Going back a few minutes into the past— the moment when the seal embedded in the dryads' soul had significantly wavered.
Oh… Oh no.
That was an oversight.
The crested binding that enslaved the dryads was a form of divine contract. One rooted in the mystique of ancient arcana, fluctuating relative to the caster's vitality, instead of mana capacity. Meaning— when Roux ate him from the inside, that near-death state caused the seal's effectiveness to also plummet… Hm?
Shouldn't it be designed to grow stronger when the master is dying instead, so that the familiars can't break free and rebel? I never understood why the mechanics were so wack like that... or was that a restriction to balance it out?
Nah. It's another ass-pull from the author, probably.
Ah, that reminds me. Wasn't Chrysos spitting some NPC jargon earlier? Something along the lines of: [Are you certain that is wise, esteemed progenitor?] or something…
That guy... Did he know this was going to happen? Say something then! Damn it!
Silence cemented its grasp of the atmosphere, disrupted only by faint munching and occasional comments.
Luxion— enshrined on his brooding throne that seemed as though it was a child's scribble given form— lamented on what, in his opinion, was a lackluster display of a tale he arrogantly produced with half-hearted conviction.
The young tyrant's eyes closed, disappointed. He was joined by Blanche and his other familiars, who— while seemingly intrigued— did not look particularly astonished as he was hoping they would be... Or so he hastily assumed. But a storm brews within his vassals' minds— unbeknownst to him.
One yet to be unveiled and sculpted into a nightmare even he shall not foresee.
"Since when was Liam that strong?" Luxion muttered, scratching his temple.
"I set him up with a 2v2 against those girls, hoping it'd be a good even match... didn't expect him to just nuke them."
He leaned back on his seat, did the instinctive stretching as though he had just binged an entire series in one sitting, and unsummoned the bucket of caramel popcorn he had sneakily conjured.
"Silk and Gill, too." He lazily shifted his gaze, resting his chin on his palm.
"I've planned for them to lose against that secret boss character, and have Liam save them at the last moment, but to think they'd actually win straight up. It was good, so I ain't complaining."
"What are you saying now?" A sweet, velvety voice chimed in.
"Weren't you the very reason those three have grown so quickly?"
Blanche stirred the pot, her amused lilt suggesting she's intent on simply fanning the flames of her interest, not necessarily to offer her guiding proverbs.
"You've altered so much of the plot already, funneled them down paths they never would have walked alone at this vertex of their lives." She continued, words precise and unfiltered.
"Naturally, they were bound to evolve."
"I know that…" Luxion sighed deeply, rubbing his temples harder.
"Besides, does that really matter?"
"Yeah… Uhh. Well, I suppose not that much. Just that I had presets in mind." He stuttered a response.
"Liam, being the heir— his character arc should revolve around the power and responsibilities necessitated by that title. Him winning in a landslide at this point doesn't put much emphasis on the gravity of either of them."
Blanche strayed her gaze.
"You think so? It didn't appear that way to me." She quietly muttered, eyes trailing the beads of sweat lining Liam's forehead.
"Seems like he'd grasped it just fine."
But she opted not to say anything— in her defense that it'd be more interesting like this.
"Gill, I'd say, is the most exciting prospect." Luxion resumed his exposition.
"She was destined to be the saint. She knew it. She had been presented with the offer from the church to hone those gifts of hers, and yet, she declined. Instead, she chose the art of warfare, thus greatly hindering her potential."
Luxion's eyes narrowed, iris dilated like a scientist watching his experiment blossom.
"I had hope the disparity in level would overwhelm them, crush her atrocious arrogance, and inflict a fatal wound on her twin sister so severe that it spells out her ignorance physically in reality." He proclaimed with the widest smile and a calmness that blurred the verdicts of morality.
"A bit cliche, but death— or the threat of it, at least— is one of the greatest plot device."
Silence. Then followed by low chuckles.
"What of the golden lass then? Did you mean for her story to end like that?" Blanche inquired, curiosity piqued.
"Silk never had an explicit personality— a flat-type character with a more nuanced development. She's a part of the main cast, but frankly, she's a character more fitting in backstories rather than the main plot." Luxion expanded, visually manifesting his thoughts.
Three lines symbolic of his three siblings.
One in a constant flux. A trail almost serpentine— slithering in jumps and dips, flailing too far on either edge, and at times, even stepping back and halting altogether.
Unstable.
Unbearably Complex.
Filled with doubts, conflict, and uncontrollable circumstances.
This is what he envisioned Liam's tale would be.
The one beside it was one of a hero, a linearly rising path with close to no impurity. It's only unsettling segment— the starting point was abhorrently below zero.
The path of a true brave is a road of thorns whispered by unnerving torrents.
The resolve to become one, only granted to those who felt that abyssal bottom. Those who kissed despair and overcame its embrace to once more reach for the almighty heavens.
Again, cliche.
But Naruto's talk no jutsu won't be as compelling if Hiruzen was competent— I mean, if he wasn't ostracized.
"Originally, I had thought of her as indispensable, but…"
The last thread— one so steady and firm, it didn't seem to move. It's simply stagnant.
"The Shrift Twins I know— one was steadfast yet fragile, the other mellow and stubborn— no longer existed. It's as though her personality merged with Gill's, leaving her in this… generic emotional filler-esque state."
{Author's Note: She became a Shonen MC's mother.}
"I wonder whose fault that is?" Blanche taunted.
Luxion went silent, unsure of what he could even say to that.
"Well, that aside."
He gave up and switched the topic.
"I suppose what I wanted was more of a thriller. More blood. Gore. Dread. Desperation. You know, like an actual epic!" Luxion explained with vigor.
"At least the girls had a closer fight, despite all that flashy spamming. But even then…"
"If it's excitement you crave…" Blanche smirked, tilting her head, her tone laced with too much mischief for his liking.
"I could make it more… exhilarating."
A careless suggestion that quickly caught the attention of the other two maniacs.
"Please don't." Luxion pleaded genuinely.
"Things are already cluttered as it is. There are a lot of holes in the plot that have yet to be explained. The last thing it needs is for the [Queen of the Swarm] to spontaneously descend from the ruined mythology and start wreaking havoc."
These words merited a few sighs. Soft though they were, the slumped shoulders of the two behind him spoke of their letdown.
"Do you have any idea what kind of consequences that would stir?"
"Oh, I perfectly do. That's what makes it tempting." She replied with a mischievous giggle.
"Don't you agree?"
I totally do!!!
The emergence of a Divine Beast alone is already considered a national disaster, one meriting the kingdom's utmost attention. If one of the most feared [Archdemon] in history, infamous for their heinous nature, were to pop up alongside that, this world would really be overthrown into chaos.
Countries would be preoccupied with the threat. Treaties would be forged. And another war against the demons would likely be waged.
—Too much noise for the Overlord's taste.
You're too prominent a character. Too beautiful for the world to witness. I want to take the time to build the foundations. Shroud your presence in mystique and anticipation, and set the perfect stage for your return.
"Fufu~ You flatter me too much, dear."
…And I want to keep you to myself for a bit longer, so let's save your grand reveal for a later volume.
Blanche blinked, her composure momentarily disrupted. Then, she crouched, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheeks.
Her touch wrapped her warmth against his skin. Her breath engraved seductive chimes perpetually ringing in his ears. Strands of her pristine snow white hair playfully tangled with his like territorial vines as though marking what was hers.
And the bastard loved every second of it.
"In that regard, haven't the knights succeeded in this event, my Liege?" Vesper interjected, his voice measured yet discerning.
His untimely intervention gained him a burning glare from the Mistress.
—to which he was completely oblivious to.
"Those soldiers, although aided by the gifts my Liege have bestowed upon them, emerged victorious against the dryads despite the overwhelming disparity in power. That fact alone is a feat worthy of commendation." He continued, tone coiled in unexpected amusement.
"Particularly for that young swordsman at the forefront."
"Oh? You think so too? Quite the gem in the rough, isn't he?" A knowing glint flickered in Luxion's eyes.
"Indeed." Vesper nodded deeply.
"I believe it would be a worthwhile investment. Raw and undefined, but with proper refinement, he could be molded into a warrior of unparalleled caliber."
Luxion paused, surprised by his praise.
"You're that confident in him, huh… In that case, can I leave his trials to you?"
"You have my word, my Liege." Vesper bowed, a rare hint of anticipation in his usually unreadable expression.
"I shall not disappoint."
Hilden Kraus, was it?
The name stirred memories. Somewhere within the vast archives, there was a passing gale of thought. Something familiar yet remaining elusive.
I swear I've heard that name before. Was he one of the minor named characters? The game, manga, rogues, empire, demons... where was it?
Ughh, I hope I'm not forgetting something crucial.
Before he could dwell on it further, a shift in the air sent a ripple through his senses.
A peculiar presence— alien, but not foreign. It was neither human, demi-human, nor was it a demon or the like. if anything, this presence resembled that of Fenrir.
At his foothold, the remnants of the shield of Aegis glowed as though it had a pulse.
[Meliae]— An existence three levels above the evolutionary line of the [Dryads], a tier just below that of [True Spirits].
A race succeeding the [Faes], granted by birth— natural affinity to a specific element, allowing them to attain great mastery over that type of magic, if not embody it entirely.
This unique trait gained them the title— [Elemental Median].
I knew beforehand that his familiars are Eldoralls— I mean, it's quite obvious if you know where to look. But, to think one of them is a Meliae.
{Author's Note: [Eldorall]— being whose existence is bound to the natural flow of the world. They have color-coordinated designs based on their element.}
And it's that mini-boss, right?
Considering it's from that frost valley, she must be the missing guardian our house made a pact with. So she wasn't defeated after all, huh.
Yet another information left out in the main story. An unknown tale of an unknown character.
This puzzle of threads seemed to be too tightly knit to be happenstance— is this the real plot the author wrote, or is it the algorithm of this world filling in the blanks?
A side story exclusive to reincarnators.
I'm kinda intrigued.
A finger over his lips, Luxion had a thought.
I really want to study her now… Would it be bad if I abduct her for a while, I wonder? Just for a week, maybe two. She's already been absent for centuries— what's another dozen days?
I swear I'll return her in "one piece"!!!
Luxion mused over passing amusement, only to catch Blanche casting him a sidelong glance— a gaze curious, expectant of something. A silent query—[Should I...?]— which he swiftly denied, inciting a sigh out of her luscious lips as a flicker of disappointment threaded her expression.
"Are you interested in her?" Luxion asked, a bit terrified of her answer.
"A little." Blanche tilted her head, eyes playfully darting across the battlefield.
"…Though, mostly because you seemed quite taken by her appearance."
Her hand moved to catch her hair, twirling strands between her fingers like a reprimanded child. Her voice softened to a whisper, her tone possessing the slightest hint of solemn wavering. Her eyes briefly glistened, her smile seeming strained— it was as fake as his public image, but damn, did it caught Luxion off-guard.
Then, she winked at him as if saying it's revenge for his teasing earlier.
"That lesser spirit, I recognize her." Blanche continued, robbing him the chance to retort.
"I believe I saw her face at the altar a thousand years ago. Small, fragile, nothing but a pollen freshly nipped from the stem." She stated, her tone sharply calculating.
"If my memory serves me right, she is the daughter of the first Monarch—"
Pause. Their gaze briefly crossed.
"My… Have our eyes met just now?"
Blanche's left iris flared a violent scarlet, a spherical script crested in overlapping triangles weaving itself into her pupil.
The All-Seeing Eyes of the Blood Empress— an authority that encroaches a being's heart, unraveling the truth beyond the existence that they are now, before, and the spectral shadow of a possible future.
{Author's Note: [Appraisal], basically.}
What she saw was clouded.
For a Guardian granted such a frivolous reputation, the girl's stats were utterly underwhelming— subpar, at best.
Strength, skills, latent potential. Even disregarding the factors likely weakened by her seal, no attributes were befitting her supposedly godly presence, nor a special affix that justified her stature.
She was nothing but mediocre.
{Author's Note: Guardians are essentially spirits bound by an oath of protection.}
No, that wasn't quite right. She does possess something to merit her grandeur.
She [had].
"Fufu~ That confirmed it, my dear. That child is a bearer of an ancient ruin just like us." Blanche's lips curled in amusement.
"Though it would seem that had she caught its [Curse] instead— Unknowingly, perhaps. For a millennium, quietly devouring her and those she touches. I doubt she even knows the difference."
Luxion blinked, his demeanor sharpening.
(Well, that's… troubling.)
(Hm, is it just me or is she freaking out for some reason? What did you do, Blanche?)
("How rude. I did nothing.")
Then, casually as one would discuss the evening weather, as though it was the most mundanely obvious matter in the world, Blanche posed the dreaded question—
"Should I erase her?"
A pause.
A heartbeat of silence.
Vesper and Chrysos, the demonic pair of malicious compliance, whom up until now, had remained still, immediately drifted their intent gazes toward their master, eagerly awaiting his decree. There was no hesitation in their posture— not a missing beat, or a delay that a conscience may incur.
Contrarily, they seemed far too giddy about this shift in tune.
They had not expected to wield hostility when they were summoned, however— if Luxion so much as nodded— they had no qualms whatsoever executing Order 66.
Shh!!! Don't say that out loud!
They are a set of [Demiurge]s who can't take a joke. Interpreting every nefarious thing he says at face value with utmost sincerity, and anything else as an overly simplified cipher which, for some reason, always converges into the idea of homicide and mass slaughter.
An integral trait of their character that Luxion had to learn the hard way.
One time, in a fleeting moment of boredom, Luxion thoughtlessly made an offhanded joke about becoming a king in front of his familiars. A passing comment meant to only garner a few chuckles at that moment.
However, to his utter horror, by nightfall that very same day, Vesper and Chrysos, the two psychopaths, had plotted, prepared, and implemented an intricate plan to incite a country-wide monster stampede, intending to raze the kingdom into not existing, and install Luxion as the absolute ruler over its ashes.
It was only thanks to Blanche's timely intervention that the disaster was averted.
Scolding the two for how pompous their plan was, insisting that they should have done so more discreetly. Even suggesting that they spark a civil war instead and let the downtrodden mongrels kill themselves.
She, too, was another menace.
Naturally, Luxion was horrified.
He was furious. Utterly and thoroughly disillusioned of the three, even going so far as to threaten to sever their chain of subservience.
—because it was a spoiler of what he had planned for a later arc.
{Have you realized it yet? You're not following the good guys in this story, if that wasn't obvious already.}
"Again! Don't do that! The Guardian's emergence now will be quite useful if we play it right." Luxion sternly emphasized, annoyance leaking from his voice.
"Hm, let's see… Since they are kind of relatives in a way, I'll leave her case to Onyx."
"Master."
Say her name and~ she appears~♪
"With the assistance of the guild, evacuation of the civilians has been finished. That is— the entirety of the Southern district and everything within a 500-meter radius of the barrier."
I believe in Ly Ony~♪
"However, taking this chance, the Duke Zancrest had departed towards the battlefield despite Master's insistence not to."
Wave your arms from side to side and say—♪
"What should we do… umm, Master?"
Ah! Yeah, yeah! Forget what you just heard, I was spacing out there for a moment.
"Come here and tell us the details."
With a casual snap of his fingers, a slab of pure ebony resembling a mirror lacking face materialized before the throne. The artifact radiated with paradoxes— solid yet weightless, infinite yet fleeting. Its edges were in a constant flux of fractures and mended surface, shifting between a state of existence and not, endlessly trapped in a cycle of formation and decay.
To manipulate space, one must conquer the stricture of time.
Space requires time to traverse, and time is a proportionally accelerating force to the expansion of space. To govern both is to create a perpetual cycle of death and rebirth. To move at any point without delay is a defunct motion— an incoherent paradox necessitating one to be present in all of them at all times.
And to do so is a breach of all known logic.
To defy the drag of causality— such is the dilemma of core spatial magic. This is one of the two main reasons why the world is yet to reach the formula of [True Teleportation]— because there have been no successful attempts in distorting its shackles into omniscient boots.
The other is quite simple— Fear.
For to fail trying meant complete incineration between the infinitely finite stream of the unforgiving singularity.
An existential risk for a reward no one knows if a mortal vessel could even host.
Not even Luxion, with all his Isekai Hax and sage-like obsession, managed to attain the means to realize it.
Though that doesn't mean he made no progress.
Years trekked along, veiled in a constant blur. A schedule of madness, dissected in milliseconds— efficient as dwarven blacksmithing, driven as a swordsaint in training.
Heads, organs, lives— thousands.
Every week, every month.
Roars were swallowed by shadows, desperation bottled in a concoction dripped in poison. Screams and cries lulled each night until the breaking of blood-misted dawn. And as the creaking of bones danced like a pianist's graceful fingers over keys— one by one as limbs were warped after another— they sang like voiceless angels.
For he, who relishes the unknown.
Then, finally…
Breakthrough— two in fact.
Ever wondered in the back of your mind, why this whole subjugation arc makes no chronological sense when you estimate the time of each overlapping scene?
How are they able to talk this much within the time frame of this fight? In a battle sequence supposedly happening at inhuman speeds, how does this scene fit in between these two points?
Were parts of the action cut? Did the author do a Frieza and turned 5 minutes into 30 episodes?
[24 minutes]
Since Silk casted Translocation until Chapter 6's last syllable— only 24 minutes have passed.
{Author's Note: Anaphia's introductory scene alone is 5-7 minutes already.}
Speaking of— there's the second transgression.
[Translocation]— a pseudo-temporal incision weaved in shadows, reliant on fractured catalysts bearing within it a forged soul corridor between the caster and said remnant.
It [transfers] your [location]— [Translocation].
{Author's Note: Savepoint system, essentially.}
Not quite as glorious as literally rewriting the laws of the universe, but after years of trial and error, he was able to refine it to a point of practicality— the closest thing to instantaneous travel in this world… only to be perfectly replicated by Silk after a week of tinkering.
That bitch.
And so, as a testament of pettiness— Luxion made his version more visually thrilling at least.
"Begin."
Another snap— a brief flicker. The mirror collapsed onto itself, its brittle surface shattering into a million shards, melting into a pool of viscous goo as though the void had shed a tear.
Gradually, frame by frame, reshaping into a humanoid vignette— One of a child.
Porcelain skin peeked through the bubbling shadow, ashen threads emerging in a gallant set of hair as its luscious lashes fluttered to unveil its vibrant amethyst jewels.
Before them, there was none other than—
Luxion himself.
"Right away, Master—"
"Onyx~"
A melodic voice reverberated through the distorted air, poised in a velvet poison like cyanide deep in sweet honey. A lovely hymn that entranced every being who heard her spoke— so lovely, in fact, that it made Onyx shudder in sheer terror.
"Did I not make myself perfectly clear?"
Blanche's mere presence could melt the toughest ores. Her smile, too radiant, gleaming with twisted adoration bordering the emotion most commonly referred to as— rage.
If words could inflict physical harm, Onyx would've been skinned alive on the spot.
"I have already told you never to appear before me in that form, haven't I?" She inquired— a soft, menacing sigh trailing her voice.
"…Are you doing this on purpose to spite me, perhaps?"
Her inquisition felt like divine rapiers, clad in ravishing grace yet carrying the reaper's deathly omen that even the gods would dare not cross. Her upbeat tone lingered like sadistic beasts dragging their fangs along Onyx's skin, cursing the very air with an invisible threat that even the uninvolved familiars felt down to the last fiber of their being.
"Hiiieee~! I-I-I-I-I am not, Mistress!!!"
Onyx squealed as though the demon lord were out to end her. She fell onto her backside, frantically flailing her arms like a powerless cub.
"I didn't have time to transform! I didn't mean to displease you, I swear!"
A display unfitting of that face— only further fueling Blanche's steadily simmering wrath.
"Master... please help me!" The poor child turned to her vowed superior.
Luxion, utterly indifferent, leaned comfortably against the armrest of his throne, chuckling softly as he immersed himself at their gleeful interaction— enjoying it far too much.
"Gleeful, my ass." Blanche growled silently through clenched teeth, steam nearly pouring from her ears.
Blanche— Luxion spoke directly into her mind.
Why are you so prickly about this? Didn't we already reach a consensus on this topic?
"Yes. And the one condition was that she is not to approach me wearing your face."
We're in the middle of an operation. Can't you let it slide this time?
"I refuse." An instant answer.
"That is your image." Blanche firmly stated, hints of frustration beneath her words.
"Seeing someone prance around mimicking your mannerisms as though it were their own makes my blood boil. It is utterly intolerable to me to hear your voice from someone else's mouth." She continued, the shiver in her voice tugging each syllable like a solemn eulogy.
"Your identity. Your name. You are far too dear to me to allow some filthy nymph make a mockery of your existence."
Silence. Luxion briefly gave it a thought.
Mockery… I see. I see— Luxion purred, tilting his head, his grin widening.
So in simple terms, you're pouting because you can't stand anyone impersonating your lovely, dashing, impossibly impeccable prince, right?
"..."
Oh~ My, oh my~
How possessive of you~
You love me that much, huh. Completely understandable. It can't be helped, even! I am, after all, a literal otherworldly catch. Unparalleled in both power, ingenuity, wisdom, and the wielder of devastatingly ravishing grace.
I totally understand why you can't help yourself obsessing over this perfect of a gentleman. If I were a woman, I'd be attached to me too.
No need to be ashamed of it.
"…It's plummeting exponentially. Your attractiveness. Right this very moment."
Blanche deadpanned, arms crossed, but the faint twitch at the corners of her lips betrayed her growing annoyance.
Oh, what a tsundere~
"I am not!"
Despite Blanche's clear distaste, Luxion refused to cease his assault. Contrarily, he ignored her completely and escalated his teasing— which only added to her irritation.
I know we are sworn partners, but I didn't realize your affection for me was this high.
Truly, I am a sinful man.
The familiars exchanged tensed glances— even Vesper, with his metallic exoskeleton, was visibly sweating.
It is not unusual for the young Lord and his Queen to converse in complete silence. It had actually been quite an infamous attraction between the familiars. However, this time, it was clearly different from their usual sugary interaction.
Luxion's playful smirk was mirrored by Blanche's increasingly souring frown, and yet, her cheeks were also flushed red like a maiden hopelessly in love.
It was confusing to say the least.
In response, Vesper and Chrysos feigned ignorance. Roux was minding her business, blissfully unaware of the brewing storm. And Onyx— she lay sprawled in a heap of despair, already accepting her demise.
It's okay. I know the feeling. I know it real well.
If someone were to claim even a fraction of your identity, my first instinct would be to eradicate their entire bloodline as well. But this is contextually different, no?
You'll always have the real me by your side.
No room for doubt in that fact.
"I allowed it… I can comprehend that it's nothing but a superficial gimmick… that's why I reluctantly forgave it with that condition…" Blanche strayed her gaze, her expression softening ever so slightly.
"But I still loathe witnessing it."
Her words carried less of her earlier hostility. She meant each of them genuinely, remaining resolute in her stance… but it was also true that she's already halfway into forgiving her thanks to Luxion's antics.
Hm, so I can have a public persona, essentially a different personality, but not a convenient body double? And THEN~! if I ever miss some time to spend with you, you complain and interrupt me while I'm busy with that life.
Blanche couldn't refute it.
I'll admit I find your indulgence endearing, but isn't that a tad bit too selfish on your part?
"Don't twist the—"
Not that I mind being yours and only yours.
Blanche sputtered— elegantly. She prevented her heart from ceasing its pulse, but the damage dealt had blown away all of her resistance.
And as the final nail in the coffin, the sly rascal, like a veteran con artist sensing victory within reach, Luxion leaned in against Blanche's smooth skin. Knowing full well the overwhelming power of his face, he weaponized beauty— tilting his head just at the right angle, gazing up at her with the most disarmingly adorable puppy-dog eyes he could muster.
"It was my order, Blanche. Please don't be too harsh on her. I'll make sure she's more careful next time, so…" He sweetly whispered.
"Forgive her just this once?"
[K.O!!! You Win. Perfect!]
The Queen of Avarice.
The Devourer of Greed.
The Devil of Bloodied Embroidery.
A walking cataclysm that erased entire kingdoms off the map just to see if she could.
Well, so much for that terrifyingly heavy-metal description as here she was— blushing furiously, helplessly rolled in between the fingertips of an immature adult in the body of a 9 y.o. child.
{Author's Note: Technically, she is not a pedophile. If anything, it's the opposite.}
Needless to say… It was effective.
"…I suppose it can't be helped." She mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.
"…j-just this once."
Her lips trembled. Her gaze darted to the side like a cue ball with too much momentum, unable to meet Luxion's teasing grin.
Onyx instantly popped up. Her eyes flared up like a child on Christmas as the gates of salvation opened to let her through. With teary eyes, she glanced at Luxion, who gave her a reassuring nod.
Blanche let out a very noble sigh, rubbing her temples as she glared at the fawning familiar.
"Next time, Onyx…"
Blanche's voice trailed off, dropping several octaves. Her tone carried just enough menace to keep Onyx from relaxing completely.
"Yes, Mistress! Absolutely! No more slip-ups, I swear on my life!" Onyx squeaked, saluting clumsily as she scrambled to her feet.
The tension eased. Traces of Blanche's embarrassment lingered in the air, but no one dared poke the bear. That is, except for Luxion— who was watching her at the corner of his eye, unable to suppress the triumphant smirk tugging at his lips.
You really are adorable when you're like this.
He ran a whispered thought, intending fully for her to hear his honest thoughts.
Blanche ignored it. She didn't reply— just smacked him lightly on the head, but her lips had once more betrayed her.
More than any time this evening, she wore the most blinding smile.
.
"Well, with that settled, why don't you continue your report?" Luxion asked, his voice even, coated with an undertone of curious prying.
"Y-Yes! Gladly!" Onyx straightened, fumbling for composure.
With a deep breath, she began to recount her findings: the status of the masses' evacuation, the conditions of the captured subjects, and most importantly, the Duke's current actions. Every detail was meticulously delivered, her words efficiently flowed with precision and unquestionable clarity.
And yet, the underlying message behind her report could be distilled into a single, almost dismissive phrase:
[Just as expected…]
Everything was unfolding perfectly— too perfectly. Besides a few details, the execution was too clean, too aligned with the predetermined design the young Lord had envisioned.
To anyone else, such predictability would be a source of reassurance— a confirmation of control. But to Luxion, the eerie smoothness in its tune felt like a dissonant note in an otherwise harmonious melody.
Flawless, as though rehearsed.
His brows furrowed slightly, thoughts weighing heavily in his mind.
Was it unfounded paranoia? Or perhaps, he was irrationally hoping for a note of chaos to confirm unaccounted suspicions?
"What a convolutedly simple-minded man."
Blanche's thought drifted through subconscious like a tranquil breeze over still water, carrying with it a peculiar blend of amusement and intrigue as though analyzing a rare phenomenon under a magnifying glass— one deceivingly plain, yet one she could not define even now.
She leaned back, her ethereal presence radiating contemplation.
A man who craves carnage, yet seeks beauty in its implosion. A being who views the world through the lens outside mortal boundaries— entranced by what he called a [Manuscript].
To him, the world was real, yet concurrently non-existent. Far from a sacred reality, but a passage that was merely a prolonged narrative.
One he observes.
A living chronicle he annotated.
One he could endlessly influence and stir as though it were his stage.
He was not above it, but one with it.
Himself— just another cog in its plot.
He was no righteous hero or detestable villain (debatable). He aimed not to be the figure to breach the heavens and sever the underworld, not to reach the limits of the world's comprehension, not even a mundane dream of a family and peaceful passing.
He was tied to nothing, but was intertwined with everything.
Just a thread in its ever-weaving loom.
Absurd, and yet, fascinating.
The only one who has never yielded to her. The one thing she could never fully comprehend.
Even now, after merging into his soul, permeating into the very fabric that birthed what was [Him]. She breathed the same rhythms sang by his consciousness— his mind bare for her to read, his innermost thoughts free for her to listen.
And still, comprehension eluded her.
He defined a paradox.
A man made of contradictions.
An entity whose indecipherable desires didn't appear to belong to him and him alone— Selfish beyond reason, yet so paradoxically absent of worldly obsessions.
He took no pleasure in inflicting agony (again, debatable), yet bore no resistance in wielding cruelty if the result compelled his creative visions. He seeks points of conflict. He thirsts for a story— a tale to uphold his twisted preference. His every action does not align with any discernible personal gain, only a peculiar pursuit of something impossibly intangible.
[Interest].
Not in wealth, not in people, kingdoms or anything societal bounds may offer.
He's an [Observer]— No… perhaps more accurately, he's a [Weaver]— one of fate. He crafts stories, steers lives, manipulates patterns, drowns in the unfolding of endless phenomena.
He could interact with the world as its denizen, yet still chooses to read each syllable through the eyes of an eternal outsider.
Not because he rejected it, but perhaps due to a longing— forever striving to grasp something it could not offer.
She trailed off, her mind wandering into memories she rarely dared revisit— the weight of centuries pressed against her words.
"I still don't understand him." She admitted.
She likened it to a researcher's soul, utterly consumed by their work that it possessed their existence. A passion so potently intoxicating it bypasses the restrictions of morality and twists into an unholy obsession. His experiment— his masterpiece being this world in its entirety.
Even the cold embrace of death meant nothing to him, so long as it serves as a catalyst for his overarching plot.
He's a madman.
And yet, she could not pull away.
It was truly maddening.
It was in the very presence of his inherent madness that she found a curious mystique. Ironic— that the thing she had once abhorred— feared and so utterly detested— was the very reason that made him irresistible.
Ever since they met— the true beginning, when their fates first intertwined— he had remained full of unanswered mysteries. An abyss where, no matter how deep she dove, there was never an end in sight.
But somewhere beneath the veil of intellect and whimsy, he possess something else. Something invisible, yet palpable. Fragile, yet genuine.
Something warm.
That moment when he crossed the boundaries of this world, when realities converged in that desolate space where time had ceased to pass.
A time when she wasn't the entity she was now. A period of eternal despair after she had been forced to become the [Devil] cursed by the spineless sovereigns who feared the very manifestation of malice.
A depression in history when a simple girl was teetering at the pit of ruin, cries unheard over the void that refused any light.
Back then, when she had no concept of herself.
Alone.
Cursed.
Forgotten.
Until, he came.
That quiet chat— mundane, simple, free. That short exchange between a curse and the one who heard her voice, extending for an eternity she never knew could be so blissful.
He didn't offer pity.
He didn't mourn her suffering.
He didn't save her like some dashing hero of a fairy tale written over flower fields.
He acknowledged her.
That was all.
That was everything.
"It's somewhat disheartening that he no longer remembers…"
It took centuries.
A millennium of waiting in solitude— of faithfully clinging to that vow they made that day. But unlike before, she was not drowsed in the debilitating grasp of dread.
She was fulfilled. Each day— a step closer to their eventual reunion.
And now, she finally reached him.
He found her. Welcomed her to the world he intends to craft— just as he promised he would.
Hm, don't remember? Did I forget something?
Luxion inquired, voice softly cutting through her the solemnly wandering thoughts streaming down their shared conscious.
Startled, she blinked.
Her gaze met his— perpetually fixed on her face. His eyes, ever brilliant, searched hers— not with suspicion, but care— genuine concern etched in his childish features.
Blanche sighed deeply, cheeks slightly red.
It is in these moments that she truly realize how infuriatingly captivating he is.
The richly deep amethyst of his rounded irises, the beautifully sharp lines of his dashing face, that innocently earnest look of worry! A breathtaking profile that could charm anyone with a mere glance.
At this rate, she may not be able to restrain herself until he grows into an adult.
{Author's Note: That's a dangerous thought.}
"What a troublesome man I've forever been entangled with."
She inhaled slowly, allowing herself a brief moment of vulnerability— and the ever-so-steadily rising tide to settle inside her.
"No. Just a passing thought." She said, voice calm and gracefully composed.
"Pay it no mind."
Within her, a thorn seemed to probe her heart.
One day. When the time was ripe. When the world demanded the truth… When she finally come to terms with her own beginning.
She wished to share everything with him.
Tell him what she was before she became Blanche. And what he meant to her before he even came to be Luxion von Zancrest.