borders, the Northern Kingdom would've long since crushed these heretical forces and wiped them from existence. Their current survival was owed not to strength, but to the world's temporary distraction.
Now, with the war drawing to a close, the Northern Kingdom would soon have its hands free to deal with them. Their days were numbered.
It was precisely because of this looming end that the high priest of the cult had grown desperate. Hoping to gather power before the hammer fell and perhaps secure a chance to flee and reinvent himself, he ordered his followers to carry out widespread slaughters and sacrificial rituals attempting to break through to the Fourth Circle.
But sacrifices alone could only push one to the Third Circle. Ascending beyond that through sheer bloodshed was little more than a delusion.
In truth, the high priest's commands were nothing but a madman's last frenzy before the fall.
In Roland's past life, this desperation had escalated even further ending with the high priest abducting a moon elf, thus provoking the entire moon elf race. That act had changed the course of the main story. It wasn't the orcish forces of the Northern Kingdom that hunted him down, but players and a cadre of elven hunters who eventually cornered and killed him.
But that was the past.
In this world already twisted and reshaped by Roland's interference the high priest wouldn't live long enough to make such a reckless move. Roland intended to claim his head as an offering to the parents he had lost in this life.
Snow flew in swirling flurries behind two snow land striders as Roland and Hela arrived, weary and wind-chapped, at the site of the next altar.
Just as Hela began tying down the striders and preparing her weapons and gear, Roland suddenly spoke.
"Bring everything with you."
Hela turned, puzzled. She watched as Roland pulled out every scroll he had prepared, stuffing them into his robes with deliberate care.
"The high priest isn't a fool," he explained calmly. "We've already destroyed more than half of his altars. Even if he's slow to react, he must have noticed by now."
"He's probably preparing an ambush. From here on, we go in fully armed every time."
Hela didn't argue. She simply nodded and retrieved the items Roland had given her spell scrolls and alchemical potions, all of them crafted by Roland himself.
Once they'd finished their preparations, the two exchanged a glance and, with quiet precision and familiar ease, made their way up the snow-covered mountain through a hidden passage.
Unlike the previous altar, which had been deserted and quiet, this one was bustling with activity.
Located near a small town, the altar benefitted from steady logistical support. It could feed more people, arm more cultists, and maintain stronger defenses unlike the previous one, which had barely fifty people holding it together.
Even within the hidden tunnel, they encountered over a dozen sentries and multiple patrols.
A sharp whisper of magic broke the silence.
With a flick of Roland's hand, several ice lances shot out, piercing through the patrol ahead with deadly precision. Each spike slipped cleanly through gaps in armor, pinning their corpses to the mountain wall.
Roland stepped over the bodies, his face unreadable as he crouched to examine them.
Their well-fed physiques and light armor made his expression darken.
"These aren't your average grunts," he said grimly. "If they've got the resources to equip light armor like this… they're elite. The high priest's personal guard."
In the barren lands of the Northern Kingdom, not starving was an achievement in itself. But these men were robust and well-equipped. It was clear they were handpicked and trained directly under the high priest.
Still, for all his paranoia, the high priest was stingy to the end not a single divine blessing was placed on them.
Roland reached out and gripped one of the breastplates. With a casual twist, the metal cracked and broke free.
He tossed the jagged fragment aside with a scoff.
"Garbage quality. Not worth switching out. Let's keep moving."
Hela poked at the corpses with her sword, then silently sheathed it and nodded.
From Roland's past experience running this dungeon countless times, he knew that once half of the altars were destroyed, the high priest would begin to randomly spawn in one of the remaining sites. The more heavily manned the altar, the higher the spawn probability.
The appearance of the personal guard here was a clear sign: this was where the high priest waited.
Roland was no stranger to combat, and after numerous battles and focused training, Hela's skills had risen sharply as well.
Together, they slaughtered every sentry, patrol, and wandering cultist they encountered leaving no time for alarms or cries. Each kill was swift, silent, and efficient.
The path of blood they carved brought them swiftly to the mountain stronghold that housed the altar.
Inside a hidden chamber within the fortress, Roland carefully lifted a section of flooring that concealed a secret tunnel. As a sliver of light revealed a narrow passage, he immediately cast a scanning spell.
Confirming there was no one above, he pushed open the floor panel and climbed into the room. Then, he turned and reached down, gripping Hela's hand and pulling her up after him.
As he quietly sealed the floor again, he pulled a scroll from his robes and tossed it into the tunnel below before standing up.
Roland gave Hela a series of hand signals. She nodded and moved silently to the doorway.
Roland crouched beside her, peering through the gap beneath the door. Another scan confirmed three life signs outside.
He stood and held up three fingers.
Then, he pointed one toward the door indicating that a guard stood just on the other side. Hela responded with a nod, immediately understanding.
Roland placed his palm against the door and locked eyes with her. Once she gave a subtle signal of readiness, he pushed the door open.
The cultists outside never saw it coming.
They'd assumed someone of authority was returning from the tunnel. Straightening up, they bowed toward the door in a show of submission.
It was the last thing they ever did.
The moment they lowered their heads, a spike of ice skewered the farthest guard through the throat, pinning him to the wall. Simultaneously, Roland and Hela stepped forward, blades flashing, and cut down the remaining two without hesitation.