Chapter 130: Edicts of the Crown
The Stone Tower Master, Magian Stone, stood tall on a raised platform, his presence commanding beneath a shaft of brilliant white light that illuminated every sharp feature of his weathered face. His silver robes, adorned with intricate carvings of stone patterns, shimmered faintly in the glow, and atop his head rested a crown of polished stone—a symbol of his authority and enduring resolve. Beside him stood two equally formidable figures, each carrying the weight of their respective towers and the southern region’s might.
To Stone’s right was Magian Verdant, his flowing robe an elaborate weave of vibrant green cloths, the fabric glistening as though it were alive, shifting subtly with his movements. The robe extended behind him like a tapestry, pooling on the ground in folds that seemed to ripple with life. On his head sat a bulbous, rounded hat, crafted from layers of thick green material resembling leaves intertwined in a seamless design. Verdant’s piercing green eyes glimmered with restrained intensity, his stance taut but graceful, like a bowstring pulled to its limit.
On Stone’s left was Magian Duskfang, a stark contrast to Verdant’s organic elegance. His imposing frame was wrapped in a white fur-lined coat, its edges frayed from years of use but still exuding an air of savage dignity. Beneath the coat, he wore pitch-black armor, so dark it seemed to consume the light around him, casting faint shadows that flickered unnaturally in the luminous chamber. His messy, short blond hair fell across his forehead, and his sharp blue eyes darted about, scanning the room with a predator’s wariness.
The three southern Tower Masters stood solemnly, their postures rigid with unspoken tension. Though their faces betrayed little emotion, the air between them was charged, as if they were bracing for a storm yet to break. Each bore the weight of the southern region’s uncertain future. Together, they were the last bastion of defense for Bask, standing as symbols of defiance against the growing threats from within and beyond their land.
Beyond the platform, the chamber was swallowed in darkness. Above them, imposing silhouettes hovered, radiating oppressive power—the Tower Masters of the Central Region, and seated at their center, the King, a figure shrouded in immeasurable authority. Their presence although shrouded in darkness dominated the room, each one a First Stage Magian, their auras so potent they pressed against the southern Magians like a physical weight.
The King’s voice cut through the tense silence like a blade, its tone dripping with condescension. “Normally, I would begin this session by offering congratulations for your achievement—conquering a dungeon in the South is no small feat, especially for a place like Bask. But this time...” His golden eyes glinted dangerously. “I am deeply disappointed.”
Duskfang shifted, his lips parting as if to speak, but the King’s gaze snapped to him like a predator spotting prey. “Silence,” the King commanded, his tone laced with icy authority. “You will speak when you're allowed to.”
The looming silhouettes stirred, their voices rising in unison, berating the southern Tower Masters.
“Allowing non-gifted students into the towers was a grave mistake,” one declared.
“They have diluted our purpose,” another sneered.
“Your actions have corrupted your judgment,” yet another spat.
Their collective disdain was palpable, like venom dripping from their words. The King raised a hand, silencing them with a simple gesture.
“Enough,” he said, his voice cold and deliberate. “While you did conquer a dungeon, your incompetence has awakened something far older and far more dangerous than any of you can comprehend.” His eyes bore into the three Tower Masters below. “Do not expect support from the Central Region. Bask’s problems are your own.”
Stone stepped forward, his usually reserved tone laced with urgency. “With respect, Your Majesty, there was no way we could have known—”
The King’s voice thundered in response, cutting him off. “You are fortunate to receive our support at all. Bask was once a land the human race needed, conquering it again to prove that we as a collective race have improved enough to reclaim our old land even if not as valuable as our central region, but now? It is a burden. A leech clinging to the progress of the Central Region. We have moved on, exploring the Northern Isles and the greater world beyond. We will not waste precious resources on your failures.”
The words struck with the weight of finality. Verdant glanced at the ground, his fists trembling in frustration, while Duskfang’s anger finally boiled over.
“This is unfair!” Duskfang roared, his voice echoing through the chamber. “At the end of the day, we are all humans. Humanity should stand together! Whether we are gifted or not we are the same! Conquering those dungeons is a moral duty of humanity to cleanse our territory of the curses left behind. We were simply following our job and mission put on us by your royal—”
The room shuddered. A ripple of golden energy tore through the air, and above the King, a golden slit appeared, splitting the fabric of reality itself. From within, a colossal golden eye opened, its gaze fixing on Duskfang with an unyielding, celestial intensity.
The air grew thick and charged, humming with divine wrath. Before anyone could react, the eye glowed, and a golden spear shot forth with blinding speed, faster than the eye could track. The world almost paused the witness the brilliance of such an unstopable strike.
CRACK!
The golden spear struck Duskfang’s shoulder with devastating precision, its impact explosive, a thunderous detonation that reverberated through the chamber like the wrath of a vengeful god. The sound was deafening, a sonic shockwave so powerful it left every ear ringing, as though the room itself were screaming in protest. Duskfang’s body jerked violently, his armor crumbling under the sheer force of the strike as he was driven to one knee, clutching his wounded shoulder with a grimace of pain.
The blow was more than just physical. The golden energy radiating from the wound burned with an ethereal brilliance, searing through his spirit as much as his flesh. Magian Verdant and Magian Stone, standing nearby, were not spared from the spear’s immense power. The shockwave slammed into them, pushing them back several steps as though an invisible hand had swatted them aside. Even their Magian-level defenses seemed feeble against the sheer might of the King’s attack, a stark reminder of the chasm of power between them.
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Verdant’s leaf-like robes fluttered wildly as he stumbled, his green eyes wide with a mixture of shock and fury. Stone, though more composed, gritted his teeth as the force pressed against him, his stone-patterned robes whipping in the magical wind. Both men felt the weight of the moment—the unbridled dominance of the King’s power, a display meant not just to wound but to humiliate and assert superiority.
For a few agonizing moments, the room was silent save for the faint ringing left in the aftermath, the echoes of divine judgment lingering in the air. Duskfang’s breaths came in short, ragged gasps as he struggled to steady himself, his grip tightening on his shoulder, where the golden spear had torn through. The faint golden glow emanating from the wound was a cruel reminder that this was no ordinary injury—it was a wound of judgment, one that carried the King’s will and left its mark on both body and spirit.
Duskfang was pushed back and fell to his knees, clutching his shoulder as the golden energy seared through him. His face twisted in pain—not merely physical, but spiritual, as if his very spirit was being burned. The wound glowed with a golden light, a stark reminder of the King’s overwhelming power.
This was the difference between a Stage One Magian and the almost Stage Two Magian, King, the strongest human on the continent. His mere presence was a pillar of humanity’s hope, an unparalleled prodigy born to rule and dominate.
Duskfang gritted his teeth, his fury momentarily extinguished under the weight of his pain. He stood still showing evident pain and walked back next to the other southern Magians. The King’s voice echoed, cold and unyielding.
“This is your last warning. Defy me again, and the consequences will be absolute.”
The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the faint crackling of golden energy still burning at Duskfang’s wound. The golden energy seemed to tick and glow faintly on the wound like ember, as Duskfang felt a pain that reached his spirit.
The King rose from his seat, his commanding presence filling the chamber. His voice, now colder than before, cut through the room like a blade. “The moment you began dabbling with non-gifted methods, you ceased to be truly gifted yourselves. The world looks down upon such sub-human indulgence. You three were once bright seedlings that had been gifted by the world, and instead of exploring that gift, you've entertained progress through different means outside of the path set upon you by the world, making you a lesser Magian than all of us. ”
He paused, letting his words sink in before delivering his decree. “Return to Bask and purge your towers of these non-gifted recruits, or dismantle your institutions entirely. Start anew. We can send some of the gifted from smaller families in the Central Region to study under your tower and you must cease your research on non-gifted means and return to the right side.”
The three Tower Masters visibly grimaced, their stoic facades cracking under the weight of his words. Magian Verdant stepped forward, his voice measured but firm, a quiet fire in his green eyes.
“That is unacceptable, Your Majesty. Such an action would be senseless—especially with the danger we all feel rising from deep underground.”
The King’s eyes narrowed, his expression unwavering. “Fine. Then when the Earth Giant King rises, he will have free reign to do as he pleases in Bask. We will set protective barriers at the border, ensuring none of your kind dare step foot into our blessed lands. I'm sure you know what Humanity’s Sacred Treasure is.”
The room fell into a tense silence. The three Tower Masters stared at the King, anger smoldering behind their eyes, but they knew better than to challenge him outright. And obviously, everyone had at least heard tales regarding the defensive capabilities of the Sacred Treasure in the hands of humanity. These treasures are capable of contending with Stage 2 Magian and above, and in this instance, the incredible shield of humanity, the treasure could envelop the central region in a golden barrier protecting it. This treasure is one of the reasons why humanity has lived this long.
Verdant took a deep breath, speaking carefully. “The Earth Giants have been extinct for ages. Their King fell long before humanity rose to prominence.”
The King let out a cold laugh, his tone dismissive. “So naive,” he muttered, as though addressing children.
Above them, the silhouettes stirred, their auras mocking, though their faces remained hidden. The disdain emanating from the Central Region leaders was palpable. It was clear this treatment was no exception—this was how the Central Region had always regarded Bask: a backwater, filled with ignorant mundanes and pathetic magic, magic derived from outdated ancient or corrupted means.
The King’s voice rose again, laced with arrogance. “We have no use for Bask anymore. It is a burden, a land of chaos and stragglers. Meanwhile, we advance—to the Northern Isles, where untapped potential and true progress await us.”
The final blow came when the King revealed what the Northern Isles had to offer. “We’ve already discovered a Mana Zone.”
The words hit the three Tower Masters like a hammer. Their faces betrayed their shock, for they understood the immense significance of such a find.
Mana Zones were ancient, sacred places brimming with raw mana. To a Magian, they were not just a treasure but a path to enlightenment. The dense mana within a zone could evolve the spirit of a Magian, pushing them toward a breakthrough into higher stages. Each stage was a chasm of power, separating the mundane from the divine.
Magian Duskfang took a step forward, his expression shifting from shock to resolute defiance. “You’ve forgotten what it means to be human,” he spat. “We will never betray our people for a King who abandons his own.”
The King’s amusement was short-lived, replaced by simmering rage. The air crackled with golden energy, and above, the golden eye reappeared, narrowing on Duskfang. The King raised his hand, ready to strike.
But before the attack could even be initiated, the ground beneath the Tower Masters trembled. Duskfang’s hand glowed with purple light, and with a swift slash, he tore through the air itself, creating a shimmering rift.
“Let’s go,” Duskfang growled, stepping through the portal without hesitation. Verdant and Stone followed, their forms vanishing into the swirling void as the King’s golden energy slammed into the spot they had just vacated.
The chamber fell silent, save for the fading hum of dissipating power. The King stood unmoving, his face a mask of cold calculation.
“Bask is a land riddled with disease, too deep in its practices to be saved,” he said finally, his voice a low growl. “The faster it is eradicated, the better.”
He turned to the silhouettes. “Prepare the sacred treasure of humanity. We’ll use it to construct barriers at the borders. Bask will be sealed off—no one leaves, no one enters.”
The silhouettes stirred, visibly shocked by the command. The sacred treasure had not been used since the Great War, and its purpose was tied to humanity’s survival. Now, the King intended to use it to sacrifice part of humanity itself.
“The Earth Giants were powerful,” the King mused, his tone almost wistful. “Their King was stronger than most can imagine, capable of creating countries and continents through his methods, but just as he could create, he could destroy. If he returns, even I would struggle to defeat him. And yet... we cannot risk losing what we’ve gained.”
He fell into deep thought, his gaze distant. The aura emanating from the earth had felt ancient, and menacing. It could only belong to the Earth Giant King. But Verdant was right, wasn’t the King long dead? Could the dungeon’s conquest have triggered a resurrection?
The King shook his head, steeling his resolve. “Let Bask deal with its mess. We will move forward—toward the Mana Zone and the Northern Isles. Humanity will progress without the dead weight dragging us down.”
The silhouettes faded one by one, leaving the King alone, a single figure standing at the precipice of humanity’s future—and its darkest decisions.