Chapter 1274
The Plague Lord’s Trial
Caelus was far from a naive child. As a scion of the Miracle Divine Tree, he possessed an innate gift of sight. This heritage allowed him to perceive the currents of the world far more clearly than anyone realized.
"Heh, it is agreed then!" Pallas bead, clearly relieved that his treasure was secured.
Elara, however, frowned. Her little brow furrowed in contemplation. If Caelus was granting Pallas a boon, then by the unspoken laws of courtly etiquette, she—as the Elder Sister—was bound to offer Caelus sothing in return.
It wasn't that she lacked the ans. Her enchanted satchel was bursting with relics of great power. The trouble lay in the burden of choice. Usually, Elara was the one receiving tribute, not dispensing it.
The reckoning was becoming complicated. If she bestowed a gift upon Caelus, was she then obligated to offer recompense to Kronos and Pallas as well?
She glanced at Pallas. That little rascal had been restless of late. Leave him unattended for but a few days, and he would attempt to dismantle the very roof tiles simply to witness the collapse.
Well, no matter. The troubles of children required childish solutions. They would resolve it amongst themselves at play.
Speaking of children, Lokiviria was enduring a much harsher existence in a desolate corner of the north.
His mother, Rowena, had departed without a word. No letter, no farewell. It was a wound that refused to close. To Lokiviria, her flight was a silent judgnt. You are not worthy of my presence.
To be forsaken by one's own mother? That was a tornt unique in its cruelty.
Suffering breeds obsession. And those consud by obsession are but one dark day away from madness. Yet, tragically, most madn are geniuses. Their fixation allows them to walk paths no sane mind would dare tread.
"Good. Very good. Your growth in power exceeds even my foresight."
In the dim light of the cave, The Clown stared at Lokiviria, who had already reached the pinnacle of the Alpha Circle. The Jester felt a thrill of satisfaction; the grand design was proceeding ahead of schedule.
"Lokiviria, listen to . Family, love… these are but chains. They slow your ascent. They anchor you to diocrity."
The Clown's painted smile widened. "Your mother leaving? That was not abandonnt. That was her shattering your shackles. By hiding her na and vanishing, she removed your only weakness."
Internally, The Clown was cackling.
That foolish woman. By fleeing, she pushed him right into my grasp.
It saved him so much trouble. He didn't even have to weave a spell of persuasion to bind Lokiviria to his cause.
"She was a woman who held no love for her own child," The Clown whispered, planting the seed of hate deep within the boy's heart. "She did not deserve the title of mother."
That was the tale The Clown spun.
He had no idea that Rowena's departure was actually an act of desperate protection—not for herself, but for the new life growing in her womb. Did she love her children? More than life itself. She had simply made the impossible choice to save the one she could, accepting exile to ensure the safety of the unborn.
She had laid down her hatred, buried her past, and walked into the unknown to find a future.
Silverwood Realm. Venomfen Swamp.
Fresh from Orion's wedding, Tangere had returned to his designated fiefdom with a massive company of hired laborers and artisans from Staghelm City.
His plan was simple: raise a stronghold. With a city as a foundation, he could establish trade routes with the other major powers of the Moonlight Continent. The swamp was a trove of rare toxins and reagents born of plague; if he could harness that bounty, his influence would soar.
But when he arrived, he found his claim usurped.
A Colossal Dragon had made its lair in the very heart of his territory.
"This is dragon land now!" the beast roared, its voice shaking the ancient trees. "Interlopers, begone from Venomfen Swamp!"
The dragon was an entity of Legend. As it descended from the clouds, it unleashed a terrifying aura of draconic dread that sent Tangere's expensive hirelings scattering into the treeline.
Tangere nearly coughed up blood from sheer rage.
"My territory?" Tangere hissed, watching his workers flee. "You accursed reptile. I am going to show you that in my eyes, you are nothing but fuel for my ascension."
He was furious. Losing the laborers was vexing, certainly, but if word spread that he allowed a dragon to drive him from his own land? If Orion, Caesar, or Aerin heard of this disgrace? He would be the jester of the Horde.
Tangere didn't hesitate. He was a Master Survivor by nature. He did not fear an overgrown lizard.
Green, necrotic fog erupted from his body, lifting him into the air like a vengeful wraith. He charged straight at the dragon.
Tangere toggled his ultimate abilities imdiately: [Death Rattle] and the [Death's Threshold Domain]. He wasn't here to skirmish; he was here to kill.
Deep in the swamp, Isabella watched from the shadows, clutching an amulet of concealnt she had coaxed out of Alexander. It was a relic of high virtue that masked her presence entirely from magical sight.
She carried a massive dragon lance on her back, her eyes narrowing as she analyzed the flow of the battle above.
Colossal Dragons possessed a natural, inborn resilience to plague and poison. Standard toxins would be purified by the dragon's holy aura before they even made contact. That was why she had sent the beast to test him. A dragon was the natural enemy of Tangere's discipline.
"A Legend among legends… a new brother in arms," Isabella mused. "Hulk spoke the truth. This novice's prowess is genuine."
Tangere's current strength was already greater than hers, Kraken's, or Makareth's had been when they first swore oaths to the Champions Alliance. To begin at the rank of Legend ant he had survived tribulations of the highest order. He possessed the ntal fortitude of a veteran of a thousand wars.
That was why Orion had asked them to test him. Orion didn't want another betrayal like the Clown's. He needed to know if Tangere was stable.
"Pity," Isabella whispered. "His raw might is great, but his arsenal cannot compare to mine or Mak's."
It was inevitable. Tangere hadn't officially joined the Alliance yet, so he hadn't received access to Orion's vault of wonders. Honestly, the fact that he was granted this much land was already a princely gift of fealty.
Tangere, realizing his venom was not overcoming the dragon's vitality swiftly enough, made a drastic move. He reached into his satchel and withdrew a trident.
Isabella's eyes widened. That wasn't just a weapon. It was a vessel containing a sealed strike from Orion himself. Even a High Lord would be unmade if that power was unleashed.
"By the gods."
Isabella panicked. She tore a parchnt of high protection—a boon from the Deputy Commander—and invoked it upon the dragon instantly.
FWOOSH!
A shimring barrier enveloped the beast just as the trident flared. The scroll saved the dragon from a grueso fate, but the shockwave was imnse.
The trial was over. Isabella wasn't about to remain and explain herself. She ntally commanded the dragon to retreat, crushed a stone of transport, and vanished from the Venomfen Swamp.
Left behind in the settling dust, Tangere was shaking. He was even more heartbroken than Isabella.
For a lone lord with no backing, that trident was his ultimate salvation. It was the guarantee of victory Orion had given him.
He had driven the dragon off, true. But he gained no spoils, no essence, and he had burned his greatest legendary artifact for absolutely nothing.
"Aaaargh! Is this a jest?!"
Tangere roared at the empty sky, his voice cracking with frustration. It was a disaster. A complete waste of precious resources.
But as the fury faded, a cold realization settled over the Plague God. The Moonlight Continent wasn't the sanctuary he thought it was.
He couldn't do this alone. To survive here, to truly build an empire, he needed to stop standing alone.
He needed to ride in Orion's wake, or he was going to be devoured.
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