home

search

Ch 61 : Turning Point (2)

  Chapter 61 : Turning Point (2)

  โ€œAley, youโ€™re glowing?โ€ exclaims Valentin, his eyes wide open.

  โ€œIโ€™m glowing.โ€

  โ€œYouโ€™re glowing,โ€ adds Elvie, completely in parrot mode.

  โ€œMy eyes hurt...โ€ Alfira grumbles, turning her head away, half-blinded.

  Thatโ€™s when I realize itโ€™s not stopping. The light keeps intensifying, and honestly, Iโ€™m starting to freak out a little. Then, thankfully, it finally subsides.

  Valentin doesnโ€™t miss a beat. โ€œSo, what was that, an ad for Christmas lights?โ€

  โ€œWeโ€™re going in. Now.โ€ I cut him off, clearly not in the mood for more jokes.

  We move forward cautiously, heading toward the dungeonโ€™s center. The air grows heavier, humid. The rock feels cold, almost oppressive. And this damn darkness... we can barely see.

  We decide to advance into the dungeonโ€™s central chamber. The air grows thicker, damper, almost sticky. The stone beneath our feet is icy, and the echo of our steps resounds. No embellishments here: just a raw, natural chamber where the darkness is so dense itโ€™s almost tangible. Itโ€™s sinister.

  โ€œGreat vibes,โ€ mutters Valentin. โ€œYou think they considered adding chandeliers to warm up the atmosphere, or was that too much to ask?โ€

  I ignore him. Honestly, Iโ€™m too focused. At the center of the room, where a gigantic and terrifying dragon is supposed to be, I only see a figure... and not at all the one we were expecting. A human. Frail. Small. No sign of a dragon anywhere.

  โ€œMen are born free, yet everywhere they are in chains,โ€ murmurs a deep and terrifying voice. It comes from this figure.

  I frown. โ€œYeah, so what? Who are you, Jean-Jacques Rousseau? Drop the dramatic intro and get to the point.โ€

  โ€œDeath is nothing to us, who are born mortal, destined to die from birth. My mistress aims to repair humanityโ€™s greatest weakness: to create a world of peace where we will no longer be the political animals we have always been,โ€ the voice continues, utterly impassive.

  I say nothing, but honestly, this whole speech is already getting on my nerves.

  We move closer, and finally, we can make out the figure better. The person is entirely shrouded in a long gray cloak, visibly in poor condition. The fabric is torn everywhere, trailing on the ground like an old rag. Not exactly impressive.

  Then, without warning, the figure suddenly raises its right hand in a sharp, almost theatrical gesture. The cloak falls.

  โ€œAh!โ€ Valentin jumps. โ€œWhat was that? A magicianโ€™s entrance?โ€

  โ€œLumos...โ€ he murmurs immediately, as if trying to conjure something.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  An immense light bursts to the ceiling of the cave, illuminating the entire room in an instant. This time, we can clearly see whoโ€™s in the center.

  A young girl. Blonde.

  Not a kid, though. A woman, but with that youthful air that makes you hesitate between finding her adorable or creepy. Sheโ€™s wearing a black military uniform, perfectly tailored. The skirt, a deep black, stops at her thighs, paired with dark boots trimmed with fur at the top.

  โ€œOh wow, itโ€™s a fashion show now,โ€ mutters Valentin, half-amused, half-wary.

  Her uniform is adorned with medalsโ€”at least tenโ€”that glint in the light. Not trinkets, but war decorations. Unlike this worldโ€™s medieval vibe, her outfit stands out completely. She looks like she stepped straight out of our time, like a corporal ready for battle.

  Her jacket, white and fur-lined, rests casually on her shoulders. Sheโ€™s not even wearing it properly. The kind of arrogant class that makes a statement.

  Her face, though, is of icy beauty. Her piercing blue eyes are like blades, and her blonde hair falls in immaculate locks. In short, she looks more like a weapon of mass destruction than a human.

  โ€œI... I havenโ€™t trembled this much since Elvaristria,โ€ I mutter under my breath, almost to myself.

  Her weapon completes the picture. A lance. But not a regular lance. This one is entirely mechanical, a complex assembly of raw metal. It looks hastily cobbled together, with nails driven into it here and there, like someone fused a crossbow and a siege weapon into a single deadly tool.

  โ€œAnd here I thought my magic bat was stylish,โ€ sighs Valentin.

  On her head, a corporalโ€™s cap with a military insignia sits proudly. Diamond earrings complete this almost divine look.

  She takes a step forward, and her voice rises, cold and calculating:

  โ€œSolfรจge Di Carnaris, member of the Ten Knights of Voltruite, in the direct service of Her Majesty Altruista Si Voltruite, second princess of the kingdom.โ€

  โ€œOkay... so your nameโ€™s Solfรจge,โ€ I say, clearly unimpressed despite the growing tension in the room. โ€œAnd what do you want, Solfรจge?โ€

  โ€œHer royal majesty desires an equal world, and for this, she requires the magical power of the gods. Yours.โ€

  I frown. โ€œAnd what does she plan to do with this magical power, huh?โ€

  โ€œShe will become the emissary of the stars, the one shining brighter than any star in the sky.โ€

  I let out a loud sigh. โ€œYeah, great. We have no reason to agree, so scram with your stars.โ€

  โ€œThis nonsense will not work on me.โ€ Solfรจgeโ€™s voice is sharp, almost mechanical. โ€œFor days, we have been watching you. You stray further from your goal, while the world is about to die at the hands of the Supreme Will of the World.โ€

  I frown, struck by her words. โ€œThe world is about to perishโ€”โ€ But before I can finish, in a flash, she disappears. A split second later, sheโ€™s there. Right there. Her lance, cold and lethal, is pointed at my throat.

  I step back a millimeter. No more. โ€œYou... Youโ€™re serious?!โ€

  Her gaze is fixed on me, devoid of emotion yet full of unwavering determination. Her piercing blue eyes cut through my soul as if I were already dead.

  โ€œI-Iโ€™m a god. How did you move so fast without meโ€”โ€ My brain races. What is this speed? Itโ€™s not normal.

  โ€œGods,โ€ she begins calmly, โ€œare prideful of their strength. They lounge. Make up stories. They live in an illusion... One where they believe they have nothing left to conquer, having already obtained everything. And in this illusion, they sink into endless despair.โ€ She presses the lance slightly, just enough to remind me sheโ€™s in control. โ€œBut we mortals... We become stronger than anyone in no time at all. Because such is our ultimate will: to survive.โ€

  Her voice is as icy as her gaze.

  I grit my teeth. โ€œI was mortal once, in case you forgot. You seem to know me well in Voltruite, by the way.โ€

  โ€œYou are but a shadow of what you once were.โ€ She doesnโ€™t back down an inch, her biting tone leaving no room for escape. โ€œVoltruite, the land of forging and weapon craftsmanship... By whom do you think it was founded, you fool?โ€

  I swallow hard. Her lance doesnโ€™t move a millimeter. โ€œWhat do you mean?โ€

  โ€œIt was founded by the disciples of Veron, the dwarven god. The god of the forge.โ€ She pauses, her gaze darkening even more. โ€œIt is said he was savagely murdered by the god of hatred.โ€

Recommended Popular Novels