After receiving a mountain of presents and pleasantries, Mirabel and I decided to split up.
We needed to mingle with our guests a bit before receiving the crowns.
While she spoke with Rosen and the woman I now fully believed to be his wife, I found myself speaking with a more... unique crowd.
Standing before me were Cole and Calista, the rulers of Giah.
Cole had gold-blonde hair and sharp red eyes.
His skin was pale, and like many of Giah's elite, he was unmistakably a vampire.
Calista, by contrast, had long purple hair streaked with black, deep black eyes, and soft fawn-toned skin.
Both wore black, and both seemed far too eager to meet me.
Cole placed a hand on my back and giggled. "Ah, what took you so long? I was starting to worry you were dead."
Ah yes. I hadn't exactly made many public appearances lately.
I smiled and gently removed his hand. "I was training. Preparing for all of this, I suppose."
He chuckled and stepped back as Calista leaned in, analyzing me carefully.
"You're about as strong as the Saint I fought," she said, tilting her head. "Interesting. So much growth."
That was reassuring, at least a little. Not that I hadn't just made every guest in the room kneel moments ago.
"Who was it again that you managed to drive away?" I asked, more curious than anything.
She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Ah… he was fast. Named Zehliah, if I remember right."
The name clicked immediately. I knew every living saint by name, at least the ones recorded in the known world.
Among them were Zehliah, Vernidict Freah, Stiffer, and Griffin, alongside a handful of others I hadn't yet encountered.
"I've heard his speed is transcendental," I said, not really expecting a genuine answer. "How did you manage to keep up with it?"
Calista smiled, leaning in slightly, her black eyes glimmering with amusement. "Ah, it's all because of my ability—"
Before she could finish, Cole casually placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Cal," he said with a lopsided grin, "I just spotted, little darkness. Let's go bother him a bit."
She blinked, then turned away instantly, giving me a shrug before the two of them vanished into the crowd.
I let out a soft sigh, disappointed. I had hoped for just a bit more insight into her Regalia.
All I truly knew was that she was remarkably difficult to defeat, confirmed by stories passed down from my own master, who had once fought her long ago.
Still, with Madikai absent from the gathering, there was no one else I could consult for clarification.
Or so I thought.
Fertical, after all, had another prodigy. Horia, the King in Yellow.
He earned that title not through royalty, but through sheer combat ability, his strength with a blade, and the unique power of his Regalia.
Scanning the crowd, I caught the flash of his unmistakable hair: bold yellow, short, and silk-like even under the flickering chandelier light.
I approached steadily. He hadn't noticed me until I was right in front of him.
Extending my hand, I greeted him. He looked startled for a moment, then smiled as he reached out to shake it.
His features were sharp. Black eyes and ivory skin, but it was the scar over his right eye that caught attention.
A burn and a deep cut layered together, jagged and raw, almost as if carved by fire and blade alike.
It looked brutal, but to me, it added something, strength, maybe. Presence.
"I didn't expect you to come speak to me," he said with a chuckle. "I wasn't even involved in the war."
I smiled. "Ah, I have no ill intentions. Besides, you were tending to your wife. Who would judge a man for that?"
Horia was more than a noble. A duke of Fertical, with strong ties to the royal family, and a power that rivaled most on the battlefield.
And his Regalia, one that I had only heard whispers about, was said to be extraordinary, even among the divine.
"I actually wanted to ask you something," I said, lowering my voice slightly.
"About your Regalia. I've always been curious. I'd like to know its name."
He glanced around the ballroom, ensuring no prying ears were near, then leaned closer.
"Consider this my gift," he said softly, "and my thanks for ending the war… and for going easy on my kingdom."
Then he leaned in and whispered into my ear. "Voice of Throne: Pastor."
As the words echoed through my mind, I felt something respond deep within me.
It wasn't just a name. It was a presence. A warning. A calling.
A shiver ran along my spine as the voice inside me spoke clearly.
[The threat before him was something that not even his strongest allies could rival. A truly powerful being, with absolutely no equals.]
I stared at Horia as he pulled away, his expression returning to its usual polite calm.
"Allow me to return to the party," he said softly. "There are still a few people I must make amends with."
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the shifting crowd of nobles and diplomats, leaving me stunned.
No equals, it said.
So then… he's either the strongest, or horrifyingly close to it.
I chuckled under my breath and clutched my chest. This world really is filled with monsters.
[Speaking of monsters.]
I blinked and looked up, confused, only to find someone standing before me. I hadn't sensed his presence. Not his aura, not a single whisper of magic or intent. Nothing.
He stood tall, otherworldly. Long, dark antlers curled from his head, adorned with charms that clinked faintly when he moved.
His eyes were golden and black, split down the middle like a cross.
His skin held the soft, earthen texture of a deer's fur, and he leaned lightly on a cane, wooden, curved, polished to a shine as black as pitch.
His suit matched it: gold and black, sharp and deliberate.
"Nicholas Anstalionah," he said, his voice gentle and deep. "Allow me to greet you. I am Ruari, King of Uthopia."
[Standing before him was the man who sat atop the world, the strongest.]
I scoffed inwardly. Well, that answered my earlier question.
"I greet you well," I said. "And I thank you for coming to see me become something new."
He let out a laugh, soft but vibrant, and for a moment, the room fell utterly silent.
Conversations paused, eyes turned. When he stopped laughing, the silence ebbed, and chatter gradually resumed.
"No, no," he said, waving it off. "You are far too humble. You are extraordinary, Nicholas. A true perfection."
I looked down at my hands. His words rang hollow to me.
"Perfection, you say," I murmured. "I find that difficult to believe, dear friend."
He placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "Worry little of the past. Face your future with disregard for all who try to define it for you."
He seemed to drift into thought, memories flashing behind those unnatural eyes.
Then I spoke again, quieter. "I believe the future of this world is dark."
He answered. "Then we must remain true to ourselves and create light."
His hand left my shoulder, and he gave a short, dismissive scoff. "How else would morality endure?"
In my heart, I've always believed there are only two paths one can take in life: one of good, and one of evil.
It's tempting to think the world is a blur of gray, that morality is subjective, based only on belief. But that's a lie.
No. Morality is real. Objective. Hidden behind the smokescreen of contradiction and the cowardice of men too afraid to choose.
Otherwise, how could I ever call myself good for welcoming so many into my home?
And how could I so confidently call myself bad?
It was that thought that moved my lips. "Ruari," I asked, "do you believe in the resurrection of self?"
He paused, visibly surprised. For a moment, he seemed intrigued. Then, he smirked.
"I believe," he said. "In fact, I believe you, of all people, would know best."
I raised an eyebrow. "And why might that be?"
He leaned in slightly, his tone playful.
"You are the Endless Fool. One must assume that a fool who exists endlessly must know all lies… and continue to bask in them."
I stepped back as he winked and began to walk away.
"Be careful," he called. "There are many things that can kill you. Do not exclude yourself from that list."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "How evil."