Timeless AssassinC461: The New Most Wanted Criminal
Chapter 461: The New Most Wanted Criminal
(Lewis Hamilton Arena, Warm-up Room, Post-Match)
A doctor quietly tended to Leo's injuries while, somewhere above, the grand ceremony to crown the next Dragon unfolded beneath blinding lights and roaring applause.
Inside the warm-up room, however, there was only silence.
Neither Leo nor Dumpy uttered a word.
Despite accomplishing everything he had set out to do—delivering a jaw-dropping performance and achieving a monumental breakthrough—Leo found himself adrift in quiet confusion.
Soron's final decree had left him with far more questions than answers.
On one hand, he couldn't deny the value of what lay ahead. The Cult's secret techniques, as Charles once said, were peerless when mastered as a complete set. Learning them would undoubtedly elevate his power to unmatched heights.
But on the other hand, he could not ignore the weight of the title Soron had unofficially placed upon him.
The Shadow Dragon.
A stand-in. A substitute. The one who would take the mantle if the real Dragon were to fall.
*Sigh*
Letting out a deep sigh, Leo leaned back against the cold metal bench, his gaze fixed on the floor as the faint echo of fireworks and fanfare from the arena stage filtered through the concrete walls.
He couldn't stop the unease building in his chest.
The title of Shadow Dragon was not a burden he had asked for, nor one he knew how to carry.
It wasn't just the pressure of stepping in should Veyr fall.... it was everything that came with it.
The scrutiny, the whispers, the political games that had already begun unfolding around him. He could feel the storm brewing before it had even touched down.
'What kind of relationship am I supposed to have with the Elder's Council now?' he thought, eyes narrowing.
Technically, none of them held power over him. His training would still be overseen by Charles, and Soron had given no authority to the Elders to dictate his path.
But that didn't mean they'd keep their distance.
They would still be present. Still be involved. Still be assigned to educate and shape him alongside Veyr, and Leo had no doubt their personal grievances would bleed into those lessons.
And why wouldn't they?
By walking away from the title of Dragon in front of the entire Cult, he hadn't just disrespected the First and Twelfth Elders, but had spat on the faith of everyone who had placed their hopes in him.
Whatever backing he had in the Council was gone now. The First Elder's camp, furious at his refusal. The Twelfth Elder, surely humiliated by the public fallout.
And Veyr's side?
There was no place for him there either. As they were not his allies before today and they were not going to be his allies after today.
*Sigh*
Leo sighed again, pressing a hand to his face as the reality settled in like ash.
He had burned both bridges, cutting off the support of those who had once championed him, and alienating the faction that had opposed him.
Now, he stood in the center of it all. Alone.
Neither friend nor enemy. Neither their new Dragon nor a common civilian.
Just a substitute.
Trapped in a role no one would envy, and few would forgive.
—--------------
(Meanwhile, at the center of the Arena)
Despite being bloodied and bruised, Aegon was quickly draped in ceremonial white robes and made to stand tall for the audience, as his official coronation ceremony began.
An ancient hat carved from dragonbone was brought forward by one of the Cult's ceremonial priests, as it glistened under the golden floodlights, its ivory surface smooth and circular, with twelve thin slots carved into its band to hold the sacred feathers that signified the Dragon's bond to the Elders' Council.
The audience remained respectfully silent, watching with bated breath as the First Elder stepped forward from his booth, clutching a long feather dyed in brilliant white and traced with faint silver, as he raised it before the crowd and uttered a brief prayer, before gently slotting it into the crown and retreating back to his position.
The second elder followed not long after, moving with slow grace and carrying a feather stained in deep ocean blue, a color reserved for wisdom and measured authority, as he inserted it beside the first and gave Aegon a small nod, while the crowd remained still, caught in the gravity of the moment.
One by one, each of the twelve elders came forth with their offerings, feathers dyed in red, green, gold, ash-grey and other sacred hues, each representing a core virtue the Dragon was expected to uphold, such as resolve, duty, sacrifice, strength, humility, and foresight, as with each feather added, the crown grew not in weight, but in meaning, while Aegon remained still as stone, his eyes fixed forward, blood still dried across his cheek.
When the final elder, Lord Twelfth, placed the last feather into the center slot, the arena seemed to hold its breath, as the ivory crown shimmered faintly under the light, the feathers softly rustling from an unseen wind, as if awakened by the moment.
Aegon slowly lowered his head then, as the priest stepped up and gently placed the crown onto it, adjusting the fit before stepping away with a respectful bow.
And finally, Dana's voice echoed across the arena, loud and clear, as his words cut through the silence like thunder across the valley.
"By the will of the Elders' Council, and under the divine gaze of the Great God Soron... The Cult Of Ascension declares Aegon Veyr as the Dragon of this generation. May his wings never falter. May his fire never fade..... and may he bring glory to the Cult, just as all those before him did."
Only then did the crowd erupt into thunderous applause, cheers ringing out from every corner of the Lewis Hamilton Arena, as petals fell from the upper tiers and the arena lights blazed brighter than ever before.
Aegon stood beneath it all, his crown gleaming, his fists clenched, and his face a canvas of emotion he refused to reveal, as the press camera's shuttered, and a photo of the new number one most wanted criminal in the universe was born.
—-------- xxxxxx —------------
End Of Volume 4.
—-------- xxxxxx —------------
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC462: The News Breaks Out
Chapter 462: The News Breaks Out
Timeless Assassin Volume 5:
Chasing A Shadow
—---------
"It has never mattered who sits on the throne... only who appears to sit on the throne.
Symbols rule far more effectively than swords.
And if you can birth a symbol so divine, so immaculate, that entire systems orbit his shadow...
Then it no longer matters whether he can fight, think, or even speak.
All that matters is that his image survives, long enough for others to kill in his name."
— Supreme Historian Vaelor Varn, Anatomy of Empire, 6th Cycle Edition.
—-------------
The news of Veyr becoming the next Dragon broke first on the outer rim.
Small neutral colonies on the edges of Cult-Regulated space received the broadcast of his crowning moment around dawn, as netizens quietly took photos and quickly posted it onto their GalaxNet feeds.
At first, it looked like a prank, just a photo of some youngster being felicitated.
A young man standing tall in ceremonial robes, head tilted slightly, eyes cold and unblinking, staring straight into the lens with the sharp stillness of someone unbothered by consequence.
But then the caption came.
Aegon Veyr,
Heir of a forbidden bloodline.
The Next Dragon of the Cult of Ascension.
Within four hours, the post had been copied, clipped, reposted, translated, watermarked, and interpreted a thousand different ways.
Within six, it hit the first righteous faction colony.
And within twenty-four, his face was everywhere.
Across cities layered in skyscrapers and megatowers, across farms built atop asteroid belts and hollow moons, across universities, military academies, council chambers, street cafes and orphanage walls, the image had spread everywhere.
His portrait flickered behind news anchors, scrolled across government-issued bulletins, and pulsed from personal devices with the urgency of a natural disaster warning.
Veyr hadn't yet lifted a weapon.
He hadn't issued a single command.
But the reaction to his crowning was instant and universal.
The righteous faction's propaganda machine came alive like a starship engine roaring to full thrust.
Talk show panels convened emergency episodes. Retired generals were called in for comment. Religious leaders invoked ancient texts. Political ministers promised sweeping crackdowns on cultist sympathizers. And on every screen, one truth remained unchanged: the boy in the photo was already the enemy.
"We must eliminate this threat before it blossoms," said retired commander Zeyda during a broadcast seen by over ninety billion citizens.
"This is not a weak child. This is not a harmless student.
This is a boy who according to our sources has reached the Transcendent Tier at the young age of 23.
He's a monster! A symbol of hope! And symbols like him must be shattered before they inspire."
Veyr's face was pinned on billboards beside the words Public Enemy Number One.
His image was edited with horns, with blood-red eyes, with cracked skin and fangs.
Children threw eggs and rotten tomatoes at posters taped to school walls, while others gathered in mob processions to burn effigies—scarecrows with paper faces, set ablaze beneath the cold inhumane skies of orbital cities.
The Cult had named a new Dragon. And even though he had committed no crime against the righteous faction yet, even though no act of violence had been tied to his name, the verdict on his personality had already been passed.
He was the villain.
He was the most evil man in the universe.
He was the one they were to blame when the first sparks of war ignited.
"We live in dark times, man... if another Dragon's been named, that means a big war's coming."
"Our fathers haven't seen a real conflict in their youth, but we're supposed to carry one on our backs in our twenties? Man... that's fucked."
The teenagers and young adults talked amongst themselves.
Some laughed it off with bravado. Others fell quiet.
But all of them felt it.
The tide was shifting. The peace was cracking.
And soon, another conflict with the Cult was bound to start.
—-------------
(Meanwhile, inside the Mu Clan, the Mu Family Patriarch, Mu Jianlong)
Mu Jianlong read the news of Aegon Veyr being named Dragon alongside his morning tea, as the rising steam from the cup curled lazily toward the ceiling while sunlight spilled across the polished marble tiles of his private chamber.
His fingers flipped through the dense report sent by the Universal Government with quiet precision, not lingering on the grand headline that had sent the galaxy into a frenzy, but settling instead on the fine print that most others did not have access to.
*Sip*
He took another slow sip of tea, unhurried, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as the report detailed the coronation ceremony on Planet Tithia, its grandeur, the rhetoric, the orchestrated declarations, and then, further down the column, the one paragraph that mattered.
> "...preceded by an unexpected loss in the final trial. Aegon Veyr was defeated by Leo Skyshard, a Grandmaster-level warrior previously linked with the Rodova Military Academy and the Black Serpents Guild. Estimated age: 25. Background partially redacted. Genetic grade: Monarch or higher. Fighting style unidentified, but reported to include high-level temporal displacement, hybrid stealth-kinesis applications, and suspected awakening of forbidden genetic spells."
Mu Jianlong's fingers froze over the edge of the page as his brow lifted, the faintest trace of intrigue sharpening his otherwise impassive face.
"A Grandmaster managed to beat a prodigious Transcendent?" he muttered, setting the cup down as he leaned back against the curved jade headrest of his chair.
His mind, trained to trace threats before they bloomed, was already piecing together the deeper implications, as he could almost not believe that such a monstrous talent really existed.
> "..... Following the fight, he threw away the title of Dragon, claiming that he was unworthy, only for Evil God Soron to Step In and appoint him as the Shadow Dragon."
The report said, as Mu Jianlong rubbed his face with amusement.
"A shadow Dragon, huh? That's a first..."
He closed the paper with a quiet rustle, letting the weight of the words settle in the air around him.
Soron's interference could not be a simple coincidence.
If Soron interfered, then it wasn't about Veyr to begin with. Not really.
If Soron interfered then Veyr was just a shield to draw attention away from their true treasured asset.
Because in Mu Jianlong's eyes the real story wasn't about the boy they crowned.
It was the one who defeated him.
---
Similarly, the other Patriarchs and Matriarchs of the six great clans, also read the same report with the same growing silence.
In the high towers of the Yu Clan, Matriarch Yu Yeling drummed her fingers softly against the glass as the document flickered before her eyes. Her aides thought she was reading about the Cult's expansion patterns. She wasn't.
She was watching the recording of the final duel, retrieved through underground contacts with ties to the neutral streams. It was grainy, partially scrambled, but what she saw was enough to freeze the blood in her veins.
Not because of Veyr.
But because of Leo Skyshard, the boy whose blade strikes came from angles that looked unnatural, and whose footwork made even her speechless.
She leaned forward, whispering almost to herself.
"He doesn't belong in this generation. He's training Aura when kids his age usually chase faster promotions."
And she was right.
Leo really did not belong to this new generation.
He was a call back from a history long forgotten.
---
The Lu Clan marked the report. The Du Clan issued a private flag on Leo's file. The Su Clan ordered an immediate expansion of internal intelligence protocols.
Only the commoners screamed Veyr's name.
Only the children burned his posters.
But the true rulers of the righteous faction saw past the flames.
They saw Leo Skyshard.
And they began preparing.
Preparing for the day they'd finally have the chance to neutralize him—once and for all.
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Timeless AssassinC463: Unexpected Truce
Chapter 463: Unexpected Truce
(The Day After the Fight, The Elders' Council Meeting, Planet Tithia)
The atmosphere inside the Council Chamber was thick with tension, the kind that clung to every breath and made even the most seasoned elders shift uncomfortably in their seats.
On one hand, neither side truly wished to speak to the other, still overflowing from the bitterness of their political clash.
But on the other hand, there was a shared, unspoken desire to put the past behind them and start fresh, now that the crowning of the next Dragon was complete.
All that remained was for someone, anyone, to take the high road and break the silence.
Because once the first stone of reconciliation was cast, the rest were already prepared to follow, having stewed long enough in guilt and regret.
The outcome of the public bout had caught everyone by surprise.
Though Aegon Veyr had been crowned Dragon, Leo Skyshard's performance had left just as deep an impression.
And as a result, neither the Fourth Elder nor the First Elder could claim a clear political victory.
The prestige of controlling the next Dragon had been offset by the Cult's unofficial recognition of Leo as an equal force, leaving both camps in a strange balance, one that served as an unexpected check on their ambitions..... which was probably what Soron was aiming for in the first place.
"Since no one else is willing to go first, allow me." The seventh elder began, as he slowly rose from his seat, his voice steady as he lowered his head in apology.
"First Elder... I am deeply sorry for how I conducted myself during the last Council meeting. I allowed personal ambition to cloud my judgment. I made a decision not for the betterment of the Cult, but to secure my own political gain, and that is something I deeply regret. It's a mistake that I vow to not repeat again."
He paused, letting the silence settle.
"From this day onward, I withdraw from block politics entirely. I will act only in the interest of the people I govern, and nothing more."
His words rang with sincerity, and it was enough to break the dam.
"I share his shame, First Elder," said the Second Elder, standing next. "I too was wrong to disregard Leo Skyshard's qualifications. He deserved fair consideration, and I failed to offer it. I also withdraw from any future political alignment. Whether it be with your faction or anyone else's, I will not make the same mistake again."
The First Elder gave a slow nod, acknowledging both apologies without bitterness, as the tension that had gripped the chamber finally began to loosen its hold.
Even he, for all his pride, let out a long sigh and leaned back in his chair, finally softening.
"I acknowledge that Aegon Veyr was not a poor choice. My first impression of him was that he was a snotty and arrogant brat, and while he is certainly both of those things, he is not only those things."
There was a faint chuckle, dry and knowing.
"There is strength in him, discipline, resolve. Qualities I was too blind to notice. Perhaps if I had taken the time to truly understand the boy, to see past his surface, I would not have passed such a biased judgment."
He looked around, his tone shifting to something firmer.
"That said, my frustration has not vanished. I am still angry at how casually some among us chose to break protocol. The Cult has its rules for a reason. Without them, we are nothing. This council's division led to an unnecessary spectacle, one that aired our internal power struggles to the entire universe. Now, our enemies have seen the extent of our top talents, and they will begin planning accordingly."
A heavier silence followed, broken only by the sound of his voice continuing with restrained fury.
"Lord Soron had to intervene personally to end this mess. And for the first time in history, he named a substitute Dragon. Something he has never done before, not once. That alone should make every single one of us reflect on how far we've strayed from our duty."
He looked toward the chamber doors, then back to the table.
"Let this be a turning point. The Cult now has its spiritual symbol. It is time the Council becomes worthy of standing behind him. We must fulfill our role with unity, or we will only see more chaos ahead."
The chamber remained still for a moment longer, as heads slowly nodded in solemn agreement.
All except one.
The Fourth Elder remained motionless, his head lowered, hands tightly clasped in his lap, as shame weighed down on him heavier than any words could.
For now, that alone was punishment enough.
He understood better than anyone that he had only survived the political reckoning because Leo, for reasons still unclear to him, had chosen to surrender.
Had Leo continued the fight, had he claimed the title outright, then half the elders seated around this table, including himself, would have lost everything.
Their influence, their status, their seats.
And so, the Fourth Elder kept his eyes down throughout the meeting, not once daring to look up or speak.
"As per tradition, their training will begin next week," the First Elder declared, breaking the silence. "We shall send them to Planet Vorthas first, where they will study under the Twelfth Elder. From there, they will move across the other training worlds as they continue to master their skills."
He paused briefly, allowing the others to digest the schedule.
"If everything proceeds without interruption, both candidates should be able to achieve at least basic mastery in all twelve core techniques of the Cult within the next three years."
The other elders nodded one after another, their expressions now more focused, the earlier tension finally dissolving into structure and duty.
"Meanwhile, once this meeting concludes, I expect each of you to submit a written recommendation outlining what our new Dragon's first ceremonial mission should be."
The First Elder's tone remained calm, but purposeful.
"He needs a proper debut within the Cult. A visible operation. A chance to begin assembling his own army and laying the groundwork for his leadership."
He folded his hands, eyes sweeping across the table.
"Logistics must be handled, his base must be set up, and the infrastructure around his command must be established. Let's finalize these administrative details today so that our Dragon may begin gathering his bannermen without delay."
Chairs shifted as the elders straightened up, pulling out their notepads and pens, their minds turning at once toward structure, planning, and execution. The political storm had passed, and now the machine of the Cult returned to motion.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC464: The End Of An Era
Chapter 464: The End Of An Era
While the news about Aegon Veyr being named as the next Dragon dominated the media cycles, covering everything from page one to three of most major newspapers...
...back on page four was another important story.
---
BREAKING: Black Serpents Guild Officially Disbanded
By Reema Kotra | Galactic Herald | Pg. 4
In what analysts are calling the most decisive state-led crackdown in recent years, the Universal Government has officially dissolved the Black Serpents Guild following their refusal to comply with a classified order pertaining to "an artifact of strategic relevance."
Sources close to the Galactic Herald confirm that the artifact in question was a Divine Scroll, that was obtained from the dead body of the previous Evil Dragon Noah, and belonged to the Evil Cult.
---
Timeline of Tensions
Day 1: Universal Government issued a classified demand to the Black Serpents, requesting immediate transfer of the Evil Cult's Scroll.
Day 2: Black Serpents respond with a thinly veiled threat, implying that refusal to back off by the government may result in the scroll being gifted to the Evil Cult.
Day 3: Universal Government initiates Operation Fanglock under the capable supervision of Commander Entrail.
Planet Twin Fang was immediately encircled by over twenty two hundred destroyer class arc ships.
Zonal temporal lock initiated, cutting all dimensional escape.
While the space was locked for logistics and support craft travels.
Day 26: The Stalemate officially ended, full assault launched under Commander Entrail.
Day 27: Planet Twin Fang declared non-viable. Site terminated.
---
Commander Entrail Declares Victory on Operation Fanglock
"You don't threaten the universal government with threats of allying with the Evil Cult and expect a negotiation."
— Commander Entrail, Post-Strike Debrief
In a televised address that lasted under ninety seconds, Commander Entrail confirmed the successful dismantling of the Black Serpents Guild, declaring that the scroll is now under full Universal custody.
When asked about the use of planetary destruction protocols, Entrail simply responded:
"They were warned. They gambled. They lost."
---
Casualty Report: Key Serpents Executed in Purge
By Jarven Holt | Righteous Times | Pg. 4, Column 3
Multiple sources confirm the confirmed deaths of Vice Guildmaster Antonio, operations director Sev'Nar, and war strategist Mai Caloré, all eliminated during a precision incursion preceding the orbital strike.
Guildmaster Dupravel Nuna remains missing, with several intelligence reports suggesting he may have been extracted moments before the attack, possibly through an unauthorized evac channel. Search for the criminal is currently ongoing.
---
EDITORIAL: An Era Ends in Fire
By Kys Valden | Independent Sentinel
For decades, the Black Serpents sat on the top of all reputable guilds of the righteous faction, neither fully under the thumb of the universal government, nor fully outside it.
They thrived on ambiguity, sheltering dangerous knowledge under the veil of self-policed neutrality.
But neutrality is not loyalty. And when they chose to blackmail the very empire that once tolerated them, they wrote their own ending.
Whatever secrets the Evil Cult's scroll once held, they now belong to the machine of government.
And the Serpents?
They now belong to history.
---
Public Opinion Mixed: "They Deserved It" vs "That Could've Been Us"
Compiled VoxPop | GalaxStreet Live
"The Serpents should have handed the damn scroll over. You don't mess with maniacs like Commander Entrail."
— Rhys Helmar, Rodova graduate
"They told us for years Twin Fang was untouchable. Turns out no one is."
— Vena Tal, urban reporter
"Kinda scary, though. I mean, just wiped a whole planet like that? Is this what the government's willing to do now?"
— Anonymous student, Genevaris Academy
---
Former Guild Properties Seized, Members Blacklisted
Over 800,000 registered Black Serpents members have had their adventurers licenses revoked, their properties frozen, and their identifications flagged for audit. All surviving members have been given 48 hours to either register under approved new righteous faction guilds or face legal action under Intergalactic Article 417-B: "Failure to Dismantle."
End of Report – Pg. 4
—---
The Black Serpents were no more.
The Universal Government had made its statement—loud, decisive, and absolute. Any faction that dared overplay its hand would face consequences far beyond negotiation.
Their tolerance had limits. And this event made one thing clear: rebellion, even under the guise of autonomy, would not be entertained.
In recent cycles, several independent guilds had begun demanding the same privileges once granted to the Serpents. But after this, their ambitions were sure to wither.
The destruction of Twin Fang was not just a punishment... It was a warning.
And it echoed across the stars.
—---------------
(Meanwhile Dupravel Nuna)
Despite the destruction of his guild, Dupravel somehow saw his life being spared, as instead of being slaughtered like his Vice Guildmaster, he was sedated and quietly shipped to Planet Granoda.
It was Mauriss The Deceiver who had given the order to spare his life, and Entrail being the ever loyal soldier, had no reason to question it.
While he had already defeated Dupravel in battle and could have ended him on the spot, he chose to obey—partly out of duty, and partly because he found no glory in killing someone so thoroughly broken.
Dupravel, once feared across stars, had barely managed to defend himself before falling.
As despite his beastly appearance, there was no real defiance left in him.
Only confusion and fading pride, as Entrail bound him in silence and arranged the extraction so discreetly that even the direct generals under him remained unaware.
Eventually, as Dupravel finally regained consciousness, the air around him was thick with the scent of incense and perfumed oils, while raindrops that hit like shards of ice continued to pelt down on his skull.
He blinked slowly, the weight of sedation still clouding his mind, as the scene before him came into focus.
Two celestial beauties, barely dressed and impossibly graceful, moved in slow rhythm across the glistening frame of a man reclining on an unadorned stone throne.
Their hands worked across his shoulders and chest, spreading sacred oils with reverence, while a bowl of crushed fruit and rare stimulants rested by his side.
Mauriss.
The Great Deceiver.
Dupravel tried to speak, but his throat was dry, his limbs too heavy.
Mauriss simply turned his head slightly, a half-smile curving across his lips as he raised a glass toward him.
"Good morning, Monarch Dupravel," he said, voice smooth as velvet. "I trust the journey wasn't too rough."
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC465: A Scare
Chapter 465: A Scare
"Good morning, Monarch Dupravel..." Mauriss said, his ancient and raspy voice slithering through the air as Dupravel felt a shiver crawl down his spine, his skin prickling with goosebumps.
"You have outdone yourself this time. The Eternal Sovereign personally wanted you dead, until I intervened."
'The Eternal Sovereign? Want me dead?' Dupravel's thoughts spun as he swallowed hard, the taste of panic settling on his tongue while his body began to tremble like that of a cornered animal.
"M-m-mercy..." he stammered, barely able to hold himself upright, as Mauriss clicked his tongue in disappointment before snapping his fingers.
*Click*
At once, the falling raindrops around them halted in midair, suspended unnaturally as though time itself had been paused, as Mauriss pointed toward Dupravel and gave a small, almost dismissive gesture.
"Crawl here, dog. Before we can have a proper conversation, I will need to clear some of the filth rotting inside your mind."
His words stung more than any whip could, yet Dupravel obeyed without hesitation.
He dropped to all fours and crawled across the soaked stone like a mutt, shame etched across his face as his palms and knees left faint imprints in the wet ground with each pitiful shuffle.
*Print*
*Print*
Every step forward scraped away another layer of his dignity, yet he dared not let the humiliation show.
*Thud*
Reaching Mauriss's feet, he lowered his head and flattened himself to the ground, prostrating completely in front of the great god.
*Tap*
Mauriss gently touched the crown of Dupravel's head with the tip of his toe, and instantly, a surge of unbearable pain shot through Dupravel's skull.
"AAARGGHH!"
His scream ripped through the air, loud enough to startle the two elegant women attending Mauriss.
Though neither woman dared voice her displeasure, Mauriss, noticed the disturbance and, as punishment for the interruption, cruelly deepened the pain.
Dupravel's vision turned white, his mind slipping into a blank void, but eventually the searing torment faded, and with it, the haze that had long clouded his thoughts began to lift.
"I have removed about seventy percent of the taint clogging your body," Mauriss said flatly. "With that, you should at least be able to act like a civilized human."
Dupravel lowered himself further, his forehead pressing to the stone as he spoke with a trembling voice that, for the first time in months, carried clarity and structure.
"Thank you for your grace, Lord Mauriss."
Nodding, Mauriss smiled slightly, as he looked satisfied with the results of the cleansing.
"Hand over to me the origin metal you have retrieved so far, Dupravel. That is the price you must pay for having your life spared and the taint cleared from your mind," Mauriss commanded, his voice soaked in indifference, as though he were merely collecting on a forgotten debt.
Dupravel's eyes widened instantly, his breath hitching in disbelief as his gaze remained fixed to the ground, unable to look up.
"My Lord?" he whispered, the words dry and shallow as his body trembled not just from fear, but from the impossible dilemma he now found himself in.
"My Lord, I... I had plans to descend into the black hole myself. I was going to refine the metal inside and offer it to you once the process was complete. In exchange... in exchange for my son, just like we decided previously" he stammered, his voice growing weaker with each word.
"Please... please don't take that opportunity from me. I beg of you."
Mauriss let out a short breath through his nose, half amusement and half disgust, before raising his leg and stomping Dupravel's head into the rock with enough force to send a thud echoing across the mountaintop.
*Stomp*
"Pitiful. Your twisted obsession with that boy is exactly why you're here today, groveling in the mud like a lowly dog."
Dupravel's face pressed harder into the dirt as Mauriss spoke again, not raising his volume, yet somehow sounding even more cruel.
"You should have learned by now. Let the child go. Your seed is still potent, your organ still attached, your legacy far from extinct. You could father a hundred sons in nine months if you truly wished, Dupravel. That is not what you've lost here."
He paused, allowing the humiliation to fester in the silence.
"What you have lost is the Black Serpents Guild. Your entire life's work, your assassin empire, your reputation as a Dragon Slayer. All of it has crumbled."
Dupravel tried to draw a breath but found it difficult beneath Mauriss's boot, as the pressure continued to rise, suffocating not just his body, but whatever pride remained inside him.
"And yet, despite your disgraceful mental state, you had the foresight to store the origin metal in a dimensional ring that only responds to your mana signature. Clever. Very clever.
If anyone else tries to force it open, the ring collapses and the treasure inside becomes banished in a spatial void for eternity, never to be recovered by any method.
That safeguard is the only reason your head is still attached to your shoulders."
Mauriss's voice fell even lower now, like a blade drawn slowly across a neck.
"But do not confuse your temporary usefulness for me being merciful.
I will not repeat myself again. Give me the origin metal willingly, Dupravel, or prepare to become a hollow husk, a puppet drained of will and purpose.
Either way, the metal is mine. The only question is what form you will be left in when I take it."
Mauriss warned, as with fingers shaking so violently that he could barely form a grip, Dupravel reached into his storage ring and pulled out a smooth slab of a common looking metal.
Which he then placed before Mauriss's feet, with a mixture of helplessness and resignation.
"There," he whispered, voice brittle. "As you commanded."
Mauriss's lip curled upward as he looked at the offering.
"What an obedient little mutt," he said, as his foot pressed harder onto Dupravel's skull, grinding his face further into the wet rock.
"Now, hand over the other half."
Mauriss demanded, as Dupravel blinked slowly, confusion flickering across his face as he struggled to understand.
"The... other half, my Lord?" he said cautiously. "That's all I possess. Truly, that is the only slab I have."
Mauriss stared at him in silence for a heartbeat, before his foot came crashing down once more.
*Crack*
A sharp, splintering sound erupted across the mountaintop, followed by a muffled cry, as Dupravel's forehead split open beneath the crushing weight.
Mauriss looked furious now, eyes narrowed and wild, voice raised for the first time since his arrival.
"Useless insect!" he snapped, while Dupravel bit down on his tongue so hard that blood pooled in his mouth, desperate not to scream.
"Zhanrok's treasure vault contained two blocks of origin metal. Two! Enough to forge the Eternal Sword in its entirety. Why have you brought back only one?"
Dupravel's mind raced as he pushed aside the pain, scrambling to explain before Mauriss lost any further patience.
"It... it was not me who retrieved it, my Lord," he said, every syllable coated in desperation. "I only commissioned the mission, the boy who brought it back was someone else."
Mauriss's gaze darkened.
"Who?" he asked, his voice devoid of empathy.
"It was a boy... a human boy. His name is Leo Skyshard. He's the one who brought the metal back from the time-stilled world," Dupravel said quickly, forcing the words out before another stomp could crush his brain entirely.
For a moment, Mauriss said nothing.
But then his eyes widened ever so slightly, as if the name had triggered something he had read just recently.
"Leo Skyshard..." he repeated under his breath, more to himself than to Dupravel.
And then the realization clicked.
"The Shadow Dragon."
It was not a question, but a cold whisper of recognition, and for the first time in countless years, Mauriss felt something sharp pierce through the cold confidence of his heart—a flicker of surprise, followed by a growing sense of unease that he had not felt in centuries.
The Cult was in possession of a slab of Origin Metal!
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC466: Much Needed Rest
Chapter 466: Much Needed Rest
(Planet Vorthas, The Skyshard Mansion, Leo's POV)
Leo received special permission from Charles to visit his family for a couple of days instead of returning to Juxta, as the Monarch graciously told him that he had earned his rest.
So, rather than training his intent for a couple of days, Leo instead found himself working on his bedding skills, as he spent as much time with Amanda as he possibly could.
"Stopp! You're tickling me!" Amanda complained, while Leo continued to gently rub his feet up and down her smooth thighs.
"Leo! No! We've been at it for six hours... Just because you have an insatiable lust doesn't mean I have nothing else to do. I have ongoing projects too, you know..." Amanda protested, as Leo kissed her gently on the neck and held her close, even as she tried to shake him off and move away.
"Okay... tell me about what you're working on then, maybe I can help you—" Leo offered jokingly, as Amanda raised an eyebrow at his words.
"Oh really? What exactly do you understand about runic inscriptions and metallurgy?
Do you know how exactly metals contract upon cooling and expand upon heating?
Do you understand concepts like tensile strength, and how impurities affect the malleability of metals?
Huh? How exactly are you planning to help me, mister?" Amanda asked, as Leo chuckled at her barrage of questions, holding her tighter and continuing to shower her with affectionate kisses.
"Yes, I don't understand any of that, but if you have a metal you can't cut, I have a [Dark Blade] skill that can help you precisely cut up any material," Leo offered, as Amanda rolled her eyes in dismissal.
"Men and their desire to always cut through things...
Oh hello? There's more to life than destruction!" Amanda teased, as Leo pecked her on the lips before glancing teasingly at her perky mounds.
"Yes, yes, there's a lot more to life than just destruction," he agreed, while Amanda immediately turned red-faced and flustered.
"You... you... GET OUT!" she exclaimed, pushing him off with all her strength, as Leo finally got off her, laughing heartily while he began to get dressed.
"Hmph! Mr. Shadow Dragon... you will not get any action for the next two years if you keep that behaviour up!" Amanda threatened, as Leo's face sobered up immediately.
"Don't even joke about that..." he said, while Amanda stuck her tongue out at him playfully.
"Anyways, I need to study your mana heart today, so if you're not too busy, allow me to run some tests on you," Amanda requested, as Leo raised his eyebrow in confusion.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I'm designing a new body for Master Ben, and I think I should try to integrate a mana heart within it, or at least a synthetic version of one," Amanda explained, as Leo rubbed his jaw with intrigue.
"You can just do that? You can make a mana heart synthetically?" Leo asked, genuinely surprised that such technology existed, while Amanda nodded her head in affirmation.
"The robotics here are far more advanced than what we had back on Earth. By imbuing mana and runes into metals, we can give them far more life-like properties than anything we could've achieved before.
I've been studying Master Ben's new robotic body for the past few weeks, and I think I have a general idea of how they built it.
If I tinker around a bit, I think I can make a duplicate of your mana heart. Which, of course, won't be nearly as good as the real thing—but it'll still refine mana and help improve the robotic body over time," Amanda said, as Leo clapped his hands in amazement.
"I had absolutely no idea that you've progressed so far in your craft. That's amazing!" Leo complimented, while Amanda gave a mock bow.
"Thank you... thank you..." she replied, as Leo chuckled at her antics.
"Sure, I'll help you with your studies. You can run all the experiments you want on me today... but afterwards, I'd like to collect my payment via another six hours of bed wrestling..." Leo suggested, while Amanda's face turned flustered all over again. Her mind replaying the scenes of last night.
"Hahaha... you're too cute!" Leo said, pinching her cheek, as Amanda smacked him hard on the arm.
*Slap*
"Ouch..."
Amanda winced, as instead of hurting Leo, she ended up hurting her own hand.
"You... you..." she muttered in frustration while stomping her feet, as Leo immediately raised both hands in surrender.
"Alright, alright, I won't tease you anymore. Only serious work from now until you're done," Leo said with a straight face, as Amanda let out an angry huff before slowly calming down.
"Yes! Only work now... so sit down and let my machines scan you," Amanda ordered, and Leo obediently turned into her personal doll, letting her run as many tests on him as she pleased.
Over the next two hours, Amanda scanned his mana heart using a wide array of tools, mapping its structure through x-ray, mana imagery, and several other advanced techniques. Her objective for the day was solely to gather data, while the deeper analysis and theoretical dissection would come later.
Leo, meanwhile, enjoyed watching her work. He found himself mostly distracted by how beautiful she looked when focused so seriously, though somewhere in the middle of it all, a fleeting thought slipped into his mind.
It was just a hypothetical scenario, something he didn't give too much attention to at first, but it continued to nag at the back of his mind, refusing to go away.
Eventually, once he could no longer hold it in, Leo decided to voice it aloud in the most casual tone he could manage, not wanting to raise any alarms.
"Umm... honey, when you design the mana heart for Master Ben, can you also try coming up with an amulet version of it?
You know, something a human can just wear around their neck like a charm, but it still offers the protection of a mana heart?" Leo asked, as Amanda paused and considered his request for a moment before nodding thoughtfully.
"I'm not sure if I can... but I'll give it a try for you," she said, as Leo gave her the brightest smile he could muster.
He did not wish to burden Amanda by insisting that she find a way no matter what, especially since the doomsday scenario haunting his thoughts might never actually come to pass.
Even so, having the amulet as a backup, just in case that day ever arrived, was far better than being caught unprepared.
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Timeless AssassinC467: The Big Three
Chapter 467: The Big Three
(The Eternal Garden, Kaelith's Estate)
If there was one thing that Kaelith despised more than stepping outside the Eternal Garden, it was allowing unrefined beasts to step into it, tainting its sanctity with their barbarism and lack of taste.
And today, unfortunately, was one of those rare, ill-fated days.
Mauriss the Deceiver arrived first.
Half-naked as always, bare-chested and unbothered, his skin pale and smooth as if it had never once been kissed by sunlight, while his long obsidian hair floated unnaturally above his head, suspended mid-air by a faint stasis field, shifting ever so slightly with every step he took, as though gravity itself bowed in his presence.
Kaelith, poised and dressed in flowing silk robes stitched with celestial thread, narrowed his eyes at the man's exposed chest and promptly looked away, annoyed by the way Mauriss's nipples seemed to always point dead ahead, as if locked in perpetual confrontation with the universe.
He hated it.
Not because it was vulgar, though it was. But because it was intentional. A calculated mockery of elegance, designed to disturb and disrupt the harmony Kaelith had so painstakingly crafted over millennia, here in the Eternal Garden.
And then came Helmuth.
The bastard.
Kaelith didn't even need to turn to know he had arrived.
For the horrid stench struck first: acrid, pungent, metallic, a mixture of blood, sweat, and charred meat, like the inside of a slaughterhouse that had never once seen a mop.
A scent that immediately offended the flora of the Eternal Garden, as flowers recoiled and vines instinctively withdrew into the soil, trying to escape whatever foul curse had just crossed the threshold.
Helmuth walked with heavy, thudding steps, his skin once pale like marble, three millennia ago, now stained a blotchy red-black, as years of bloodshed had seeped into his pores and never been washed out.
He carried his axe like a casual accessory, slung across his back like a child would a toy.
But that axe was anything but harmless.
The moment its edge scraped the soil of the Eternal Garden, a visible wave of decay erupted from the point of contact, as the plants within a two-meter radius withered into ash, leaving behind a ring of rot that seared into Kaelith's vision.
The Eternal Sovereign's jaw clenched.
But he said nothing.
As always, he said nothing.
Because despite the fact that he was arguably the most refined, most intelligent, and most enlightened being alive, he was also a realist.
And the reality of the Universal Government was that their power over the six great clans rested exactly on this unholy trinity.
Kaelith, the Face.
Mauriss, the Mind.
Helmuth, the Sword.
They did not get along, not even slightly. Yet every few decades, when threats emerged that even their delegated godlings could not handle, or when matters too delicate for subordinates demanded direct intervention, they met.
And today was one of those cursed days.
Kaelith stood in the center of his marble pavilion, surrounded by cascading fountains and glowing silver-leafed trees, as his eyes flicked between the two beasts before him.
One reeked of gravity magic and manipulation.
The other reeked of blood and death.
As all he truly wanted was for this meeting to end before either of them decided to breathe too heavily and kill another orchid.
"Welcome," Kaelith said, his voice as still as a moonlit lake, betraying none of his distaste as he gestured to the two opposing seats carved from dreamstone, placed precisely equidistant from his own.
Helmuth ignored the chair entirely and dropped to the ground with a grunt, crossing his legs with a clang as his metal-plated boots crushed a few of the garden's sacred clovers beneath them.
Mauriss, of course, didn't sit either. He floated down lazily, letting his legs fold beneath him mid-air as he hovered just a few inches above the seat, too arrogant to ever let himself touch something someone else built.
Kaelith's eye twitched.
But again, he said nothing.
Because soon, the topic shifted to the Evil Cult, and all three of them had something to say about that.
"It was careless of you, Mauriss, to give someone the exact coordinates of the largest known cache of Origin Metal in the universe," Kaelith said, his voice quiet but firm, like silk hiding steel beneath its folds.
"If the Skyshard boy truly delivered it to the Cult... to Soron... then we may have just handed him the one thing that could tip the balance. With an Origin Blade in his hand, Soron will become a threat none of us are prepared to handle."
Helmuth let out a sharp snort, the sound dripping with derision as he cracked his knuckles lazily against his knee.
"Only you fear your brother, you spineless little father-killer. I don't," he said, his voice rough like molten stone grinding through iron. "I'll fight him any day of the year. Hell, I'll fight him today."
Mauriss exhaled through his nose in amusement, the corner of his lips curling into a cold smile.
"Yes, we remember how that turned out the last time you tried." His tone dripped with mockery. "Your shattered axe. Had your severed limbs..... even had that vacant look on your face when you passed out from blood loss, twitching like a dying beast while Kaelith and I had to clean up your mess."
Helmuth twitched, the muscle in his neck bulging as he snapped his head toward Mauriss with such suddenness that even the unflinching deceiver instinctively recoiled half a step back.
The movement was subtle, but Kaelith caught it. Fear, raw and primal, flashed in Mauriss's eyes for just an instant.
"That's what I thought, Ocean Boy," Helmuth said with a sneer. "Even now, you both know you can't take me on unless Kaelith starts swinging those little heirloom blades his daddy left behind. In this entire universe, I've only ever had one true rival, and that was the Timeless Assassin. None of his offspring, not you, and not Soron, ever came close to him."
His voice dropped an octave, resonating deep like thunder before a storm.
"But I'll still fight Soron. Because apart from me, he's the only other being who walks this universe with the power to split planets in half just by blinking too hard."
The moment those words left his mouth, both Kaelith and Mauriss flared their auras, the air around them shimmering violently as divine pressure spilled into the garden like a sudden flood.
Kaelith's aura bled cold elegance and celestial fury, taking the form of spectral vines made of starlight, each leaf etched with runes older than written history.
The flowers around him bloomed with unnatural speed, then withered instantly under the strain of his rising energy, the petals curling into ash that floated upwards in a perfect spiral.
Mauriss's energy was more chaotic, like a spiraling vortex of thunder and fire, spinning inwards as if trying to devour reality itself.
The water in the nearby ponds began boiling in reverse, droplets freezing as they rose midair, suspended by warped time and space.
Not to be outdone, Helmuth responded in kind, his divine essence erupting like a volcano cracking open the sky.
Black flames oozed from his pores as red lightning snapped through the air, burning the nearby silver-leaf trees to charcoal, while the ground beneath him cracked open, coughing up steam from deep within the planet's mantle.
The Eternal Garden, once a sanctuary of balance and tranquility, now looked like the prelude to an apocalyptic storm.
Time wavered, space distorted, and for one fragile second, the laws of physics themselves seemed to bend under the strain of housing three gods who had no intention of yielding.
Kaelith's nostrils flared as he raised a hand, his fingers twitching slightly.
"Enough," he said, voice sharpened into crystal and command. "Let us not turn my sanctuary into a battleground. If we are to fight, we will do it on a world none of us will miss."
The tension did not vanish, but it froze, solidifying into a stalemate as the three titans slowly reined their auras back in.
The Eternal Garden exhaled, leaves trembling, water trickling again, and the silver mist that had been driven away by the chaos now returned, cloaking the pavilion once more in serenity—however fragile.
Mauriss crossed his arms and smirked. Helmuth clicked his tongue and sat down, the heat still radiating from his body like a furnace, while Kaelith began brewing a batch of tea in silence, already dreading whatever was to come next.
Because despite the peace on the surface, a big war between the three of them was now only a few conversations away.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC468: Agreement
Chapter 468: Agreement
(The Eternal Garden)
The tea leaves that Kaelith began preparing hadn't even fully steeped when Mauriss broke the silence again, his voice relaxed, almost amused, like an artist admiring the ruin they had just finished painting together.
"So. Shall we address the elephant in the garden? The topic we have gathered here to discuss?"
He asked, as Kaelith exhaled sharply through his nose, already regretting not poisoning the tea.
Mauriss continued without waiting for permission, floating a fraction higher above his dreamstone seat. "If the Cult has access to Origin Metal... and Soron is truly preparing to forge with it, then it changes everything. You both know that."
"The six great clans might reconsider their support to the Universal Government if they feel threatened for their lives.
Afterall, there's no saying what Soron might do with such a blade.
I mean, he is the Timeless Assassin's son afterall.... Maybe he decides to start going after the people that betrayed his father and dropping them dead like flies," Mauriss suggested, as he shrugged his shoulders with nonchalance.
Kaelith said nothing at first, choosing to focus on pouring the pale golden tea into three cups. Steam curled upward in quiet spirals, as though trying to escape the weight of the discussion.
"I would rather avoid assuming the worst before confirmation," he eventually replied, handing a cup to Mauriss and floating one toward Helmuth, who batted it away with a grunt.
"But if the worst is true," Kaelith continued, "then a single Origin Blade in Soron's hand would tilt the balance of power in the universe greatly.
None of us want to admit it, but even our combined strength may not be enough to deter him from coming after us like a madman, if he has a weapon forged from the root of existence itself."
Mauriss tapped the edge of his teacup thoughtfully.
"It would explain the Cults' sudden moves. Why they named a Dragon after so long, and why they have been active as of late. Soron might be feeling very confident."
Mauriss suggested, as Kaelith's fingers stiffened. He did not wish to admit it, but the logic was sound.
Mauriss looked to Helmuth next, eyes narrowing just slightly. "If Soron enters a blackhole to prepare the origin metal for temperance, then there's a high chance that the highly skilled blacksmiths within the Cult will then convert it into an unparalleled blade.
Under such an environment, perhaps it's time we reconsider our approach to exterminating the Cult.
Let's take a step back, let the Cult expand their borders slightly.
Renegotiate a peace accord that will guarantee no war for another hundred years."
Kaelith gave a reluctant nod.
"A containment strategy. Not ideal, but preferable to a galactic-scale defeat."
Kaelith agreed, however, Helmuth did not seem impressed.
"You're both pathetic." He insulted, as Kaelith clenched his jaw, while Mauriss only raised an eyebrow.
"You think Soron's already forged the blade?" Helmuth asked, cracking his neck. "You think he's had time to enter a black hole and survive the burn cycle? That takes preparation, and I don't think he's had it. Not yet."
He walked toward the edge of the pavilion, staring out at the vast silver canopy of the Eternal Garden as it shimmered under the fractured light of the artificial sun above.
"If we're going to strike, it's now. While he's vulnerable. While he's distracted with training that new brat he crowned. If you want to sit here like cowards and sign treaties, go ahead. But give me the heirloom blade your father left behind, Kaelith. I'll take it, walk into Ixtal myself, and kill Soron before he finishes forging anything."
Helmuth claimed, as the Eternal Garden fell silent for a beat.
"Absolutely not."
A furious voice came a second later, as Kaelith stood up and pointed a finger towards Helmuth, before curling it into a fist.
"If I give you those blades and send you after Soron, you will not walk out with them intact. In fact, I doubt you will walk out at all. You've fought him before, and barely survived—and that was when he wasn't holding something capable of erasing you from time.
In case you've forgotten, he doesn't necessarily need a blade to kill you.
With a block of origin metal in his hand, he can bludgeon your skull to death,"
Helmuth turned slowly, and this time, the fire in his eyes wasn't just regular fury. It was a primal rage.
"So what good are those blades of yours if you won't pull them out?
You're hoarding them. Like a coward. Like a collector too afraid to risk losing his precious antiques."
Helmuth complained, as Kaelith's expression did not change.
"No. I'm preserving them, using them as a deterrence to keep the six great clans and the Evil Cult under control." Kaelith reasoned, as Mauriss whistled low, setting his tea down on the arm of the chair.
"Here we go again." Mauriss said, fully expecting another quarrel, as Helmuth stepped forward, the ground beneath him groaning with heat.
"You do know you're nothing without those blades right? Without them, you're no stronger than the Gods of the six great clans.
The only reason you're a part of the same group as myself and Mauriss is because you possess those damn blades!" Helmuth reminded, as Kaelith summoned a single origin dagger from his soul space and pointed it towards the Berserker.
"Oh yeah? Want me to remind you why I'm the leader of this group and not you?" Kaelith said, as Mauriss clapped his hands and chanted "Fight, Fight, Fight" in a hushed tone.
Helmuth did not respond to Kaelith's threat; as he simply snorted and looked away.
Despite Helmuth's flamboyance, the fact of the matter was that the three of them were equally matched in terms of power, and none could take the other without facing some severe consequence.
And hence, in the end, Helmuth had no choice but to back off from actually fighting Kaelith.
"Let's not implode the garden just yet," Mauriss said, as surprisingly he played the peace maker for once.
"Kaelith won't give up the blades. Helmuth wants war. I want information. So... how about this—"
He floated a little higher, as his fingers began to trace lazy circles in the air, forming illusionary projections of Ixtal, Aegon Veyr's last appearance, and fragments of known Cult movement over the last month.
"Let's provoke Soron. Not directly. Not with fleets. Let's strike where it matters emotionally. Symbolically. Let's kill the new Dragon."
Helmuth's eyes narrowed. "Inside Cult territory?"
Mauriss nodded. "If the new Dragon dies inside their lands, and Soron doesn't respond, then we know he's truly preoccupied... maybe even inside a black hole. But if he does respond, then we measure the response. Aura signatures. Time dilation. Divine pressure. We'll know whether the blade has been forged—without ever stepping into a battlefield."
Helmuth gave a low grunt. "You think killing the boy will be easy?"
"I didn't say it was easy. But I think we have enough sacrificial lambs on our hands to make it happen."
Kaelith remained quiet for a long while.
Then finally, he nodded once.
"Who do you have in mind? I've already sent my son to the borders of Juxta, but Soron has him marked...."
Helmuth cracked his neck again, then slammed a gauntleted fist into his open palm.
"I can send my army of berserkers, they will tear a few planets to shreds."
Mauriss snorted. "No. You'll start an open war if you do that, when what we need is stealth, not spectacle.
We'll choose someone expendable. Someone capable, but deniable. And if they fail, no harm done. If they succeed... Soron will have no choice but to show his hand."
For a brief moment, all three gods stood in agreement.
Rare. Tense. Fragile.
The kind of agreement that always historically preceded a bloodbath, as Kaelith once again turned back to his tea.
"Then it's settled. We target the Dragon. And probe Soron's response."
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC469: The Guard
Chapter 469: The Guard
(Planet Tithia, A couple days after Aegon Veyr was crowned Dragon)
As per tradition, once a new Dragon was crowned, a tournament was held among the most reputed warriors within the Cult who were not already pledged to the military.
The sole purpose of this tournament was to select the one who would serve as the Dragon's personal guard.
The title given to this warrior was 'Shield of the Dragon'—a name that carried with it both immense prestige and a painful legacy, as historically, the Shield almost always died before the Dragon did.
They were tasked from the moment of selection to put themselves in harm's way, to block spells and take blades meant for another, to leap in front of death itself and die with a smile, as long as it meant that the Dragon would live to fight another day.
It was an honor that only the strongest, most loyal, and most selfless warriors could dream of attaining.
And this time around, the competition to earn it had been nothing short of brutal, as every young prodigy who saw themselves worthy stepped forward, desperate to stake their claim and offer their life in service of the Cult's new messiah.
However, despite the flood of young bloods who came roaring into the arena, each one faster, stronger, or flashier than the last, there was only one middle aged man who fought with purpose, not pride.
Valterri. A 42-year-old warrior, built more like a fortress than a man, who stepped into the ring not to prove anything to the world, but to fulfill a legacy that had been left incomplete.
He wasn't the fastest, nor the most technically gifted. There were at least five others who could outpace him in a straight duel, and perhaps even more who had mastered rare martial arts passed down from ancient bloodlines.
But Valterri had something they didn't.
Resolve.
A kind of unwavering, soul-deep conviction that couldn't be taught or mimicked.
He fought with patience when others fought with fire.
He guarded when others tried to impress.
And he endured, strike after strike, bout after bout, until his final opponent— a thirty-one-year-old prodigy with lightning reflexes, collapsed from sheer exhaustion, unable to break through the wall of willpower that Valterri had become.
The decision was unanimous.
The next Shield of the Dragon had been found.
And just like his old man before him, the same man who once served Noah Ashburn, and died holding the line during the infamous ambush by the Black Serpents, Valterri too now pledged to take up the mantle of protector.
—------------------
(32 years ago, on an unknown battlefield)
"Remember Valterri... the elders council is not what it seems. We have been set up. Someone has betrayed Lord Noah—" James said, as he placed a stealth amulet on his son, Valterri, who was but 10 at the time.
"But why Father? Why would someone within the Cult betray the Dragon? Aren't we on the same side? Aren't the monsters within the Righteous Faction?" Valterri asked, tears streaming down his face, as even at that tender age, he knew that this was goodbye.
"We are all monsters, Valterri.
Some of us are just better at hiding it.
The Elders speak of virtue, yet crave power.
They condemn Evil, yet justify their own Sins.
When you grow up, remember that the greatest crimes are not committed by villains,
but by those who believe themselves righteous.
A man convinced of his own virtue will justify any cruelty and betrayal.
And so, he is far more dangerous than the one who knows what he truly is.
Nothing is easier than to denounce the evil doer.
But there is nothing more difficult than to understand him.
The line between good or evil doesn't run between factions or classes—
it runs through every human heart.
Do not trust the man who boasts of his goodness.
Trust the one who knows his own darkness and masters it." James said, as he affectionately rubbed the head of his son one last time, before turning to leave.
"Grow up to become big and strong Valterri.... And when the next Dragon is crowned, protect him better than I did—" James said before he left, as Valterri ran to hide behind a tree.
———
(Present day, Planet Tithia)
Valterri stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, hands braced against the cold basin, as droplets of water slid down his face and dripped quietly into the sink.
The mirror before him was scratched and dull, stained with time, but it still reflected enough for him to see the man he had become.
Or rather, the man he hoped to become today.
He blinked, stared into his own eyes, and saw nothing extraordinary. No glow of life. No trace of his father's fierceness. Just a boy who had grown tall in the shadow of a legend he never had the chance to bury.
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the basin tighter.
Today was the day.
The day he finally stepped into something greater than himself.
The day he was no longer just "Valterri, son of James."
Today, he became the Shield of the Dragon.
*Sigh*
He exhaled once, slowly, then reached for the clasp of his ceremonial breastplate. It was freshly forged, carved with the sigil of the Cult Of Ascension, still unscuffed, still perfect.
However, he knew that he would stain it soon.
He was sure of that.
"I will not falter," he whispered to his reflection, voice low, steady. "I will not fail."
His fingers brushed the edge of the amulet tucked beneath his tunic—a worn scrap of iron, blackened by fire, which was all that remained of his father's sword hilt after the Black Serpents' ambush years ago.
They had never found the body.
But they found enough to bury.
And ever since that day, Valterri had trained with one goal in mind—not for vengeance, not for recognition, but to do what his father could not.
To stand.
To endure.
To protect.
No matter what happened to him, the Dragon would not fall.... not on his watch.
Not while his heart still beat.
*Splash*
He rinsed his face one last time, straightened, then turned from the mirror without hesitation.
The corridor beyond awaited.
So did the Dragon, Aegon Veyr.
And Valterri Valtanen was finally ready to serve.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC470: The Emotional Turmoil Of Aegon Veyr
Chapter 470: The Emotional Turmoil Of Aegon Veyr
(Planet Tithia, The Dragon's Manor, Aegon Veyr's POV)
Since the tender age of five, Aegon Veyr had always known how to act strong.
He had known how to puff his chest, tilt his chin up, walk like he owned the road beneath his feet, and speak like the world owed him breath.
That was what being a street orphan in the outer districts of Tithia had taught him.... That if you did not demand respect, you were invisible, and if you did not fight for your place, you had none.
But ever since the Dragon's Mantle had been forced onto his shoulders, he'd started to feel something he had never once tasted before.
A gripping doubt, one that made him question whether the ideals that he believed to be the gospel growing up, still held true now that he was the Dragon?
For instead of the cold streets of Tithia, where he once slept on the regular, he was now surrounded by the ceremonial chamber of the central hall, a place too polished for someone like him, lined with glowing mana crystals and polished marble floors that shimmered with decorative enchantments.
He could hear chants echoing from outside... commoners that gathered outside his manor in the hundreds.
They were hailing his name, praising his wisdom, worshipping his existence as though he were a divine answer to a question no one had even asked him.
And it made him feel sick.
He didn't deserve it. Not really. Not anymore.
Not after what Leo Skyshard had done to him.
Veyr's fists clenched at his sides as the memory of his defeat clawed its way back.
That moment.
That humiliating, shattering moment.
A Transcendent, struck down by a Grandmaster.
An unparalleled prodigy, knocked to his knees by a man who showed him what real talent looked like.
And then, to be looked down at.
Not with pity.
But with belief.
As if Leo, the very same warrior who had defeated him, somehow still saw something important in him.
Something that made him willingly walk away from the title.
Something that made him say, 'You're the better choice to become Dragon.'
As it was that precise gesture that broke Aegon.
Because until then, he had built his identity around strength. Around winning. Around being the one they could suppress but never deny.
And suddenly at that moment, he was made aware of an alternate truth.
A truth where he wasn't the strongest. He wasn't the only one with a divine bloodline, and he wasn't the only one deemed special.
He was just... chosen.
And not by fate.
But by someone else's choice.
So now, with the weight of that mantle clinging to his back like wet cloth, Aegon tried to change.
He tried to become more worthy of carrying the title of the Dragon.
As once he realized that he was simply chosen for the role and not born for it, he started to work towards justifying that the choice to make him Dragon was indeed the right one.
He tried to be more composed, more regal, more articulate in public.
He changed the way he sat, adjusted the tone of his voice, forced himself to nod politely to commoners who once spat at him angrily in the streets.
He spoke slower. Walked straighter.
Tried to imitate the Dragons of old whose statues now loomed behind him in every room he entered.
And still, somehow, he never felt like he belonged.
'What if I disappoint them all?'
The thought was constant now, gnawing at the corners of his mind.
And it was in that fragile state of pretense and pressure, that the man entered.
Valterri Valtanen.
The Shield of the Dragon.
His arrival was silent, his steps not drawing attention, yet somehow still carrying the gravity of a warrior who knew he was volunteering for death.
Veyr turned to face him just as the man stopped two feet away and dropped to a knee.
The gesture felt too formal.
Too heavy.
And it made Aegon's throat turn dry.
"My Lord," Valterri said, his voice low, composed, and loyal in a way that made Aegon's stomach twist. "I'm Valterri. Your Shield from this day onwards. May I die before I let any harm befall you."
He said it without blinking.
As if it were already decided.
Aegon stared at the man for a moment, unsure what to say.
Valterri was broad-shouldered, stone-faced, easily twice his age and built like the kind of man who didn't need to make threats to win wars.
And yet, here he was... kneeling to him, as if he was the man's divine salvation.
And it was moments like these that made Veyr want to rip the damn title off and scream that it belonged to someone else.
Because how could an orphan like him accept a proper knight-like warrior bowing before him?
But still, he swallowed the discomfort, pushed past it, and tried to speak as neutrally as possible.
"Your age?" he asked, trying to avoid the awkwardness of the moment by focusing on smaller details.
"Forty-two," Valterri replied, head still lowered.
"And your tier?"
"Transcendent."
That made Aegon pause.
He hadn't expected that. He squinted slightly, noting the streaks of gray in Valterri's beard, and the weathered look in his hair and eyes.
"You're a Transcendent? Then why the gray in your beard and hair? Don't people at our tier maintain our prime looks till we are at least 200 years old?"
There was no accusation in his tone—just genuine confusion.
And Valterri, to his credit, didn't bristle or flinch at the question.
He simply tilted his chin down a fraction more.
"I dye it gray, my Lord," he said, voice even, calm. "It helps me resemble my father."
Aegon blinked.
He hadn't expected that answer.
On one hand, he wanted to tell him to stop looking older than he was.
To not dull his personal image just to carry the burden of someone else's memory.
But on the other hand... he understood.
And because he understood, he said nothing.
He just nodded once and let it go.
Contact - ToS