Chapter 64/Arc 2 : Altruista

Altruista, manipulator from the shadows, traitor, fanatic, cultist. She alone venerates the tragic hero that is Aleystria. When she reads the books that only royalty and their close circle can access, those accounts of the Holy War—biased, written by the disciples of Veron—she cannot help but side with the god of hatred.

To see a commoner rise to the rank of humanity’s hero, then emissary, then god... It was not reality; it was a tale. A dream. And in her room, perched in the castle that proudly stands at the center of the royal capital, the princess of Voltruite grew up with this idea etched into her mind.

Unlike the rest of her family, consumed by envy and obsessed with eliminating such power, Altruista harbors a different desire. She doesn’t want to destroy it. She wants to obtain it. To seize it. To venerate the man she admires so deeply.

But a cruel truth haunts her: Aleystria has been dead for a long time.

One day, as she wanders through the castle corridors, a conversation between her sister and her father catches her attention. Intrigued, she listens in, making sure to remain in the shadows.

Mercuria: “Father, the oracles speak of the imminent resurrection of the emissary.”

King of Voltruite: “What nonsense. You and your damned mother were obsessed with this ridiculous story. I won’t deny that our nation was founded by a dwarf; the spirit of the forge is everywhere. But your beliefs? Don’t make me laugh. A human becoming that powerful? Let me tell you, the Holy War ended with humanity’s defeat. Orthos, in his great mercy, simply spared us.”

Mercuria: “Don’t slander mother like that! And the oracles aren’t wrong!”

King of Voltruite: “Oh, really? The oracles aren’t wrong? They predicted the end of the world ages ago, and look at us. Still alive. The rabble outside? Still standing. And the money? Still in my pockets. So stop complaining, or the night of darkness will awaken and send you into the deepest slumbe—”

Mercuria: “Alright, I get it, father! Just... stop with your habit of talking like a teenager who’s read too many fairy tales.”

Altruista suppresses a mocking laugh as she hears this exchange. Her father and sister are so... idiotic. The first, cynical and blinded by his arrogance; the second, impassioned but pathetic in her defense. Their words amuse her, but something about them deeply marks her: the prophecy.

Mercuria would never lie about such a subject. Altruista knows this. Just as she knows her sister harbors suicidal tendencies, though she has chosen to do nothing about it. To her, life is a crushing monotony. Only the imaginary animates her.

With this information in mind, a new quest imposes itself on her. The truth. She wants to uncover the mysteries of the Holy War. And what she discovers surpasses everything she had imagined.

Aleystria, the god of hatred, is described as the most unstable being in this world. Was he the strongest? Hard to say. Among the gods, certainly. But against the cosmic horrors, the terrifying entities lurking in other universes, he pales in comparison. Yet, one passage catches her attention: at one point during the Holy War, it is said that the raw power of the god of hatred literally reshaped the world.

In Altruista’s mind, this one fact is enough. Aleystria is capable of achieving an unexplored greatness. That light, that power she desires above all else... she understands what held him back.

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His love.

That attachment to his wife, so deep, so unwavering, prevented him from fully exploiting his potential. Then, a thought crosses Altruista’s mind, a thought that takes root like a poisonous seed.

“If he reincarnates, and if his companion does too, what would happen if the woman to whom he gave his heart disappeared before his eyes? Would he regain his former glory?”

This idea, this hypothesis becomes her obsession.

This idea becomes a flame burning in her heart. Altruista begins working in the shadows, patiently weaving the threads of a plan only she can comprehend. If Aleystria is reborn, then she, Altruista, will guide him toward that divine hatred he had never reached before.

To achieve this, she must create an instrument capable of breaking and rebuilding him. In the utmost secrecy, she forms the Order of the Ten Knights. A group as devoted as they are ruthless, a tool designed to forge the reincarnated emissary in the flames of suffering. At its head, she places Solfège Di Carnaris, a man she manipulates with frightening precision, binding him to her cause through insidious promises and half-veiled truths.

A few months later, rumors begin to circulate in Iveralmn. A report mentions a young man, Aley Vrodwil, who has registered with the local guild. The details match too well: the appearance, the prophetic date. Everything points to him.

For Altruista, there is no doubt.

"It’s him."

The confirmation ignites her ambition. She gathers her forces and surrounds herself with impressionable individuals, mercenaries hungry for glory and power. Among them is a certain Macrinis. Their meeting marks a decisive turning point.

During a discreet gathering in a dimly lit room, where the silence is broken only by distant echoes, Altruista speaks to him with a voice soft yet sharp as a blade.

Altruista: "Macrinis, your father—you love him, don’t you?"

Macrinis, an imposing man, crosses his arms. His hard gaze is filled with obvious mistrust.

Macrinis: "And what of it? What does it matter to you?"

Altruista: "You want to become like him, don’t you? Someone who can carry his legacy with pride. But..." She pauses, letting her words sink in like poison. "You’re not there yet."

Macrinis furrows his brow but says nothing.

Altruista: "You’re an S-rank knight, yes. But among them, you’re the weakest. In raw power, you’re a shadow compared to their light. It’s a shame, you know. You’re such a good boy."

Macrinis: "Shut up." His voice rumbles like distant thunder. "If you keep mocking me, I’ll tear your head off."

Altruista smiles, feigning a soothing tone.

Altruista: "Don’t say such frightening things. I’m only here to guide you. Have you heard of the Divine Blood?"

Macrinis raises an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself.

Macrinis: "Divine Blood? Another one of your idiocies?"

Altruista: "Not an idiocy, Macrinis. An opportunity. You see, recently, I met an alchemist. A very old man, obsessed with a concept: Divine Blood. A substance capable of transcending human limits. Of elevating you far beyond others."

She steps closer, her eyes gleaming with calculated intent.

Macrinis: "And what’s your point? That I should be your guinea pig to test this chimera?"

Altruista: "Oh, no, no. This isn’t a test. I already know its effects. You’ll gain the strength you’ve always desired, the kind that would make your father proud. So, Macrinis, would you like to try it?"

Macrinis stares at her, his piercing gaze unwavering. The tension is palpable, like a taut rope ready to snap.

Macrinis: "I don’t trust you." His voice is low, a threatening murmur. "But give me a sample. I’ll analyze it myself when the time comes."

Altruista smiles, satisfied.

Altruista: "As you wish. But don’t take too long. Power waits for those who dare to seize it."

In that dark room, an unspoken pact is sealed. Altruista knows that Macrinis won’t have the patience to wait. She knows his ambition, his pride. She has planted a seed, and soon he will be trapped in his own quest for power.

But why does Altruista know so much about this alchemist? How did she obtain this Divine Blood? What does she truly know about the Holy War?

Every piece of her plan is a puzzle, a mystery, but all of it converges toward a single goal: to return Aleystria to his glory. No matter the cost. No matter the lives shattered along the way.