MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 739: Reconvene

Chapter 739: Reconvene

As for the First Supre Monarch, he felt the subtle glances of the other Supre Monarchs who silently wondered how he would react to the sudden rise in power of the Fifth, Eighth, and Ninth Supre Monarchs. Although all of them had their eyes closed, beings on their level did not truly need to rely on physical sight to observe. Perception for them was not bound by ordinary ans; awareness flowed through the dinsion like a quiet undercurrent, and every shift in intent or gaze carried aning.

The First Supre Monarch was not bothered by their curiosity. He had already anticipated such change and had witnessed a glimpse of their power growth during their clashes with other Supre Monarchs not too long ago. However, what he saw during the mission they had just returned from made their previous displays look like re warm-ups, nothing but childish swings before the true strike.

Power was everything. To him, power was not just strength, it was the word, the law, the divine decree. It dictated everything: respect, hierarchy, authority, and the right to act without consequence. What opinion could he possibly have if he was weaker? In a world where only strength defined truth, having a stance without the power to enforce it was aningless.

Unlike the others, whose thoughts spiraled into speculation, the First Supre Monarch remained utterly still in both body and mind. He embraced calmness not as an act but as his nature, to him, this was simply the natural order, neither good nor bad, neither fortunate nor unfortunate. Things were as they were. Nothing more, nothing less.

He sat in flawless composure, a picture of disciplined serenity. His heart rate was steady, unhurried, as if untouched by battle or tension. His mind felt like a still lake, unshaken and clear, not a single ripple marring its surface. He did not resist the healing; he simply allowed the Saintess of the World to do what she did best.

For the first ti in a long while, the haze that constantly obscured his form receded, revealing his complete appearance. He sat suspended in mid-air with effortless grace, as though space itself willingly held him there, eager to serve rather than contain him. His hair was a radiant golden, short and arranged with precise perfection, resting on his head like a rightful crown. Within his eye sockets were golden ringed pupils, eyes that seed as though they could only gaze into the future and never the present, always looking past what others could comprehend.

From his forehead, two long horns spiraled upward, stretching toward the unseen heavens. Each horn bore intricate sigil-like markings that pulsed faintly with ancient significance, as though carved not by hand but by an undeniable force of existence. His face was sharply defined and unnaturally fair, as if he had never known hardship or the concept of suffering. His body was adorned in draconic scales, faintly visible beneath his attire, glimring softly. His nails extended just slightly, reflecting a predatory elegance. Even while sitting in stillness, he radiated quiet authority, not by intimidation but by presence alone.

Beside him on the ground stood a massive spear, its shaft buried deep into the earth. It humd faintly, almost eager, as though still relishing the battle it had tasted monts ago. The blood of countless demons it had reaped still lingered faintly along its edge, though not a single stain dared to remain visible upon it.

Without warning, the First Supre Monarch’s eyes opened slowly, the golden rings within shifting to et the direction of Irene, the Saintess of the World. He did not speak. He did not need to. But he could feel it, the change. His healing rate had shifted, becoming far swifter than usual. This pace was sothing Irene only achieved when she focused solely on him and no one else.

And yet, at this very mont, she was healing eight Supre Monarchs at the sa ti, and still producing this result.

’She improved too,’ he concluded inwardly, acknowledging what seed to be the only reasonable explanation.

If Collins, Mitchelle, and Michael could grow, then it was only natural, inevitable even, that Irene would also evolve. Power moved in clusters, never in isolation. Growth inspired growth.

Irene, still standing at her center point, had not moved an inch. She simply continued to release her energy, channeling carefully asured threads of healing into every cell of their bodies. Beings like them carried a terrifying density of power within every fragnt of their existence. To heal soone at their level required not just surface restoration but cell-by-cell reconstruction, acknowledging and repairing the vast energy embedded within each piece of flesh, then dividing the cells, reinforcing the structure, and repeating the process in cycles.

It was a ticulous, demanding craft, far beyond the simplistic idea of simply closing wounds. Irene felt the weight of several silent gazes upon her, but she did not respond. Instead, she offered a faint, gentle smile, not of pride or arrogance, but of calm acceptance.

Healing was simply what she did. She had always loved nding others, regardless of status or history. Whether it was a stranger, an ally, or a monarch, to her, the act remained the sa. Of course, should she will it, the sa healing energy capable of preserving life could just as easily strip it away without rcy.

"You’ve been cursed," she said suddenly, her tone calm and informative, as her gaze shifted toward the Seventh Supre Monarch. "That is why you continue to vomit black blood."

The Seventh Supre Monarch opened his eyes only briefly, nodded once in acknowledgnt, and said nothing more. There was no complaint, no surprise, only silent understanding.

Irene stepped toward him with unhurried movents, each step fluid and composed. She arrived before him, who still sat grounded in ditation. She raised her hand, and mana responded instantly, aligning with her intent as she cast her spell.

[Healing Magic: Touch of the Loved]

A soft golden radiance blood across her palm, flowing directly into the Seventh Supre Monarch’s chest. Within monts, the curse was undone, not shattered dramatically, but quietly erased, as though it had never existed at all.

Silence reclaid the separate dinsion. Every Supre Monarch remained still, lost in their own thoughts, eyes shut in quiet recovery.

Irene’s gaze eventually drifted toward her husband, Collins, who also sat with his eyes closed. A gentle smile touched her lips, but she said nothing aloud. There was no need for words.

Ti passed in a blur. Eventually, the green glow that filled the dinsion began to fade, receding slowly like a tide drawing back into the sea. The do of energy contracted, flowing back toward Irene, disappearing as though it had never been there to begin with.

The Supre Monarchs looked at her, not with hostility, but with a subtle shift in perception. To them, she montarily felt like sothing entirely different, not just a healer, but an existence that quietly surpassed expectation. In the past, it typically took her days to fully heal them all. But now, she had completed it in a re few hours. Growth like that should have taken centuries.

But not one of them spoke. They had no right, nor the power, to demand answers.

"We will reconvene later," the First Supre Monarch’s voice resonated with soft finality. "Return to your respective military bases. Review everything that has taken place during our absence. If anything significant arises, we will reconvene within twenty-four hours."

As his words settled, the haze began to rise around him again, slowly obscuring his form once more until only his golden ringed eyes remained visible.

The Supre Monarchs gave a single nod in response, and in an instant, one after another, they vanished from the separate dinsion. The Fifth Supre Monarch lingered only long enough to turn toward Irene, and without a word, he took her with him as he departed back to his own military base.