novelbin Chapter 188: We Are At War
Chapter 188: We Are At War
Meanwhile, something was happening outside the province of Southmarch.
Back in the Sovereign Bastion where the three kings gathered for meetings, the midday sun filtered through the rare, translucent white stone of the cathedral mountain.
A pale, shadowless glow was cast over the massive circular table at its center, like it was a fellow guest in the grave meeting that had all kings gathered.
Standing in silent observation along the periphery of the grand chamber were the Heroes.
Aethelstan rested his hand heavily on his sword hilt, his jaw clenched tight. Nessa stood perfectly still, her eyes scanning the room, while Corisande watched the gathered monarchs with a quiet, gnawing anxiety in her chest.
At the center of the room sat the three rulers of the realm, separated by equal distances of polished marble.
"Forty-five Awakeners!" Lord Ulcraft’s voice rose. The noble had been talking for a while now, as he usually was. He slammed onto the table. "Forty-five of the world’s elite Vanguard, slaughtered in a matter of days!"
"These are not standard breaches," Lord Arescar, a noble from Eldermoor said. "The realm is bleeding, and we are sitting in a glowing room talking in circles."
Grigor downturned his lips. "Look at that, an elven version of my friend, Ulcraft. Listen, all of you. Panicking will not resurrect the dead.
His voice was smooth, hypnotic, and entirely unbothered by the theatrical rage of his peers. He steepled his long fingers together. "Screaming about the casualties does not change the situation. We are yet to understand what we are facing."
"I’ll tell you what we’re facing, human," a deep, booming voice rumbled from the third seat.
King Baldric of the Dwarves leaned forward, his thick, braided beard brushing against the table.
"The earth itself is rotting from these tears," Baldric growled, his blunt, practical nature leaving no room for political pleasantries. "It is undeniable that this is the cause of that strange expedition King Alfred had in my kingdom some months ago."
"You have no proof of that," Grigor said.
"The light was green, and these Demons in the Demon Gate Worlds are also green!!!" Baldric hollered.
"I was told the Demons are organized. They are much more intelligent than normal beasts." King Galadrien sighed, the graceful Elven King rubbing his temples. Despite his flawless posture, the deep lines of stress around his eyes were impossible to hide.
"King Baldric speaks the truth," Galadrien added. "The casualties are staggering. We sent platoons of high level Awakeners graduated from the top Academies into a newly formed Demon Gate, and only a handful returned, driven half-mad by what they saw. We are losing this war of attrition."
King Alfred sat motionless on his dark iron chair. His eyes burned with a cold, suppressed fury. "We have faced Gate surges before," the Human King said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "We will not be broken by this. We will muster a joint battalion. Humans, Elves, and Dwarves fighting shoulder to shoulder. We will drown these Demon Gates in our combined military might."
"A joint battalion will only provide the abyss with a larger feast, King Alfred."
The voice came from the shadows near the Elven delegation.
Master Omares stepped forward, his white robes dragging silently across the marble floor. His blank, unreadable eyes swept over the three Kings.
Everyone listened to what he had to say. He was the Great Scholar after all.
"You are applying conventional military tactics to an unconventional, apocalyptic threat," Omares stated flatly, stopping near the edge of the circular table. "It’s unlikely that these Demon Gate Worlds will fall to numbers. There is a tactic, a power that is required to take them down."
"And where do you suggest we find such power, Great Scholar?" King Alfred asked, his jaw locking. "Our Heroes are strong, but they are still growing. And we are short one member, as you well know."
Aethelstan bristled at the periphery, his golden eyes flashing with barely contained rage at the mention of the Hero’s Party’s fractured state.
"The Heroes might not be ready for a Demon Gate," Omares said dismissively, not even looking at Aethelstan. "But there is one who is. In fact, there is one who has already breached a Demon Gate World. And he cleared it entirely alone."
A dead silence fell over the Sovereign Bastion.
Baldric’s thick eyebrows shot up. Grigor tilted his head, a spark of intense curiosity breaking his soothing facade.
"Alone?" Galadrien breathed, leaning forward, his diplomatic poise slipping into genuine shock. "While our Awakeners are being massacred by the tens, you are telling me someone cleared a Demon Gate alone? Who?"
Omares held the King’s gaze. "The Outworlder. Percival Nightstar."
The Bastion erupted.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Ulcraft shrieked, vaulting out of his chair. "The murderer?! You suggest we ask a fugitive, a treasonous dog who butchered an Elven noble, for his aid?!"
From the periphery, the Heroes reacted. Vadrian and Stenya exchanged furious, disgusted looks. Nessa’s eyes widened slightly, a look of profound realization crossing her stoic features.
"Silence, Ulcraft," King Alfred commanded. The room quieted, but the Human King’s gaze was fixed on Omares, cold and unyielding. "You propose we seek the aid of the boy who spat on us when we summoned him. The peasant who refused to take up the mantle of the Hero, who humiliated this Crown, and who is currently hunted for the murder of Lady Liraeth of Arandor."
"I am only proposing survival," Omares countered, his voice devoid of any emotion. He was masterfully steering the room, manipulating the Kings into issuing a capture order rather than a kill order, perfectly aligning with his blackmail of Duke Ithalan.
"The Outworlder possesses a Mythic Class. He has demonstrated power that defies our understanding of the system. He survived a Demon Gate alone. If he holds the key to sealing these anomalies, we must use him."
Galadrien looked deeply conflicted. "Eristasia has mobilized the Wind Guard," the Elven King murmured, the stress evident in his melodic voice.
"She seeks his head. But... if what the Great Scholar says is true... Liraeth’s death is a profound tragedy, but the total annihilation of our realm is a far greater one. We might have to offer him a pardon in exchange for his Vanguard."
"Never!" King Alfred spat, his suppression finally cracking. He stood up, his dark iron chair scraping violently against the marble.
"I will not beg a peasant! I will not grovel to an Outworlder who rejected us! He is an outlaw, not a savior. If he is found, he will face the Eternal Court in chains."
Omares didn’t flinch at the King’s outrage. He simply stood there, his white eyes staring through the furious monarch like a sheet of thin glass.
"Pride is a luxury afforded only during peacetime, King Alfred," Omares said. "Peace is dead. We only reside in its fragment, blindfolded by the idea of it."
The Great Scholar walked closer, causing Alfred’s eyes to squint terribly as his shone brighter. "Take off the blindfold, Your Highness. We are at war."