The Duke sat in the carriage, cradling his son protectively in his arms. Still shaken, Evan clung to him, his small fingers gripping his father's cloak tightly. As the carriage rolled through the gates of the Orthea mansion, the Duke exhaled a heavy breath. Home, but not as it once was.
Diana was already waiting when they arrived, dressed in a simple black mourning gown. The moment she saw Evan, she ran toward him, dropping to her knees and pulling him into a gentle embrace.
"Evan," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Evan buried his face in her shoulder, his small body trembling. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, sister."
Diana stroked his hair, her touch tender and soothing. "No, Evan. None of this is your fault. Do you understand? None of it."
The boy didn't answer, only clinging tighter to his sister.
As the siblings shared a moment of comfort, the head butler, Terkia, approached hesitantly. He bowed slightly and addressed the Duke. "Your Grace, a visitor is waiting for you in the drawing room."
The Duke's brows furrowed. "A visitor?"
Terkia nodded, his expression uneasy. "It's... His Majesty."
The Duke stiffened at the mention of the Emperor. He gently released Evan into Diana's care and stood. "Look after him," he instructed, his voice firm but soft.
Diana nodded, her arms still wrapped protectively around Evan.
The Duke made his way to the drawing room. When he entered, his gaze immediately fell on the man standing near the window/ His eyes cold and detached.
Raphael Winterbell, the Emperor of the Empire.
The Duke bowed deeply. "Your servant greets the Empire's sun."
The Emperor turned his sharp golden eyes toward him and waved a hand dismissively. "Rise. There's no need for formalities, Carlise. I'm only here for Adele's funeral."
The Duke straightened, his face carefully neutral.
The Emperor's gaze swept the room, cold and calculating. "Have you found the one responsible for her death?"
The Duke shook his head slowly. "Not yet, Your Majesty."
Raphael's expression hardened. "Find them. With the Empire's current instability, we can't afford to lose a Swordmaster like you. Your duty to the frontline is too important."
The Duke nodded solemnly. "Yes, Your Majesty. I will not rest until I uncover the truth." He hesitated briefly before speaking again. "If I may ask, is His Highness the Crown Prince well?"
The Emperor's expression darkened slightly, though his voice remained steady. "Of course, Allen is fine."
The Duke's gaze lowered, his tone careful. "But... the awakening. The monarch's aura—it doesn't belong to him."
Raphael's jaw tightened, a flicker of annoyance flashing in his golden eyes. "That's none of your concern, Carlise."
The Duke pressed on cautiously. "I merely wonder... Could the monarch's aura belong to someone else? Perhaps... another prince?"
Raphael's lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. "You think I don't know that? It's likely an illegitimate brat—or maybe even one of my late brother's offspring. But no matter. I've purged all the bastards to ensure Allen's rightful place. Whoever this is, they won't live long enough to become a threat."
The Duke's fists clenched at his sides, though his expression remained calm. "I see. Then... do you plan to eliminate this prince?"
The Emperor's tone was ice. "Of course. The throne belongs to my legitimate bloodline and no one else."
Silence fell between the two men, heavy with unspoken tension.
Raphael glanced toward the door, his voice sharp as ever. "Hurry up, Carlise. Find Adele's murderer and return to your post. A royal being killed by assassins—it's a disgrace. Then again, Adele was rather useless, wasn't she?"
The Duke's hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms, but he said nothing.
Raphael turned to leave, pausing briefly at the door. "I'm leaving now. Don't disappoint me, Carlise." Without waiting for a response, the Emperor swept out of the room, his black cloak billowing behind him.
The Duke stood there for a moment, his head bowed, the Emperor's cruel words echoing in his mind. He drooped tiredly on the chair. Meeting with the Emperor was like facing a tiger. You didn't know when your head would fall. Later that evening, Diana approached her father in the study.
"Father?" she asked hesitantly. "Did His Majesty say anything important?"
The Duke looked up from his desk, his expression weary. "Diana, I need you to go to the Death Forest."
Diana blinked in surprise. "The Death Forest? Why?"
The Duke leaned forward, his tone serious. "I need you to investigate your mother's assassins. Go to the valley in the heart of the forest. There's something I need you to find."
Diana frowned, confused. "Do you suspect an assassin hideout?"
The Duke shook his head. "No. It's not that." He hesitated as if weighing his next words carefully. Finally, he said, "Perhaps... a prince."
Diana's eyes widened slightly. "A prince? You mean..."
The Duke nodded grimly. "I saw him. A young man in the valley. The aura around him—it was unmistakable. A monarch's aura. And his face... he resembled His Majesty."
Diana's brows furrowed in thought, but she quickly composed herself. "I'll leave at first light. I'll find out the truth."
The Duke reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Be careful, Diana. And if you find him... don't act rashly."
Diana nodded firmly, determination shining in her eyes. "I understand, Father. I'll handle it."
*****
Theoarize sat quietly by the window. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow on the room. She glanced at the moon, her golden eyes reflecting a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. With a soft sigh, she shifted, snuggling slightly into the crook of Ian's sleeping form.
Ian stirred, his sharp blue eyes fluttering open as he noticed the presence beside him. For a moment, he lay there, staring at the figure before him.
"Theoarize?" he muttered, his voice groggy with sleep.
Her silver hair tumbled down her shoulders, glowing faintly under the moonlight. Her pale skin shimmered softly, as though she were a part of the night itself. Ian's body tensed, and he bolted upright, startled.
"You got your body back?" His voice was quiet, but there was a trace of something unreadable in his tone.
Theoarize smiled faintly, her golden eyes tinged with sadness. Without a word, she placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back down.
"Stay," she whispered.
Ian froze as she caressed his cheek, her touch both familiar and strange. "Theoarize…?" he murmured, his voice barely audible.
She looked at him with a soft expression, her smile bittersweet. "It's fun," she said, her voice carrying a distant warmth. "You're fun to be with, Ian. Like I had a son again. Perhaps that's why I saved you."
Ian's eyes narrowed slightly, his usual calm exterior now mixed with confusion. "Son? What nonsense are you talking about? You're a god, Theoarize."
Her gaze softened further, her fingers brushing against his temple. "Even gods were humans once."
His jaw tightened, his blue eyes locking onto hers. "What the hell are you talking about, Theoarize?"
She tilted her head, her eyes full of regret. "Ian, it was fun. You reminded me of what it felt like to have someone to care for." She paused as if weighing her words. "Ian Lancaster."
Ian froze at the sound of his name, his composure momentarily cracking.
She continued quietly, almost to herself. "Lancaster… that used to be my last name. And my name… it's not even Theoarize."
Ian's brows furrowed, his mind racing. "Something is wrong," he said, his tone colder now. "Theoarize, stop this nonsense."
She looked at him sadly, her voice soft. "The moment you saved that child, Ian, you changed everything. The Winterbell Empire's fate has shifted. The world has acknowledged you as one of the trial candidates."
Ian's eyes widened slightly, but his voice remained steady. "Trial candidates? I just saved a child. That's all."
Her gaze turned wistful. "With this, Euphiea will find you. We hope you can fulfill your duty."
A sudden, sharp noise rang in his ears.
[Trial of Gods will begin - Candidate Name: Ian Winterbell]
Ian's breath hitched slightly, his sharp mind processing the words with cold precision. "Theoarize," he said again, his voice low but firm. "You're making no sense right now. It's just a child. I saved a child. That's all there is to it."
Theoarize smiled softly, her golden eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Live well, my child."
Before Ian could react, her form began to fade, breaking apart into shimmering specks of light. He reached out instinctively, his expression cold but his voice carrying a rare note of urgency.
"Theoarize!"
Her voice echoed faintly, as if carried by the wind. "Live well, Ian."
The light dissipated completely, leaving behind only a single object on the bed—a divine book, glowing faintly with an otherworldly aura.
Ian stared at it for a moment, his face expressionless.
After a long pause, he closed his eyes and exhaled, his grip tightening on the book.
*****
Theoarize stared into the shimmering water in the bowl. Her golden eyes, usually calm, brimmed with unshed tears. She turned away from the image and faced the figures seated at the table behind her.
One of the figures rose and walked toward her, enveloping her in a gentle embrace. Theoarize leaned into the touch, finding solace in the familiar warmth.
Around the table, six figures sat in silence, their expressions unreadable. Three bore the marks of Eden, and the other three carried the shadows of the Underworld. Despite their differences, they all shared the same purpose: to watch and decide.
The sound of a distant chime broke the stillness. All eyes turned toward the towering clock in the center of the space, its ancient hands moving inexorably forward.
[276th Round Has Begun – God of Salvation, Ian Winterbell]
Theoarize's breath caught, and she fell to her knees, her tears finally spilling over. The notification hung in the air like a final decree, its weight pressing down on them all.
"It's all set in stone now," murmured a woman draped in a golden veil. Her voice was soft, yet it carried an undeniable finality.
"Virella…" Theoarize whispered, her voice trembling. She clung to the arms of the one holding her. "Is this truly the right choice?"
Virella tilted her head, her veil shimmering as she turned to the figure cloaked in darkness beside her. "I don't know. Arkanis? Nox?"
The one called Arkanis, their features obscured by a veil of shadows, leaned back with a dry, detached tone. "It's a gamble. But we don't have any other options. He's the only one who has ever defeated all the Demon Kings—and the other gods' apostles."
Nox, another figure cloaked in darkness, simply nodded in silent agreement.
A faint rustle of feathers broke the tension. A strikingly beautiful man, his form bathed in a soft, otherworldly glow, leaned forward. Twelve black wings fanned out behind him, each feather shimmering like the night sky.
"He'll be fine," the man said confidently, his voice smooth. His lips curled into an arrogant smile. "I wouldn't have sent my apostle to guide him in the last round—or to kill his brother—if I wasn't certain."
Theoarize looked up at him, her voice wavering. "Kharos…"
Before she could finish, Kharos raised a hand, silencing her with an assured smirk. "He will end this cycle. All we need to do is protect him from the other gods."
The chime of the clock tower grew louder, marking the passage of another moment. The figures around the table exchanged quiet, knowing glances.
Theoarize clenched her hands against the floor, her tears reflecting the faint light of the emerald table. Somewhere within the silence, the weight of eternity seemed to shift.