Jost had long accepted the harsh truths of power. He himself had committed despicable acts—wanton murder, cold manipulation, and calculated destruction—all for the sake of his empire's survival. The weak always suffered for the ambitions of the strong, and in the grand stage of mythical beings, mortals were nothing more than pawns or collateral damage. His wife, too, understood this, which was why she eventually turned away from the sight, resigning herself to protecting what little remained of their capital. Their power, as mighty as it once seemed, was nothing in the presence of beings like Dante.
The silhouette of the white-haired specter had forced two mythical beings into combat while toying with a True Sage as if it were nothing.
If Jost's wife had interfered, she too would have perished without so much as a second thought. The mere fact that Dante had allowed them to live was, in itself, a rare stroke of mercy.
There was nothing to do now but accept, endure, and hope that the storm would pass before it crushed them completely.
Turning his gaze toward the battlefield, Jost focused on the lingering mythical presence. As he had predicted, the struggle had reached its conclusion. The oppressive aura that once dominated the land flickered and vanished. Moments later, he felt his father's presence descend before him.
The old emperor who looked to be a well-built male in his 40s handsome and lean bore severe wounds, though none were life-threatening. His sharp gaze swept over the battered remnants of their empire before he released a heavy sigh and vanished, leaving only a few words behind.
"Treat our guests well. Perhaps they will lend us a helping hand. Do not be rude, no matter what they say or do. When they arrive, bring them to the audience hall."
He merely nodded, his expression dark. He turned toward his wife, and together, they flew toward their children.
His heart burned with fury. He would make those traitorous soldiers suffer. The ones who had sold his daughter and their own superrior for their own survival would pay dearly. But just as he was about to order their immediate execution, his eyes landed on an unexpected sight.
A young elven boy, no older than 16, dressed in exquisite blue and white martial robes adorned with shimmering crystals, strolled leisurely through the air. His delicate features, long white hair, and bangs covering his forehead gave him a strangely ethereal appearance. Despite his youthful looks, his expression carried the weight of someone far older.
Beside him, a strikingly beautiful elven woman walked in step. Her long, crimson, brown hair cascaded down her back, and her piercing red eyes held an intensity that rivaled the flames she no doubt commanded. Dressed in an elegant yet practical red martial robe inlaid with ruby gemstones, she radiated an aura of power and refinement.
Even Jost, despite his years, found himself momentarily breathless. His wife's hand clenched slightly at his side, jealousy flashing in her eyes before she quickly masked it. Now was neither the time nor place for such thoughts.
Step by step, the pair drew closer. Though they seemed to walk at a casual pace, each step covered vast distances, bringing them closer in mere moments.
Jost instinctively tensed as the boy's gaze met his own. Then, without a word, the child's gaze drifted over the broken empire before he let out a weary sigh. A sigh that sent a chill down Jost's spine.
Before Jost could react, the boy vanished, reappearing a short distance away—hovering above his daughters.
Jost shot forward, landing beside Lexa and Lexi in an instant. He would not let anyone else harm them.
Lexa and Lexi, who had been tending to Sheva, had wiped her clean using a cloth. Dipped in magic though her eyes remained vacant, the silent tears that streamed down her cheeks did not cease.
Lexa, her heart heavy with guilt, could only hold her closer. She could not find the words to apologize, and even if she could, she doubted any apology would ever be enough.
As she held her subordinate, her gaze shifted to the soldiers who had stood by them until the end. Despite their wounds, despite the torment they had endured, these men and women had survived. Their bodies trembled, not out of pain, but out of shame. None dared to speak, yet their silent sobs and bowed heads spoke volumes.
Lexa offered them a tender, grateful smile. But it was not the same innocent smile she once had. That smile had changed.
Her gaze did not even acknowledge the soldiers who had betrayed them. Those who had wavered in their loyalty now stood frozen in place, the weight of their choices settling upon them. Paled faces, shifting eyes, unspoken regrets—they were only now realizing the full extent of their treachery. But it was too late.
Sheva, despite her trauma, watched the loyalists with a flicker of recognition in her lifeless eyes. Perhaps, in this moment, she found some twisted form of solace.
As Jost approached, Lexa and Lexi turned to face him. The girls had expected their father to be livid, but instead, their eyes landed on the faint scars along his neck, as though someone had choked the very life from him. For a dark elf of his stature, it was shocking. Even more shocking was the shame reflected in his expression.
Jost gathered Sheva into his arms while his wife embraced Lexa and Lexi. It was a silent moment, filled with sorrow.
Then, he turned his attention toward the kneeling loyalists.
One by one, he placed a hand on each of their shoulders, memorizing their faces, asking for their names.
Tears of anguish streamed down their cheeks. They felt unworthy of their emperor's kindness, but Jost did not hesitate. He and his wife ignored the filth and grime, treating them with the respect they had earned through unwavering loyalty.
As for the ones who had betrayed them?
Jost did not spare them a second glance.
"You shall be dealt with soon." His voice carried no rage, no emotion—just cold finality.
Lexa did not know why her father had yet to lead them back to the capital. But when she saw him glance toward the sky, a familiar yet distant voice reached her ears.
"Yo."
Her breath caught in her throat.
She knew that voice.
A surge of emotions—joy, relief, guilt—overwhelmed her as she looked up to see a familiar figure descending from the sky.
The young master had returned.
But this time, he did not come alone. Accompanying him was Vexion who now looked gorgeous in ways that brought her slight inferiority.
Lexa did know the subordinate's name—Vexion. As she gazed at the two figures standing before her, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe mixed with deep-seated guilt. They looked like an immortal duo—pristine, beautiful, and untouched by the corruption of the world. There was an air of transcendence about them, a presence that felt both ethereal and overpowering.
The young master—Dante—surveyed the scene before him with a casual glance, hands tucked leisurely into his pockets. His expression remained unreadable, neither approving nor saddened by the state of the empire.
His gaze briefly lingered on Lexa and Lexi, both of whom bore the unmistakable look of those who had witnessed and endured unspeakable horrors.
Lexa's lips parted slightly, a surge of emotions bubbling within her as she prepared to speak—to express her gratitude, her remorse, or perhaps her pleading. But before she could utter a word, her father, Jost, spoke first, his tone carrying hesitation and an underlying wariness.
"Greetings, Senior. May I ask who Senior is and why you are here?" Jost's voice wavered slightly, betraying his uncertainty. Though the figure before him appeared to be nothing more than a boy, something about him exuded an unshakable authority, one that Jost could not comprehend but instinctively respected. He had addressed beings of great power before, but this was different. He felt lost in how to properly address Dante, unsure if he was speaking to a mere child or an ancient existence in disguise. The fact he was a pure elf confused him but, at this moment, he couldn't be bothered to think about these things.
Dante turned his gaze toward Jost, his hands still comfortably tucked in his pockets, his expression unchanged. He said nothing at first, merely observing.
He then glanced toward Lexa and Lexi once more, studying them with a keen yet indifferent gaze. Their suffering, their trauma—it was all laid bare before him. Sheva, barely conscious in her Jost's arms, had an expression that was utterly hollow, devoid of any spirit.
The silence stretched on until Vexion, ever the dutiful subordinate, stepped forward with a calm smile that didn't hide the unwavering devotion in her eyes. She lowered her head in a respectful nod towards Jost and Vivian before speaking in a voice that was both polite and firm.
"Greetings, True Sage Jost and Sage Vivian," she began, her tone smooth and even, befitting her position. "My name is Vexion. Before you stand my Lord and master, Lord Dante." She gestured subtly towards Dante, her reverence for him evident in her every word and movement. "We will not speak at length, for my master prefers to remain… discreet. However, we will state our purpose clearly."
Vexion paused for a moment before extending a hand towards Lexa, her gaze locking onto the broken girl. "Master seeks to take your daughter, Lexa, as his subordinate. This is not a matter of choice," she stated bluntly. "She is indebted to my master. I trust she has already informed you of how he saved both her and your other daughter years ago."
Jost tensed slightly at the statement. He had indeed heard the story, but the way it was framed now sent an uneasy feeling creeping up his spine. He turned to look at Lexa, searching her face for confirmation, but she only looked down, silent, her expression unreadable.
Vivian, standing by her husband's side, clenched her hands into fists. Though she remained silent, her motherly instincts screamed in protest at the thought of giving away her daughter—especially after what had just happened. Yet, at the same time, there was an undeniable reality they could not ignore. The sheer presence of the one called Dante was suffocating, undeniable, and absolute.
Jost inhaled deeply before speaking, his voice laced with reluctance. "If… if my daughter is truly indebted to you, then…" He hesitated, glancing between Lexa and Dante. "What exactly does this entail? What is your intention with her?"
Dante finally moved. Slowly, he tilted his head, as if considering whether or not to answer the question at all. Then, with an almost lazy shrug, he replied, "She has a debt. I'm collecting it. Simple as that." His tone was devoid of malice yet utterly unapologetic.
Jost clenched his jaw but said nothing further. He knew that in the grand scheme of things, his protests were meaningless. His empire was already in shambles. His family had already suffered greatly. And now, the only thing he could do was accept what was to come.
Vexion smiled slightly, pleased with how things were progressing. She turned to Lexa once more. "What say you, Lexa?" she asked, though the answer was already predetermined.
Lexa looked at her father, her mother, then down at her sister and finally at sheva, whose frail fingers clutched weakly at her clothes. She had no real choice. And so, with a slow, nod.
"I accept."