AN:
If you were here when last Chapter was uploaded, please do go back and check. I’ve added a little bit more into that Chapter, which I’m going to assu you guys don’t wanna miss ;)
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Damien instantly recognised this.
Chysalis Serum!
Slowly grabbing the box out of the Cultist’s hands, Damien stared down at it with a serious expression.
Recently, he had noticed the appearances of these syringes on his usual outings; usually, taken by those in the outer and middle rings. He had even seen his siblings use them, every now and then.
At tis, he was rather curious about the syringes, even thinking about requesting one from his siblings. However, after so careful consideration, he chose otherwise, having found out that the nas of the manufacturers haven’t been made public yet.
But to think that...
’Could the Cult of Jesters be behind creating these?’ Damien thought before closing the lid. He then caused the box to vanish into his spatial storage.
"I shall use this with care. You’ve done a great job delivering this to ."
"No, no! I must thank you for accepting it; it’s truly an honour for soone from such a prestigious family like yours to use sothing made by us." The Cutlist stated, his words dripping with honey, which caused even Damien to wrinkle his face.
After a wave of his hand, Damien shooed everyone out of his room before moving towards his window; his hands placed behind his back.
He then whispered:
"I wonder what the situation is like over there..."
...
As that was happening, a eting was being held in a dimly lit hall made of grey stones.
With pillars standing on the left and right sides of the room, two individuals sat at the head of a long wooden table that was built into the middle of the room, surrounded by gargoyles of owls.
On one end was a broad-shouldered handso man with short dark steel grey hair and grey eyes. He wore an intimidating set of armour made out of a darker shade of steel; attached to his shoulder pauldron was a grey fur cape.
Although he looked no more than mid-twenties, he had the battle-hardened gaze of soone who had lived for several decades. He also looked like an older version of a certain Darkhound.
This was Orvane Von Darkhound, otherwise known as the Patriarch of the Darkhound family.
And sitting across from him was a dark-robed man, who - besides the owl mask he wore - appeared normal and unremarkable.
The robe he was wearing looked to be a plain, old robe that could’ve been found in an abandoned warehouse; nothing out of the ordinary.
He looked weak in the eyes of others, but not in Orvane’s.
At this mont in ti, no one but the two were in the hall. And yet, just their presence was capable of causing the air to feel stagnant and stuffy - even the environntal mana beca frozen still, as if they were fearful to move in the two’s presence.
These two were among the strongest Tier currently in this age.
Tier 5.
Orvane tapped his left finger against the back of his right tal gauntlet, his face calm and solemn as he stared at the masked man.
He then opened his mouth:
"At this mont in ti, every mber of my bloodline is being wiped out by the other Underworld Pillars. Currently, I have no doubt that they must think I’m in a precarious situation; just like we planned. How would you like to proceed, Coercion?"
The masked man, nad Coercion, chuckled lightly:
"We proceed according to our plan from our last eting. As we have predicted, those other Underworld Pillars must be trying to track you down; only being delayed because of ." Coercion paused for a mont, "Although, the abrupt addition of the Nightravens was a shocker, our plan will still proceed perfectly - albeit, possibly rushed."
Orvane nodded, not in the least bit bothered that his bloodline was being culled as they speak.
"The only real threat are the Roselles. The Nightravens may have numbers, but that’s all they have; if we take their Family Head out of the equation. The Combat Style they have is diocre. On the other hand, the Roselles have access to much better resources, stronger individuals, and also a Combat Style that isn’t so lacklustre."
"Oh? And what about the Crown of Roses? I’m sure you’re aware that both he and the Nightraven Patriarch are pursuing you as well, yes?"
The Darkhound Patriarch shook his head in a dismissive manner, "He is only a real threat if he cos here personally. Right now, that man is stationed at the frontlines, only able to pursue remotely using a machine."
He then folded his arms.
"Crown of Roses is no threat, if he isn’t here in person. After all, machines cannot truly match the strength that we mages have. But it would be an entirely different story if he was here, regardless of my Tier."
"Are you perhaps referring to the stand-off he had against the World’s Strongest rcenary Mage, Ryozan Eryndor?"
"I am. Even with my current strength, I would have to rely on luck to land a strike as major as the Crown of Roses had dealt." Orvane’s eyes flashed with acknowledgent and respect, "The Roselle Patriarch is truly a remarkable and powerful man."
Coercion continued to scrutinise Orvane’s cold expression, growing more and more interested in the man, despite their current predicant. He leaned forward, pushing his elbows further against the table.
"For soone who’s about to lose everything he had built, you’re rather calm."
"... In order for one to succeed, they would need to set off first." Orvane quietly muttered, loud enough for the masked-man to hear, "To accomplish my goal, I would need to first discard before I can move forward with ease. If I want to retrieve all that I had lost, I can always do so again - the second ti is always easier than the first, due to knowledge."
"I suppose... Does the idea of our offer interests you that much?"
The Darkhound Patriarch thought for a mont, silent. He then slowly raised his eyes to look up at the ceiling - his gaze blank and filled with emptiness; the light in his eyes almost extinguished, as though he only had embers left to fuel him.
He then muttered, "It does... Greatly." Before adding, "A better world... That was the offer, wasn’t it? At the precipice of this world’s end, your pope had prophecised a better world to co after; a world where all that died will co back and live happily with their loved ones at the cost of one individual..."
Coercion tilted his head slightly, placing his chin on the back of his fingers, as he asked:
"I’m still stunned by how different you are in person. These days, all I hear about your family is that you’re so battle-hungry individuals. Truly shocking how rumours work, don’t they?"
Orvane leaned back in his chair, sighing, having heard these rumours over a hundred tis.
"These rumours you speak of are not false in any way. In the past, battle was all I could ever ask for in life. Blood and war, life and death, joy and sadness... Back then, for people like us, the war was our heaven; our paradise." Orvane spoke, his voice filled with deep sentintality for the past.
The Darkhound Patriarch’s eyes, which still remained stuck to the ceiling, finally showcased a different emotion compared to his dead look.
Fatigue, sadness, weakness and vulnerability.
All of these negative emotions swirled inside his heart as the mory of a woman’s face appeared in his mind: his wife.
"For soone like , the thought of having a family never occurred to , a wife for that matter. I had always thought about spreading my bloodlines through concubines and prostitutes, and have them raise my children so I could use them as soldiers to conquer the rest of the Underworld." Orvane stated before pausing for a split second, "But just like the war, that idea abruptly ended when I t my wife."
A soft smile appeared on his face as faint joy flickered in his eyes.
"I tell you, she was the most beautiful woman I have t in my entire 80-year lifespan. She taught everything from love and human compassion to rcy and benevolence." Orvane’s smile brightened even more, "She loved dearly, and I loved her just as much... but of course..."
The smile he wore then curled down, the image of his youngest son’s face flashing in his mind. "Nothing joyous could last forever as per fate’s will. And when it tries to be, it would always try to be in another form; a replacent."
DUM! DUM! DUM!
The walls of the hall shook terribly, like the outside world was experiencing a catastrophic earthquake.
Coercion humd.
"Seems like they had arrived sooner than I thought..."
The masked man then watched as the Darkhound got up to his feet before unequipping his armour.
Next, he watched as—
SWISH!
—Orvane sliced off his arm.
A waterfall of blood exited from his wounds, but Orvane was not the least bit bothered by it. Instead, with just the will of his mana, he instantly regrew another arm - completely replacing his severed one.
"Here." Orvane said, tossing his severed arm towards the Cultist, "I’ve heard one of you is highly skilled in bioenginerring. Use my arm to grow another one of , when needed."
Coercion caught his arm with ease, not minding the dripping blood. "I’ll see to it, then. I assu that you’re planning to go confront the pursuers?"
Orvane nodded, his gaze turning resolute.
"Your words from our last eting had convinced greatly. Thus, I believe in your cause. If my actions today could set up the creation of a better world in the future, a world of eternal life and peace, then so be it."
Afterwards, he turned around and left for the exit, leaving the silent Cultist to go face the other Underworld Pillars.
And when he left the room...
"Kehahaha..."
The Cultist began to laugh.
Setting down the arm on the table, the Cultist leaned back, clutching his stomach and caressing his mask as he whispered:
"What a fool..."
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