22.3
“Hey.”
…
“It’s been a while hasn’t it?
…
“I’ve been doing well, and in more ways than one, I have moved on. Heh, you can say I’ve been lazing around. But it’s more so of a break if you asked me, just a long one though. To keep my mind off of things until I am ready.”
…
“Yeah, I know, it’s been a full year. But I’ll make sure to investigate that sister of yours.”
…
“And… That’s why I am here today, Aurelius. I am here to borrow your journal, haha! It’s about time I return my duties…even if it is one step at a time.”
…
“No, no, no. I won’t force myself in investigating your sister. I’ll take my sweet time just like you wanted, yeah? Doing things according to my own pace.”
With a smile John crouched to Aurelius’ tombstone as he grabbed Aurelius’ journal that he had left a year ago. The leatherbound book was still in the exact condition the day John left the Harvest Residence for Courzer.
Thanks to Evie’s magic, Aurelius and the Harvests’ tombs had not seen a single sign of wear and tear against changing of the seasons.
Back when Evie buried Aurelius along with the rest of the Harvests, she had made sure that the burial site was laced with [Weather Immunity], preventing both erosion and deterioration that would occur.
It was how Aurelius’ journal remained in pristine condition despite being left exposed to the outdoors.
And…
It was why John had not retrieved it for so long despite craving to go through his brother’s journal for the past year.
Partly, he felt he owed Ephinelyth his full attention for what she had done for him.
And the other…he was unsure if he could hold back his emotions towards the brother he lost. For a small part of him still thought himself to be responsible for Aurelius’ death.
A year later, having tamed his unhinged mental state and stood head-to-head against dragons from Courzer and living a full life with Ephinelyth, a smile enveloped John when he visited the grave of his friend and brother, Aurelius Velupus.
There was no hinge of bitterness in his expression, only relief.
His usually rapid heart slowed the longer he stared at Aurelius’ grave alongside the rest of the Harvests.
Like the Harvests, Aurelius was family.
Unlike the Harvests who died, Aurelius had no soul. When he is robbed of his mortal life in this world, Aurelius would forever cease to be. His soul would neither ascend to the heavens nor be sent into the underworld to be dealt with.
To have no soul, is akin to have never existed.
Even if, somehow, revival magic existing and could bring the dead back to existence—unrelated to necromancy but to miracle magic that Gods might be capable of—Aurelius could not benefit from it.
Aurelius for all intents and purposes, was an aberration to this world.
Yet, John who stood before Aurelius’ grave knew the opposite.
Aurelius was a beastkin who lived his life to the fullest.
He was why John was still standing here, he was the one who taught John to liberate himself from the chains of his own mind.
An honorable beastkin whose bravery and greatness far surpassed John own.
“Thanks again. For everything, Aurelius.”
Gently, John lifted his hand from Aurelius’s tombstone, taking Aurelius’ journal as he gave the Harvests tombs a confident nod.
“Don’t worry about me. Everyday I am alive, I will live my life to my fullest.”
“And I, won’t let him go,” Evie’s confident voice appeared from the corner of the Harvest residence, walked over to John after he paid his respects. “No matter what comes for him in the future, I’ll see that he is full of vigor.”
Her white tail appeared before wrapping itself around John’s waist.
“That’s more or less what Evie… Uh...my wife here does…” John shrugged in the Harvests’ direction albeit blushing as he brought her up to his family. “I’ll come visit sometime in the future, see you.”
Placing two fingers on his forehead as he pushed them into a salute., giving Aurelius and the Harvests’ a quick acknowledgement as he left them.
“What do you say we go to Parac Village for dinner, John?”
“We’ll have to be subtle though, it is still a part of the Empire’s territory.”
“Ufufu, nothing to worry about when you’ve got me.”
“Oh right! You can erase their memories!” John hit his head with the base of his palm, shaking his head as he laughed. “I sometimes forget you could do that!”
“Let’s hope you didn’t forget our plans for tonight.”
“Ehhh~ Wha-dja say, lassie?” without pause John’s voice became hoarse as his eyes squinted as though he could barely see. His back was hunched as he placed a hand on Ephinelyth’s shoulders “I am, o-old and can’t hearrr that well~”
“Ufufufu, ufufufu! You silly man!”
Evie lightly struck his shoulders, teasing him to stop with his antics that often end with her stomach hurt from all the laughing.
Following John’s imitation of senile old man and Evie’s uncontrolled giggle, the Elder Dragon and human couple took off into the skies at great speed.
Shroom.
The Elder Dragon’s departure left not even a single speck of dust in her departure, like the couple that left the Harvest Residence, it was as gentle as it was elegant.
F-flicker.
In their departure, an amber of a heat source manifest itself on the grounds where John had paid his visit.
A warm mellow glow that sought to convey a presence that had always been in wait for him.
A familiar presence that had made its appearance to him during his dark times in Meastes, using what little powers it had left to aid him however it could.
At the heat’s glow, a tiny flame appeared for a brief moment, disappearing as the sun disappeared in the distance.
Beyond the throne room of the Great Dezarith Empire in Registoria, a renowned group of 6 stood idyllically as they waited patiently outside the empty halls.
It was late night in the Empire, the time where the entirety of Dezarith was coveted by a unrelenting darkness and freezing winds.
Aside from the patrolling imperial soldier that passed by the castle’s premises, none dared to visit the Emperor’s throne during these hours.
“Helen, why do we have to be here? You know I hate coming here, it’s dark and cold during this time—”
“Mind your tongue, Randolph.”
Her fingers glowed in purple as she used a lesser magic spell to seal his lips. Though Randolph stopped speaking, his eyes continued to dart around their surroundings, looking at the rest of the Hero’s Party who empathized with him.
“If His Majesty requests for our presence, we shall duly wait for him here until he summons us.”
“Even her?” Gobbert spoke up, pointing his chin towards their sixth member.
“Yes, Gobbert,” Scywell spoke up. “She may have joined us recently but it doesn’t change the fact Sheila has the Empress’ approval.”
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“You have my gratitude Scywell,” Sheila bowed at an angle so low that in her dress that all of her body was clearly out for display to all of the hero’s party.
Sheila, was known to the hero’s party as the woman whom John Sarvod once had a thing for, but never to be brought up again.
At least, that was what their memories lead them to believe.
After John’s Sarvod mysterious disappearance from Dezarith Empire and the murder of four high achieving students of Moxnet Academy, Prishine, Erin, Saeza and Theza. The officials had announced it to be the work of foreign spies whom infiltration the ranks of Moxnet academy.
To ‘protect’ the well-being and keep the hero’s party ‘safe’, Sheila was assigned as the newest addition of their party but the government officials.
But everyone else in the hero’s party knew why Sheila was here.
There had been rumors and doubts among the eight council elders that the hero’s party were involved in John’s disappearance, yet the lack of evidence had prevented judgement to be cast on them.
The sultry woman had joined their group not long after that, no doubt, to keep a watch on the hero’s party.
The question that still lingered in everyone’s minds was why Sheila, a previous associate of John Sarvod was sent to their team to monitor them. If she had been John Sarvod’s associate, why had she not been interrogated by the council elders? Why had she not once mentioned the name of the guy that she was close to?
“…”
Angeline was quiet.
Whenever Sheila was around, Angeline had kept her thoughts to herself unless it was important. This girl who once had John Sarvod charmed was no more than a lowly woman who held neither honor nor intelligence.
Something did not add up.
“Angie, Angie, what are you thinking?” Sheila prodded but was ignored by Angeline as usual. “Are you thinking about your boring research again? Or is it about boys again? Come on, you can tell me~”
“…”
The more she interacted with Sheila, the more she doubted that this was the exact woman that John danced with during the Ball of Paragons. John was cheeky, but he is not without wit or morals, and unlike Sheila who probed into every little thing, he was extremely private when he chose to be.
Angeline recalled that some ago that John had stopped going to ‘secret meetings’ with a girl who was shy and rarely made appearance in the academy.
She can’t put a finger on what has happened, but whoever that girl that likened John as she did was, Angeline’s womanly instincts was certain that Sheila is not that girl.
She had discussed this with her friends, and sure enough, all agreed.
Despite what their collective memory informed, Sheila is not the girl that John Sarvod would associate with.
That begs the question.
Who is Sheila?
Why was she so trusted by the Immortal Empress?
Since when was she a part of Moxnet Academy?
Randolph recalled John once had claimed Sheila was a new transfer student at one point, claiming that she had replaced someone else. Someone who was supposed to be the other girl he danced with at the Ball of Paragons.
Had their memories been tempered with? If so, why was it so deliberate?
Creak…
An imperial soldier clad in full armor opened the doors, “The Immortal Emperor will see you now, hero Scywell. The rest of your team is not needed.”
Scywell shared a look with Helen before entering the throne room. Randolph meanwhile was rolled his eyes as Gobbert made a face of concern.
“My Emperor.”
Scywell’s confident voice echoed throughout the room as he placed a knee before the throne, lowering both head and body to Goldstein Dezarith, the rightful ruler of Dezarith Empire.
“Rise, my boy. A chosen hero like you need not humiliate yourself before this old man,” the Emperor spoke in a soothing tone, but Scywell remained in his posture.
“This is but one of my duties as a Dezarithian.”
“I requested your presence today as Scywell Shatterstep, the chosen of Archangel of Compassion.”
Scywell did not budge, instead he kept his head low.
“I, however, am suspected of treason, your Highness. It would do me better if I continue with my gestures of loyalty. It is best if I remain as such.”
The Immortal Emperor rose from his throne, his grey hair bouncing along his shoulders as he done so.
Tip-tap…
“I seek to speak to you as Goldstein Dezarith, as fellow man to hero. Not as your Emperor.”
Scywell felt his head lifted by a thick hand filled with three times the scars and callouses that he himself had. Without warning, the emperor moved closed to his ear and whispered.
“The elders and the Empress doubt you. I, do not.”
“Now, please, stand as I do. Or I shall have to command you to.”
Scywell needed not to be told twice, sprang from where he knelt and into upright stance befitting of a hero.
Satisfied with Scywell’s change in attitude, the Emperor returned to his seat with a satisfied smile.
“What is your request of me, Emperor?”
“What do you know of your duties as hero, my dear Scywell?”
Scywell squinted his eyes, “I beg your pardon?”
“What does the power and title bestowed upon you mean to you, my child? What kind of hero are you? Who do you fight for? As Scywell Shatterstep, you may be my subject, but as the Hero of Compassion, have you any purpose in this world?”
“I…” Scywell’s eyes tore away from the Emperor, hands shivered before he stopped them with a grip of fists. “My duty is to the people. I fight for all that is good and righteous. I-if needed be, I shall hunt down evil doers and bring them to justice!”
“What kind of people do you speak of, Scywell? Humans? Dezarithians? Or all living beings? Do those people include residents of other nations?”
“I-I…” Scywell’s face blinked in confusion.
For all of his heroic campaigns, he had never thought too hard into the people that he protected.
If there was someone innocent in need, he would not hesitate to lend his aid. It did not matter if he were in foreign territory or surrounded by different races. He knew that it was his duty to show compassion to those who were unfortunate.
Scywell himself knew the pain and suffering at the hands of evil that lurked in his past.
Yet now, the Immortal Emperor was questioning Scywell’s loyalty.
Although Goldstein Dezarith proclaim to trust Scywell as a fellow man, even someone as politically adverse as Scywell knew this was a blatant test of loyalty.
“You need not answer me. But, promise me whatever goes on in your mind, your loyalty to this nation that bred and cultivated your talents shall be etched to your heart.”
“That goes without saying, your Highness.” Scywell placed a fist to his left chest. “The Empire is my home, I shall defend it with all my might.”
Whether he believed those words were and afterthought, but as he was in audience before the Immortal Emperor, this was the only correct answer.
No, it was the only answer.
Scywell would be betraying the Immortal Emperor’s trust had he thought otherwise.
But…
He felt the tug in his mind when he was reminded that Sheila was forced onto his party. By right, Scywell had nothing to fear, the debt he repaid John had all its tracks covered by Angeline’s brilliant plan.
Yet…
Whenever he recalled the agony in John’s face, the pictures of the destruction that occurred in Parac Village over a year ago, his mind wavered. It was not just him, even the impartial Helen started to wonder whether if Scywell was walking the path that he should be.
He was a hero, yet, all he has done was to work for the Empire, never giving too much thought into his actions, Scywell could not recall a memory where he saved people without working under Dezarith Empire.
The only person he saved of his own volition was John. And even that, he was not the person who helped him escape.
…
“And… Should the Empire was threatened by a being as powerful as the Archangels that gifted you your powers? Would you take arms against such an evil?”
“A-archangel?! Y-your Highness, that would be impossible for the Five Archangels! They are the virtues of man, even the first hero—”
“What if the evil is your fellow man?!” Goldstein’s voice increased. “What would you do if your fellow heroes are the evil forces themselves?!”
“I-I…” Scywell paused, his mind came to a swift conclusion. “If there is evidence of their corruption, I shall be the one who hunt them down. No beings shall be harmed for as long I have the power to prevent it!”
Clap, clap, clap.
Happy with his answer, the Immortal Emperor leaned further back to his velvet woven throne.
“Well said, a hero should prioritize neither internal nor external threats to our glorious Empire!”
Scywell could only stand in silence as the Emperor bestowed a gallant gesture of approval.
“Are you unhappy to be questioned by your fellow man, hero?”
“No, your Highness. It is my duty to answer questions regarding my position as a chosen hero. I am happy to clarify whatever doubts you have of me.”
“Then, one last question if you would, Scywell.”
“Anything, your Highness. I am at your disposal.”
“Pertaining the evil you face, is not just your fellow man? But your comrades? To put things in the hypothetical extreme…”
The immortal emperor looked at the throne that was laid before the two of them, seemingly almost entranced by the power that was accumulated by it.
“What if the Empire I have built is deemed to be evil in your eyes?”
The words left the Emperor’s mouth were that of a haunting breeze that seeped into Scywell’s body.
The hero’s spine froze, his feet stuck to where he stood. The blood that was on his face drained from him as quickly as water flowed into the drain as the Emperor’s stormy eyes hovered over Scywell like floating orbs.
Sharp and heavy as they probed at him for every little movement he made in response to that dire question.
Even with the protection by the Archangel of Compassion, the piercing curiosity of the seven-hundred-year-old man was enough to freeze the hero who mastered ice magic.
“I don’t know the answer to that, your H-Highness. I am sorry.”
At his admission, the invisible weight that was on him lifted.
Scywell can’t help but feel had his answer was anything else, he would not still be standing in the throne room.
He was watched by someone else other than the Immortal Emperor.
“My sincerest of apologies, Scywell,” the Emperor bowed his head to him. “I only asked you this because this Empire was founded after I overthrown the previous corrupt monarch. Forgive this old man for reminiscing his younger days. You may leave now, thank you for granting this old fool this request.”
Scywell placed his hand against his chest and bowed once more before making his leave through the large doors of the throne room.
…
…
…
“The boy has left, Loirmeil.”
Behind where the Emperor was seated, the head of Loirmeil Dezarith appeared. Like Goldstein, the Immortal Empress was dressed in the finest of linens. Her complexion had returned to its youthful vigor, no longer pale and ghastly for the past year.
Her eyes however, moved erratically throughout the room. Even Goldstein himself could not distinguish whether they contained burning hatred or horrible fear.
With her powers, killing someone with her gaze alone was a feat Loirmeil had done so many times in the past.
Had Scywell Shatterstep answered his question a millisecond later, the Immortal Empress would have intervened and ended the hero’s life right there and then.
Loirmeil had greatly recovered from the trauma inflicted upon her from one year ago, but she was still not fully herself. The mind magic that made her relive her painful past had greatly faded but not entirely.
Not even the strongest mind mage of hers, Sheila, was able to understand the irreparable damage that was inflicted on the Immortal Empress’ psyche.
“S-sheila i-is right…” Loirmeil spoke.
The stuttering from her had now become the norm whenever she did not play the façade of the Immortal Empress.
“Shatterstep a-and his g-group’s d-distrust is growing.”
“If you had not forced that demon onto his group, they would not have suspected anything.”
“I-I…needed to know. If they know w-who is r-responsible…f-for the attack on m-me… F-Fester had acc-complices. C-can never be too s-safe.”
“Me too, my dear Loirmeil,” Goldstein reached for her face. “But if we wish go against the Eastern Continent, we mustn’t lose Scywell’s trust. I shall inform Kaldor to further strengthen Scywell’s resolve in the Empire tomorrow.”
“F-Fester Aquilla… We n-need Scywell to r-rival him…when h-he shows his colors. And in o-our coming war against the Continent.”
“For now, it is safer if we withdraw Sheila. Last she reported, Scywell’s team had started to use mental barriers, she can no longer read their minds as she usually would. Besides, it will prove to Scywell we place our trust in him.”
“V-very well…”
Goldstein Dezarith, unlike his wife who was the Demon Lord of Ruin, was a ruler who was adapt in governing his people.
Although his plans to wage war against the Eastern Continent had been delayed due to the widespread information loss that occurred the same time Loirmeil was attacked, he would not allow the work Loirmeil put in to be undone.
The Immortal Emperor he may be, but inside the wrinkled façade of the old man, he was still human.
A human who did what was necessary to build the strongest nation in the world, a human who was not afraid to plunge himself into the darkness for the sake of ruling the world.
Even after all these years, Goldstein remained as human, untainted by demonic corruption.
He could have easily attained unspeakable powers that surpassed even Elder Dragon-slayer Fester Aquilla with the power of Demon Lord of Ruin,.
All Loirmeil had to do was to grant him her powers and his frail mortal body would be replaced a powerful yet albeit grotesque one—nothing a little illusion magic could not fix.
On the contrary, it was Loirmeil who insisted that Goldstein to remain human, to keep him pure from her powers no matter what the cost was.
For even with her powers to corrupt and ruin everything that she touches, Goldstein Dezarith was the only thing the Demon Lord of Ruin refrained from tainting.
“…my knight in shining a-armor.”
For the Immortal Empress, the only female Demon Lord to have ever existed, her only lead on who traumatized her a year ago was through Scywell Shatterstep.
It was her belief that Scywell Shatterstep had come into contact with the Forth. Although faint, she could see the magic that she once planted into the young hero slowly become undone, influenced by something similar to her demonic powers.
The only cause for this would the Forth.
The Forth Demon Lord.
Four of them, the world always produced.
No more, no less.
To alter fate itself.