Chapter 214: Chapter 207: The thoughts of the many
[Aethel]
[The Grand Colosseum]
The Grand Colosseum roared with fervor as all watched the display.
The festival had reached a fever pitch, and yet, above the chaos, seated within an extravagant, elevated balcony reserved for only the most esteed figures, three n watched in silence. Their vantage point afforded them the best view.
Percival sat with his hands elegantly folded, his gray eyes bore into the largest Illusora screen, analyzing every movent, every explosion, every desperate clash. A thoughtful hum left his lips before he finally spoke.
"Mikoto Yukio is quite powerful. More so than I even imagined," he mused, tapping a slender finger against his chin. "To contend with three Inheritors using only basic enhancent magic... most would consider that suicidal."
There was no shock in his voice. Just recognition. His gaze sharpened ever so slightly, his thoughts drifting inward.
("No wonder you chose him, old friend.")
A deep, amused chuckle rumbled from beside him, breaking the solemnity of his thoughts.
Leaning against the armrest of his seat, his cheek lazily propped upon a gloved fist, Emperor Aerious of Vel’ryr watched the battle unfold with thinly veiled fascination.
"A monster indeed," he echoed smoothly. His gaze flicked toward Thordan, his smirk widening. "Tell , should I start growing fearful of Galadriel? First, you have a spawn of Octavia, and now a monstrous boy who swats away Inheritors as if they were re gnats. It hardly seems fair, does it not?"
King Thordan leaned forward, his piercing eyes never leaving the screen. He had little patience for the Emperor’s theatrics. His focus was solely on the battlefield.
"If it’s fairness you seek, perhaps your concerns would be better directed at Verdantis," Thordan said, his deep voice tinged with mild irritation. He barely spared Aerious a glance before turning his gaze to Percival. "Not only do they have the Inheritors of the Goddess of the Depths and sea and the Songstress Goddess, but now they’ve an additional three more in their ranks. That puts their military might leagues ahead of both our nations."
The tension in the air sharpened, Percival, however, remained utterly unbothered. He rely tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.
"Indeed," Aerious humd, his fingers drumming against the armrest. "With such an overwhelming advantage, one might think Verdantis has little to fear from war. But I must ask, Archbishop—does your nation truly have no ambitions beyond its borders? There are many who would see such power and..." He exhaled, tilting his head. "Interpret it differently."
A fleeting smile ghosted across Percival’s lips—so faint, it was almost as if it had never been there at all.
"Fear is an unnecessary thing," he said smoothly. "Verdantis has no interest in conquest, nor do we wish to overrun weaker nations."
Then he turned his gaze to Aerious, his gray eyes betraying nothing—no hostility, no amusent. Just neutrality.
"That," he added, "is more Vel’ryr’s style, no?"
For a split second—just a single fraction of a heartbeat—Aerious’ smirk twitched. It was an almost imperceptible reaction, but Percival caught it.
A chink in the Emperor’s otherwise impenetrable composure.
Thordan, uninterested in their verbal sparring, finally spoke. "And what of Vel’ryr?" he asked, as he turned his burning gaze toward Aerious. "First, there are whispers of you conspiring with demons, and now these beings calling themselves ’Ancestors’ have appeared." His fingers tightened over the armrest, his knuckles white. "Two of them attacked Galadriel’s capital. Should I consider this an act of war?"
Aerious rely shrugged. A dismissive, almost indifferent motion.
"I have no control over the Ancestors," he said lightly, almost bored. "And as for evening the playing field... well, Galadriel and Verdantis have their monsters, do they not? It would be most unfair if Vel’ryr did not have its own."
Percival, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. "You speak as if these Ancestors are not a threat to you as well. Their re existence is a danger to all." His voice was mild, but there was a distinct edge behind his words. "It is said that the strongest of them once fought both the Goddess Octavia and God Vagnir to a standstill. An entity like that... well." His lips curled faintly. "It does make one wonder what your ’trump card’ is, Emperor."
A chuckle, Aerious slowly lifted a hand and gestured toward the screen. "My trump card? Well despite what you may think it’s not my son." His smile widened. "Why, he’s already there."
As if on cue, the Illusora screen flickered, and suddenly, General Grimm’s ominous form dominated the display.
Percival’s expression remained neutral. "Ah. General Grimm. The Reaper of War. Even with the combined forces of entire nations against him, he reigns supre."
Thordan tensed. His eyes locked onto Astrid’s form.
("Soone stronger than Selwyn?")
A chilling thought.
Aerious chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "And is that not your crown princess fighting him? I do hope he takes it easy. After all, she still has a wedding to attend."
The rulers continued watching as the battlefield unfolded.
"Hm, it does not seem as though he aims to kill the princess nor the other woman—General Mai, correct? He has been prioritizing avoidance rather than offense, and..." He paused, tilting his head ever so slightly as if listening to sothing beyond mortal perception. "I can feel no hostility from him."
He continued watching Grimm lazily avoid attacks while his lieutenant ran around like a dumbass.
Aerious arched a brow, turning his gaze from the battle toward the Archbishop. "Feel no hostility, eh?" His voice carried a trace of amusent, but his words dripped with skepticism. "How exactly would you be able to tell? He is on an entirely different battlefield, an entirely different world even."
A smile ghosted Percival’s lips, his fingers idly tapping against his armrest. "rely my intuition," he admitted. "However, I can say this much—he does not seem motivated to battle."
Aerious exhaled, his expression unreadable for a long mont before he sighed, rolling his shoulders lazily. "A fault of his," he mused, though his tone lacked true disappointnt. Instead, it was a re observation—an acknowledgnt of an imperfection in an otherwise flawless weapon. His eyes flickered as he leaned forward, fingers interlaced before him. "But despite that, I have every confidence that Vel’ryr shall erge victorious."
His words carried absolute certainty, as though he were not rely speaking of probability but foretelling an inevitable fate.
Then, his gaze turned back to the screen, where Grimm’s form lood. "Though, I must admit..." His fingers drumd against the polished wood of the table between them. "I am most curious to see how this ’monster’ of mine fares against the other two."
The tension in the room thickened.
Thordan’s fingers curled against the armrest of his seat. His mind was already racing, already analyzing the possible implications of Grimm’s presence. A man whose very na was spoken with dread, a figure who had led Vel’ryr’s legions to crush smaller nations without hesitation or rcy. If a man like that stood at Aerious’ command—and was stronger than Selwyn—then Vel’ryr’s military might was far more terrifying than they had previously accounted for.
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[???]
The planet wept beneath its impending demise. The air trembled, saturated with chaotic mana, the destruction reverberating across the scorched, fractured wasteland. The ground quaked, split apart, widening fissures.
The world was dying.
Aegraxes stood upon a jagged cliffside, his boots firmly planted on a slab of rock that barely held together against the planet’s trembling protests. His eyes remained fixed upon the devastation unfolding in the distance.
This was not the first ti he had witnessed such a sight.
("The Great War,") he mused in silence, a flicker of sothing unreadable flashing in his gaze.
That conflict had been much the sa—divine forces clashing with unfathomable monstrosities, rending the heavens asunder, obliterating all in their wake. A cycle of carnage, a battle waged not only between Gods and dragons but against all. The realm had collapsed under their ceaseless war, shattered into countless fragnts, reduced to nothing more than cosmic debris floating in the abyss, only to beco this forsaken realm.
And now, history threatened to repeat itself.
"Atheros was such a wonderful place," he thought to himself, recalling the once-thriving world he stood on before its demise. The mory was brief, fleeting, and ultimately irrelevant. Nostalgia was a weakness. The present demanded his attention.
Then, from behind him—
A shift in the air.
Aegraxes did not move. He did not flinch. He rely let out a quiet exhale, eyes half-lidded as he recognized the unmistakable voice that followed.
"Reminiscing, are we?~??"
The voice was a singsong tease that dripped with amusent. The mont it reached his ears, the world itself seed to sway, as though reality bent and twisted under the weight of its owner’s presence.
Without so much as a glance, Aegraxes knew who it was.
Verence.
The telltale rhythm of skipping footsteps echoed against the brittle earth as she approached, the playful bounce in her gait betraying not a single ounce of tension despite the apocalyptic scenery surrounding them. The essence of calamity lood overhead, yet she moved as though she were rely prancing through a field of flowers.
The contrast was sickeningly absurd.
Aegraxes frowned but said nothing at first, allowing the jester to take her place at his side. His peripheral vision caught a flash of vibrant color—her absurdly styled pink hair, streaked with wild highlights of various hues, bouncing with each exaggerated motion.
Her presence was chaos incarnate.
"Jester." Aegraxes greeted her with nothing more than a curt acknowledgent.
Verence, undeterred, folded her arms behind her back and tilted her head with a whimsical smile. "Is it not truly beautiful???" she cooed, eyes flickering with an unnatural light as she took in the ruinous landscape before them. "This era truly holds so many powerful individuals?? So much carnage, so much despair, so much untad potential~!??"
Aegraxes finally turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. "What of it?"
The question was simple, but there was an edge to it—one that made Verence’s grin widen.
"Ohhh, nothing in particular~??" she humd, tapping her painted chin with a gloved finger. "I rely find it amusing, watching your little sches unfold~?? The calamities, the preparations, all so thodical, so careful... and yet, how sure are you that everything will go as planned?~??"
Aegraxes narrowed his eyes. "My plans are already underway."
Verence let out a giggle, spinning on her heels before stopping abruptly, her gaze locking onto him. "Oho?~?? That confident, are we?"
"There is no confidence," Aegraxes corrected, his arms folding over his chest. "Only inevitability."
Verence clapped her hands together, as if delighted. "My, my, such conviction!??" Then, her eyes glead. "But you may suffer a loss, no? Losing the festival, mm???"
"That is an anticipated outco." Aegraxes’s tone did not waver. "Even with the Ancestors and Defier, at best, this would have ended in a stalemate. Winning the festival was never my true goal."
"Ohhh?~??" Verence’s curiosity deepened, a smirk playing on her lips.
Aegraxes did not hesitate to elaborate.
"This festival serves another purpose," he stated. "An accumulation of mana."
A pause. Then—
Verence’s laughter rang through the air, "Ahhh, so that’s it!??" she twirled, arms outstretched, before suddenly halting, a dangerous glint in her yellow eyes. "You’re using this entire festival to harvest mana for the ritual to sacrifice Nihil, aren’t you???"
Aegraxes did not confirm nor deny it. Instead, he glanced upward—to that which only he could perceive.
In the skies above, unseen by most, residual mana from the countless battles waged across the world and beyond swirled together, coalescing into a vast, growing orb. A limitless reservoir of energy, siphoned from those of imasurable strength, all feeding into his grand design.
His expression remained unreadable.
"Mikoto has been particularly instruntal in feeding this process," he mused. "Though his Death shall have to-."
That was when it happened.
The shift, the change.
The suffocating presence.
Aegraxes entire body tensed—not out of fear, but in acknowledgent of the overwhelming, inescapable force that suddenly flooded the space around them. A pressure that could not be ignored.
And it ca from her.
"Now, now, Aegraxes~" Verence sang, her voice sickly sweet, yet laced with sothing darker. "Don’t go saying anything that might an your Death~??"
Silence.
Then—Aegraxes let out a quiet chuckle.
"Oh? I did not think you fancied the boy that much." His eyes t hers. "I suppose given his soul, many once favored who he used to be."
Verence’s expression shifted.
The playfulness did not leave her, but the intensity in her gaze beca sothing far more.
"I care not for who he once was~??" she declared, her tone devoid of doubt, her conviction misplaced. "For I love Mikoto Yukio—the boy who stood untouched by the blessing of her!~??"
Aegraxes observed her for a mont, before exhaling quietly.
("What a dangerous woman.")
Indeed, she was. And that made this ga all the more precarious.
And all the more interesting.
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[???]
[Location: ???]
The distant blur of destruction resounded: strength abusing the lands, spells crackling, and the earth quaking beneath the weight of conflict. And yet, despite the devastation surrounding them, neither of them flinched.
For Guinevere and Lyra, such destruction had long since beco familiar.
Guinevere stood at the edge of the ruined overlook, her lilac eyes gazing out across the ravaged expanse with a contemplative expression.
She inhaled slowly before murmuring:
"My, what a rowdy bunch. Tis a great pity that magic, sothing once so wondrous, has been reduced to naught but a tool for devastation." Her words hung in the air.
Beside her, Lyra stood silent, arms crossed, her long raven hair billowing gently in the breeze.
Guinevere glanced sideways at her before adding with a wry smirk:
"The festival is, without a doubt, the most destructive one yet."
Lyra exhaled sharply through her nose, a ghost of amusent flickering across her dark-painted lips.
"That would be putting it lightly," she mused, shaking her head. The movent caused her flowing black locks to fall over her shoulder.
A distant explosion illuminated the sky, yet neither woman looked towards it. Their focus was elsewhere—on sothing, or rather, soone more important.
Lyra tilted her head slightly. "How is Mikoto?"
Guinevere answered, a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "He’s currently locked in combat with three Inheritors, though his victory is all but assured. And despite his current state, he’s still going through with the plan. Hm, I may have underestimated him after all."
She let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head.
"I assud the ’phase’ would cloud his judgnt, make him reckless. I was fully prepared for an alternative plan." Her fingers brushed against the fabric of her sleeve absentmindedly. "Seems I was mistaken."
Lyra’s lips curled into an almost proud smile, sothing rare for her.
"Seems even the ’phase’ was not enough to dull his need to help," she mused, her voice softer now. She exhaled lightly, as if so weight had montarily lifted from her shoulders. "That boy..." Her eyes softened, and for a fleeting second, warmth shone through her otherwise detached expression. "He really is extraordinary."
Guinevere’s smirk widened ever so slightly.
"You have taken quite a liking to him," she observed, watching Lyra’s expression with open curiosity.
Lyra, for her part, did not deny it. Instead, she simply let out a breath. "I suppose I have."
Guinevere studied her for a long mont before humming thoughtfully. "Does he remind you of Mother that much?"
Lyra didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned her gaze towards the battlefield, watching the distant flickers of magic dance through the sky.
Then, at last, she spoke.
"I suppose you could say that," she admitted. "Brash. Bratty. Stubborn beyond belief. And just... too much to handle at tis."
Guinevere raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. "Bratty?"
Lyra chuckled, the sound light and reminiscent of a ti long past.
"Oh, absolutely. More trouble than he’s worth, really. But then again..." She turned to glance at Guinevere, amusent dancing in her gaze. "Much like yourself."
Guinevere’s breath hitched. "I beg your pardon?"
Lyra’s smirk widened.
"You were a rowdy child, Guinevere."
Guinevere coughed lightly into her hand, trying—and failing—to maintain her usual composed deanor.
"I-I would not say I was that rowdy."
Lyra lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"
The older woman chuckled, shaking her head in mock exasperation. "Honestly, you wandered so much that you nearly gave an ancient being like
a heart attack on far too many occasions."
Her voice was teasing, but beneath it, there was sothing warm. A fondness that she rarely let show.
"Suppose the world was just too enticing for you, hm?"
Guinevere’s lips pressed together in a thin line.
"Well..." she muttered, almost sheepish. "Magic filled every corner of the world. How could I not have wandered sowhat?"
For once, the ever-composed court mage seed almost flustered. Lyra noticed imdiately and let out an amused hum.
"Excuses, excuses, Guinevere."
Guinevere let out a slow sigh.
"Perhaps... but magic was different for ."
She lifted a hand, palm facing upward, and let a small wisp of violet mana swirl into existence, flickering.
"Most see it as a re tool. I never could."
Her gaze lifted towards the sky, where darkened clouds swirled endlessly.
"In a way... it made
feel closer to her."
Lyra didn’t need to ask who she ant.
She spoke the na, gently. "Alyssia."
A silence stretched between them.
Then, Lyra exhaled.
"She was not ant to perish that day." There was no hesitation in her words. No doubt. Just the bitter truth. "I would give my very life to have her stand here once more." A small chuckle, tinged with sadness. "Though I’m quite sure she’d admonish
for such idiocy."
Guinevere let out a breath, a small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.
" as well." Then, she smirked. "And if you ever did sothing so foolish, rest assured—I would drag your soul back just to talk your ear off about how ridiculous you were."
Lyra chuckled. Then, her red eyes burned with sothing resolute. She reached out, her hand firm yet gentle as it rested over Guinevere’s.
"Then let us save your mother’s soul." Her grip tightened ever so slightly. "Together, with Mikoto."
Guinevere felt like they could.
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