Scott silently observed Trix, whose laughter filled his ears with reckless abandon. A torrent of laughing emojis, each more exaggerated than the last, danced across the examiner’s screen as its form quivered with unrestrained mirth.
Times like these make me grateful I lack emotions… Scott thought, his expression neutral, betraying no hint of irritation or amusement. He leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze drift toward Meelat. The Gruffpaw’s lips quivered faintly, still locked in silent communication with her examiner.
Scott turned away, letting his eyes roam across the neighboring lords before finally settling on the dais.
Based on what that slimy prick said, it’s likely the opposing members of the council are preparing to bare their fangs, he mused, his brows tightening. But can I trust their message? The thought lingered briefly before he shook his head. No. Even if it’s true, I refuse to leave my fate—or anyone else’s—in their hands. There’s no telling when those pompous gods might decide I’m no longer useful.
Trix’s laughter abruptly ceased, but Scott didn’t shift his focus from his thoughts.
And then there’s the matter of the lesser god of Illusion’s message, he continued, his mind racing. Which faction does he belong to? Or could it be… he’s not aligned with either?
The longer the silence stretched, the more questions churned in Scott’s mind, each one compounding the unease.
Trix’s amused voice broke through his reverie. “Wouldn’t you mind sharing your thoughts?” it urged, its tone playful.
Scott spared the examiner a brief glance before averting his gaze once more.
“Still upset, are we?” Trix pressed, struggling to contain a fresh bout of laughter. “If I’d known you couldn’t take a joke, I wouldn’t have done it!”
Scott finally turned back to Trix, his expression cool and indifferent. With a deliberate roll of his eyes, he replied, “I can see through your bullshit, you know that, right?”
Trix’s screen displayed an embarrassed emoji with flushed cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” it countered. “How about—”
“Who do you owe allegiance to?” Scott cut in, his tone sharp and probing, leaving no room for evasion.
Trix chuckled softly, its emoji shifting to one without a mouth. “Like all beings in the Tower, I owe my allegiance to the Tower of Champions.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Scott pressed, a slight frown forming. “Are you aligned with the gods anticipating war, or do you follow the lesser god of Illusions?”
Trix’s emoji changed once more, this time to a blank, faceless image. “Neither,” it replied, chuckling ominously. “You do remember that all questions must be related to the agendas we discussed, don’t you? We can’t have you asking unnecessary questions, okay?”
Scott’s frown deepened. We? Is it referring to itself in third person… or alluding to someone else?
As his thoughts churned, Trix’s voice filled his mind once more. “Deevok told me you were interesting, and I can say he was mostly right. I’ve had a lot of fun today, and I can’t wait to see the chaos you bring to the Endless Bridge.”
Scott’s gaze lingered on Trix’s smiling emoji. Deevok—the examiner from Symen Forest—wasn’t someone he could forget. But the revelation that the two examiners, operating in entirely separate regions and timelines, were familiar with one another came as a surprise.
Then, a stray thought struck him, sharp and insistent. He posed the question before he could think twice.
“What’s your relationship with Has—”
“Stop!” Trix interjected abruptly, its voice dropping to a chilling, ominous tone. “If you value your life, don’t say that name here,” it warned, each word heavy with tension.
Pixelated eyes materialized on Trix’s screen, darting around the hall as if searching for someone—or something.
Scott narrowed his eyes and scanned the conference room himself, searching for anything extraordinary. Yet, nothing stood out. Still, Trix’s frantic vigilance persisted, its demeanor radiating caution and anxiety.
What is it searching for? Scott wondered, his unease mounting.
A relieved sigh escaped Trix, and its emoji shifted back to one of mock anger. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?” it chided. “Is that how much you dislike me?” The screen displayed a pouting emoji for emphasis.
Scott remained silent, his mind lingering on Trix’s earlier reaction.
“No matter what,” Trix continued, its tone turning serious, “we do not speak that name—ever!” It stressed the final word with uncharacteristic weight.
Scott nodded faintly, his expression inscrutable as he readjusted his position in his chair.
“Give it time,” Trix added with a familiar laugh. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
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Trix clapped its hands twice, the sharp sound cutting through the room. The lords—immersed in their respective discussions with the examiners—snapped out of their trance, the tendrils connecting them to the orbs dissipating into thin smoke.
“Extinguished lords,” Trix began, its voice ringing with authority as the other examiners took several steps back. “The Q&A session has officially come to an end. I trust your inquiries were met with satisfactory responses.”
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Trix paused, its form shifting slightly as the orb dimmed and emitted a faint hum. Then it continued, its voice louder now.
“With that said, I hereby declare the conference over!”
Instantly, all the sealed entrances shot open, and Trix’s voice echoed once more.
“Those of you who wish to linger for refreshments or form connections are free to do so at your own leisure. For those interested in leaving, simply will it, and you will be transported anywhere within your territory.”
Trix stepped back, its form slowly dissolving into the faint light emitted by the orb.
“It has been an honor serving as your host. I sincerely wish you all the best of luck. May we meet again in the next conference.”
With those parting words, Trix and the other examiners vanished. Even the lords seated closest to the dais couldn’t see where they had gone. Simultaneously, the orb flared with dazzling light, and an array of dishes, wrapped in crystal-clear bubbles, floated gracefully through the conference room.
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Scott sat silently in his chair, his gaze trailing after the few lords who disappeared without sparing the food a second glance. Most were middle-tier champions, and surprisingly, none from the upper or lower tiers had left—or shown any interest in the dishes either.
Looks like many of them plan to use this opportunity to forge alliances, Scott thought, folding his arms across his chest.
He glanced sideways at Meelat, who was already licking her lips in anticipation. She reached for a plate that resembled roasted ribs coated in a thick, glistening sauce. Though the bubble surrounding the dish suppressed its aroma, the succulent appearance alone suggested it would taste exquisite.
Scott sighed softly, shifting his focus to his other neighbor. To his surprise, the flaming creature met his gaze with an unmistakable grin.
“Interesting, wasn’t it?” it croaked, its jarring voice grating against Scott’s ears. The creature tilted its head briefly before continuing, “See you at the next conference. Though, I won’t be sitting here next time.”
Without waiting for a response, the fiery lord vanished, leaving Scott staring blankly at the now-empty seat.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? He shook his head, discarding the bizarre encounter as he turned his attention to another figure.
His gaze landed on the lord Meelat had pointed out earlier—a highly ranked member of the Throdan Alliance. The man was surrounded by other lords, each eager to exchange greetings or curry favor.
He’s quite popular, it seems, Scott thought, leaning back in his chair.
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Scott’s observation was interrupted by the sounds of a heated exchange. His eyes shifted toward the source of the commotion. A towering woman with a murderous smile was squaring off against three equally massive men, each sporting thick, plated beard.
Are they humans? Scott wondered. The four giants stood over ten feet tall, yet their bodies showed no deformities or signs of weakness often associated with such heights. Could they be humans who entered the Tower from Earth in a different timeline? The possibility crossed his mind, but he dismissed it as unimportant.
As he prepared to look away, one of the men suddenly guffawed, pointing a thick, calloused finger at the woman.
“Do you think we’re afraid of you?” he bellowed, his bulging muscles trembling with every word. “We were slaying demons in the sea before you even started bleeding between your legs! Don’t mess with us, girl!”
The woman snickered, licking her lips as she stepped forward, unfazed by his condescension.
“And what are you going to do about it, huh?” she pressed, her tone daring. She took another step closer, her presence radiating menace. “If you’re too scared to rumble here, just name your territory, and I’ll gladly visit. How hard is that to understand?”
The men’s faces reddened with rage.
“You dare threaten us?” one growled, his eyes blazing with murderous intent.
“Do you think you’re—”
“Enough!” the woman roared, her voice shaking the hall and cutting off the man mid-sentence. “If you’re men, then act like it! Name your territories!” Her final word rang with unrelenting authority.
Her skin reddened as steam hissed from her pores, a shimmering heat haze enveloping her form. “I don’t care about the penalties. If you don’t speak, this hall will be your burial ground.”
A wave of oppressive energy swept through the room, drawing the attention of nearly every lord. Yet no one intervened. Most watched silently, curious to see how the standoff would play out.
The men, dressed like warriors from the Middle Ages, advanced in unison, their steps echoing with malice. Bloodlust radiated from their towering forms, thick and suffocating.
One of them broke away from the group, stepping closer to meet the woman’s gaze head-on.
“We are the lords of the 18th Order of the Mad Throne,” he declared, his voice heavy with threat. “Come find us if you dare.”
The woman sniggered, her lips curling into a wicked grin. “Ready yourselves. For I shall annihilate—”
She abruptly stopped, her gaze snapping sideway
Scott appeared noiselessly, as though emerging from the shadows themselves. Ignoring the towering woman’s questioning gaze, he fixed his attention on the three Vikings, his expression unreadable.
“Why are you pretending to be the overseer of someone else’s territory?” Scott asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
The Vikings’ faces darkened instantly, their expressions twisting with anger and indignation. Before they could muster a response, the woman suddenly erupted into laughter.
“What is this?” she began, her booming voice dripping with mockery. “You mean to tell me you weren’t even brave enough to give a mere girl your real territory?” Her laughter intensified, ringing through the hall.
The Vikings’ expressions contorted further, embarrassment and shame seeping into their features as they turned toward Scott.
“Who the hell are you?” one of them barked. “Don’t speak about things you don’t understand!”
“You must be working with this female beast,” another one snapped, his tone laced with venom. “Why else would you spout such nonsense?”
“Get lost, you nobody!” the third Viking spat. “You’re not using us to make a name for yourself!”
They didn’t wait for Scott to reply, instead shifting their focus back to the laughing woman.
“How shameless can you be, dragging him here to defend you?” one accused.
“It’s obvious you planned this pathetic stunt, you crazy wench,” another sneered.
The woman’s laughter ceased abruptly, her disdainful expression sharpening. “I’ve no interest in participating in whatever childish nonsense this is,” she said, her voice cold and resolute. “I don’t care if it’s the 18th Order of the Mad Throne or something else—it will cease to exist because I’ve willed it. And you three? You’ll vanish right along with it.”
The men flinched under her scornful glare, but she didn’t bother waiting for a response. Turning to leave, she muttered, “Treasure whatever time you have left—it’ll be your last.”
Before she could take another step, Scott’s calm voice cut through the tension.
“You will die if you step into any of the territories associated with the 18th Order,” he stated matter-of-factly.
The woman halted mid-step, turning slowly to face him. A bemused smile curled her lips. “Are you threatening me?”
A charged silence followed. The Vikings, who had been her primary target moments ago, seized the opportunity to make a quiet exit, leaving Scott alone to face her ire.
Scott’s gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t make threats,” he said evenly. “That was a promise. If you’re too stupid to realize they called out a random name, then I can’t help but grant you the pitiful death you seem so desperate to find.”
The woman’s ruby-red eyes narrowed as her mouth parted slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through her otherwise impenetrable demeanor. The emotion, however, was fleeting, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.
“18th Order of the Mad Throne, huh?” she murmured, shaking her head in quiet amusement.
“I am the Lord of Amazoniah,” she declared, her voice low and menacing as she stepped toward Scott with deliberate, measured strides. Her presence loomed larger with every step until she towered over him.
“When I’m done eradicating those three,” she continued, her tone growing icy, “you will be next.”