Chapter 281: Chapter 273: A threat?
[Realm: ??lfheimr]
[Location: Heart Kingdom Outskirts]
[Virelheim Mountain Village]
For once, the ever-present overcast skies above the village had finally cleared, the usual thick, suffocating clouds peeling away to reveal the vast night sky.
The streets were empty now, abandoned to the night. The higher platforms, usually alive had fallen utterly silent. Not even the creaking of doors had accompanied him.
With his mind restless, Mikoto found no solace in the idea of sleep. His body was still, but his thoughts refused to quiet. So, he wandered—tracing the quiet streets of the ground floor of the village. He passed beneath the long, sloping roofs of hos, he drifted past closed shops with faded signs and darkened windows, his ruby-red eyes never once lingering long enough to care. There was nothing here worth his ti.
Earlier, he had parted ways with Gretel and the children. The day had bled away after that, swallowed by the monotonous flipping of pages in the village’s modest collection of books. Pages upon pages. Stories, legends, fragnts. Little of it useful. Even less of it new.
"Tch." Mikoto’s quiet scoff slipped from his lips as he dragged his fingers through the loose, wild strands of his hair. "Why the hell did I waste my ti with a bunch of snot-nosed brats?"
Shaking his head, Mikoto turned his gaze upward, his eyes narrowing slightly in irritation. Sooner or later, he’d have to leave this place. The only thing that tethered him to this village was necessity—caution in a foreign universe. To charge forward recklessly without preparation would be suicide. Even he wasn’t foolish enough to tempt Death in such a way.
But staying here? Lingering here? It wasn’t going to bring him answers.
("Best I review what I do know then.")
Without warning, Mikoto bent his knees, a slight flex of his legs before an explosion of force rocketed him upwards. His form soared toward the higher platforms. He landed gracefully upon the wooden walkway of the second level, the softest of thuds beneath his boots as his montum dissipated. He barely needed to catch himself, his fra settling easily near the wooden rail that overlooked the streets below.
The spot was secluded enough. And should anyone approach, he’d sense them long before they could get near.
With a snap of his slender fingers, a faint burst of light flickered to life before him. Gradually, nine translucent orbs materialized in the air, softly glowing as they arranged themselves in a perfect circle, each no larger than a child’s toy ball.
("Lyra ntioned there are nine universes. Nine interconnected with a tenth that lies outside their scope.")
Mikoto humd to himself, his sharp gaze following the familiar pattern. At his thought translucent tubes began to extend from each orb, interlacing the spheres with thin threads of light.
("Traversing one universe to the next is possible through Arcane Ascendance.")
His fingers tightened slightly at the mory—the sensation from the first ti he transford. It had been more than just a surge of raw power. More than a re physical or magical amplification. Sothing else had been there.
("It wasn’t just the increase in strength. It was like...")
His eyes sharpened.
("I felt connected to sothing. Sothing that wasn’t bound to the sa rules as the rest of well... everything")
It was access—a gateway to powers that eclipsed everything else in his arsenal.
("Magic that shouldn’t exist in any typical system...")
He’d need to investigate it more deeply later. For now, his attention returned to the orbs.
("There are wards. Barriers locking down these tubes. It’s not that travel is impossible—it’s that sothing sealed the paths between these universes. Sothing’s stopping anyone from punching through the walls.")
His fingertip hovered over one of the glowing threads.
("To travel between them, you’d need to breach the fabric of the universe.")
That kind of damage would normally leave traces, distortions. But when he arrived here, there were no lingering effects. No tearing or recoil.
("I must’ve been transported to the nearest adjacent universe. The pathways are still tight here. No lingering tears.")
With another snap of his fingers, letters began to form above two of the orbs, labeling them: Universe A and ??lfheimr.
("So where was I originally from?")
His gaze trailed over the other orbs. Another snap, and a sharp red X marked a third orb.
("Octavia ntioned she hid my incarnated sides to keep
out of God’s reach. Those ’Keeper’ guys—they monitor these nine universes. Which ans that tenth universe, the one outside their jurisdiction, must be under God’s direct rule.")
His expression darkened.
("Could that be where Mom and the others are?")
It made sense. Painfully so. But it also ant the obstacles would be colossal.
("If I could just stay in Arcane Ascendance longer, I could make a more stable way to cross universes.")
But his biology—the limits of his fragile, still-partially-human body—was holding him back.
("Still odd though. I’m partially Angel. Partially God. But outside of so boosted strength and magic, I’m basically a normal human. Still gotta sleep, eat, and... well, everything else.")
His lips curled in distaste.
("Probably changes as the ’phase’ takes over more of . Ugh. What a pain.")
With a final, tired snap of his fingers, the glowing orbs fizzled out, dissolving into the night air as though they were never there.
"Oh, right," he muttered aloud, more to himself than anyone else, "there’s those calamities too. Those dragons probably tie into all this."
His foot tapped idly against the wooden beam beneath him.
There was so much to do.
So little ti to do it.
But if the worst ca to pass... he already knew what he’d have to do. That thought drifted quietly through his mind, faint and bitter, as suddenly—a sharp, electric sting pierced through his skull.
"—Tch! What the—"
His hand shot up to his temple, clutching his head as static buzzed violently in his ears. The pain wasn’t excruciating, but it was sharp enough to stop him cold.
["Pr... ch... stand... re..."]
The fragnted, broken voice spilled into his mind, warbled and disjointed, crackling like an old, half-tuned radio. Each syllable tangled itself into the next, impossible to decipher, the words slamming into his consciousness as one long, indecipherable string.
Mikoto gritted his teeth. ("What the hell is this? Soone’s trying to connect? Through my mana?")
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus—trying to make sense of the garbled transmission—but the connection snapped away just as suddenly as it had appeared, the stinging sensation vanishing without a trace.
"...Tch."
His delicate fingers slowly lowered from his temple as he stared out into the darkness, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.
("What the hell was that...?")
It was gone now, as though it had never been there.
But his train of thought would not be permitted to continue.
Mikoto’s eyes abruptly flicked to the side, his senses sharpening as his body subtly tensed, though his outward appearance remained collected.
"I know you’re there," Mikoto called out. "Might as well co out already."
For a few monts, only silence answered him. The wind gently rustled the wooden beams overhead. A faint creak from the old platforms. Nothing more.
Then footsteps. The sound of boots scraping lightly against the wooden planks filled the quiet space as a figure slowly erged from the shadows tucked between two structures.
A man stepped into the faint glow of the moonlight—a man whose age was carved deep into his features: weathered skin, creases around his eyes, silver streaks tangled into hair that once must have been thick and strong. His face, though aged, held a firmness—an intensity that age had not eroded. And though his body bore the stiffness of the years, it remained broad, built like soone who had once spent their life in survival.
"Tch, I must be getting sloppy in my old age," the man muttered, his voice rough. There was no false humility in it. Just a simple, honest recognition of being caught.
Mikoto’s brow twitched, faintly annoyed that the old man had managed to get so close without him noticing sooner. He chalked part of that to the brief distraction—the voice that had tried to connect with him monts ago had thrown his rhythm off.
Still, he wasn’t fond of being snuck up on.
"Is stalking people a regular pasti for you, old man?" Mikoto scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned his fra ever so slightly into one hip.
The man didn’t answer imdiately. His weathered gaze simply regarded Mikoto.
"I was a hunter, once upon a ti," the man said eventually, almost as if reciting an old mory rather than speaking directly to Mikoto. "Tracking, waiting, stalking—that was part of the job, I suppose. Though my prey was always beasts. Never people. Except... once."
Mikoto’s gaze narrowed, but he didn’t bite at the vague bait.
The man rolled his shoulder with a faint grunt. "Na’s Gerard. Chief of this village."
Mikoto arched a brow, brushing his thumb idly across his bottom lip in a gesture of boredom more than thought. "And? You didn’t answer my question. What brings the village chief to go creeping around? Or is stalking people just a hobby you picked up along with knitting and back pain?"
Gerard’s lips tugged faintly into sothing close to a smirk but didn’t quite get there. His voice remained gruff.
"It’s my responsibility to ensure this village stays safe," he said simply. "And you... you’ve beco the talk of the village, despite being here for barely a mont. Even Gretel seems to think you’re worth watching." His arms crossed firmly over his broad chest. "She told
you’re a Nil. That little light show you put on earlier? It attested to that much."
Mikoto clicked his tongue, his red eyes narrowing slightly. ("He was watching
that long? ... I should’ve sensed him sooner.")
The annoyance prickled under his skin but didn’t crack his expression. He rely shrugged.
"Get to the point already, geezer."
Gerard’s gaze didn’t waver.
"I need to see for myself if you’re a threat." The words were plain and direct. "I’ve heard what colors you wore when you first arrived." Gerard’s voice tightened ever so slightly. "The color of the Queen."
Mikoto’s brow ticked up again.
"Is that all?" he scoffed, his voice dry. "You see soone walk in wearing the wrong color, and suddenly they’re danger?" He clicked his tongue again, more out of habit than irritation. ("Suppose I should redesign the color sche on my armor if I want to avoid these stupid conversations in the future.") His gaze flicked back to Gerard with sharpness. "But relax, old man. I’m not a threat. I’ve got no interest in your dusty little village."
Gerard’s stare didn’t soften. His arms remained crossed.
"You say that," the chief rumbled, "but those eyes of yours... they tell a different story."
"Ah?" Mikoto tilted his head slightly, as if Gerard had suddenly spoken a foreign language. His expression was flat, almost daring him to elaborate.
"I’ve seen your kind before, boy," Gerard said. "I’ve crossed paths with n, won, and warriors who carried that look in their eyes. That unfathomable kind of hate. Deep and boiling. The kind you don’t always act on, but the kind that never leaves you. That’s the most dangerous hate there is."
Mikoto stared at him for a long, quiet mont.
"Sure you’re not just getting senile?"
"Hmph." Gerard huffed, shaking his head with a grunt as though Mikoto’s jab was no more than a passing breeze. "A brat, huh? You don’t even know what’s carved into your own face."
He turned away, the creak of his boots marking his steps as he began to retreat into the quiet streets.
"Well then, boy," he called over his shoulder, his voice tinged with sothing that could’ve been respect or simple curiosity, "I’ll be seeing you around."
Mikoto watched him go, his gaze following the old man’s retreating figure until it lted back into the shadows from which it had co.
("Brat, huh?")
His hand lingered briefly at his chin, brushing against the soft curve of his cheek.
("Guess I’m not hiding it as well as I thought.")
Reviews
All reviews (0)