The Emperor continued to walk forward without saying a word. His steps were discreet, calm, yet filled with an authority that left no room for defiance. It was as if no one could ever dare to cross his path.
It was a strange sensation to follow behind him. A suffocating paradox — an absolute sense of protection, but also a crushing weight pressing down on the shoulders of all who walked in his shadow.
And yet, despite this overwhelming presence, there was something almost spectral about him. As if he was never fully there like a phantom draped in flesh.
Marc could not endure such contrast. If he had to describe the Emperor, he would use the very words he reserved for entities.
The corridors of Emperor's Glory stretched vast and bright. Turcan had chosen to preserve this light, knowing he already lived too deeply in darkness. Unlike the rest of the palace, or the blood-red throne room, here there was no oppressive crimson.
Instead, everything shimmered in white veined with emerald green. The contrast with the throne room was striking, as if two worlds coexisted under the same roof. Many forgot that Turcan always wore green, while the throne room had remained red ever since the Red Emperor had conquered almost the entire North. But Turcan despised that color — the shade of blood, of carnage, of endless battlefields.
Thus, everything inside was different.
The floor was a mirror of white marble, so pure that it seemed to steal the light itself. The walls, tall and majestic, were carved with floral motifs in relief, as if the stone had blossomed under the fingers of a sculptor. Slender columns lined the corridor, twisted like vines frozen in time, encrusted with emerald veins that pulsed gently, as if they were breathing.
On the ceiling, a celestial vault stretched out, painted pearly white, studded with suspended crystals that diffused a soft, supernatural light. Each crystal seemed to contain a star, and sometimes it seemed as though they were blinking, as if observing the visitors.
Deep green carpets, embroidered with silver thread, stretched the entire length of the room, guiding footsteps like a velvet river..
Marc was spellbound. He had imagined countless things about Emperor's Glory, yet he had never thought it would be so majestic.
It wasn't just beautiful — it was perfection woven into stone. If he had tried to imagine his dream castle, it would still pale before this one.
Everything was beautiful… too beautiful. To the point that those who stepped within these halls seemed unworthy, diminished by its splendor. The only one who remained magnificent amidst this overwhelming beauty was the Emperor himself.
Marc cursed inwardly. He wasn't really jealous of the Emperor's beauty… or perhaps he was.
As though sensing his thoughts, Turcan slowly turned his head. His long hair followed the movement with a grace that seemed unreal, like slow motion captured in reality.
Then, the corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly as he met Marc's gaze.
Marc froze in shock.
"Is he… is he mocking me?"
But obviously, no answer came. In the blink of an eye, the Emperor's face had returned to its cold and serious expression.
"Did I… imagine that?"
Perhaps not...
Some time later, the small group was still walking. They did not go to the throne room but instead were led to a strategic meeting room, modest in size, designed to accommodate only about ten people.
As they entered, Marc shivered. The room exuded a dark, heavy aura, in stark contrast to the radiant majesty of the castle itself.
The walls were covered with photographs and sketches of battlefields, of people—likely figures of power… or spies. Lines connected certain images, while others ended with the grim inscription: Dead.
A chill ran down Marc's spine.
He had no doubt of the Emperor's efficiency in eliminating his targets. His success rate must approach perfection.
Turcan seated himself calmly in a reserved chair that exuded authority, more comfortable than the others. A subtle black cushion complemented the dark wood, and the chair was placed at the head of a long rectangular table.
The Emperor's emerald eyes locked on Marc, sharp and piercing.
"That's right. He conquered Jar all by himself. Three hundred years ago, the Red Emperor inspired terror in all who lived on this earth. He was superhuman — and that's all he was. But now… I wonder if it was something more."
There weren't many ways to become a superhuman on this earth. Marc knew of only two. Jin, who even before the aura was decidedly too strong, and Turcan, who seemed to be immortal thanks to his strength.
The IGA assassins were formidable as well, but for some reason, Marc feared those two even more.
So for a superhuman to conquer a nation single-handedly, there was probably only one explanation.
"Like the aura?"
"Probably. I'll show you later what this dark lineage conceals. But first, let us focus on this war."
What did this dark lineage hide? These words echoed in Marc's head. The Emperor didn't seem like a hostile person, but since he had become aware of the existence of auras... anything could happen.
What if he had known about auras for ages? What if the Emperor himself, and his family, were serving an entity from another world? What if they had discovered a way to manipulate auras through dark techniques?
Could the Emperor be an enemy in the future?
Marc had a headache wondering how to fight Zvenne. But once again, this was not the time to focus on that. He had more important matters to attend to... at least for now.
Then, the Emperor's cold voice broke the silence.
"Exorian."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Exorian activated the table in the center of the room. What Marc had assumed to be a simple black wooden table revealed itself to be an advanced projection device.
A 3D map of the world began to appear. Several red dots were already positioned on it, but Exorian pressed a button to make them disappear. The five great nations were then represented, and Zvenne's superiority in the north was clearly visible on the map.
Exorian cleared his throat, preparing to speak as though delivering a grand proclamation.
"This is a map of the current world. And here is the glorious, almighty, majestic, unstoppable, unrivaled..."
"Exorian…"
Turcan's abrupt interruption cut the praise in half, leaving a tense chill in the room.
Exorian coughed, embarrassed.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty. This is the Empire of Zvenne. It stretches across the north, dominating the other nations. However, part of it remained unconquered after the Red Emperor's assault three hundred years ago."
Marc's frown deepened with anger.
"The Empire of Garid."
"Exactly. At the time, it had another name. But Juan Garid's rise unified the eastern and southern nations, forming the current empire. However..."
Elie interjected, completing the thought.
"They want to reclaim the lands lost three centuries ago."
"Correct. Back then, the eastern peoples—now culturally diminished—lived on the borderlands, extending into what had been the nation of Rakov, conquered by the Emperor, forced to retreat to the farthest east."
Elie's curiosity led her to ask more questions.
"Why reclaim it after so long?"
"For two reasons. First, the world believes it is now united enough to challenge Zvenne and reclaim its former territories. Second.."
"A foolish faction among my people still desires conquest for the sake of conquest alone."
The Emperor had spoken with enough force to make everyone tremble. It seemed he was truly unhappy that his people were still foolish enough to start a war out of sheer lust for power.
"The fervor of war resurfaces. The result? A conflict between those seeking to reclaim their land and those lusting for domination."
Exorian's voice cut sharply through the room. Everyone understood why: It sounded like a childish argument.
Marc knew that it didn't come from the people themselves. When he looked at the ruler Garid, he saw an aura behind him. And he felt it: if Astra was the natural disaster and the horsemen were killing en masse using the methods of this world, then the aura he saw behind the emperor was that of war.
It seemed capable of controlling people's fervor and desires in order to direct them toward a certain war.
Marc was almost trembling at the thought of how terrifying that was. Aeros could wipe out life on earth by manipulating people and forcing them to fight like zombies controlled by useless desires.
The day he saw Garid, he immediately knew something was wrong. Although the strange aura behind him seemed to possess him, it also seemed that Garid was no longer thinking for himself and his decisions were made quickly and without reflection.
He was like a madman...
"In your world, I am known."
Marc recalled the man they had confronted in the other world — the one who had first named himself Mirades, then corrected to "I am known."
What if…
The Emperor's voice snapped Marc back.
"Zeymond, are you following?"
"Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought."
"Something useful?"
Marc paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Well, when I confronted Emperor Garid, I saw an aura behind him. It revealed his name to me. It wasn't Garid, it was Aeros, the war."
The Emperor's usually impassive expression flickered with surprise.
"The War, huh? So all of this… is part of a plan from the other world."
Marc waited until he was sure Turcan had nothing more to say.
"I've learned more. Recently, I researched Lavoisi and his books, one leading to millionaire Rodrigo Sanchez. He possessed an antique volume, The Scholar's Book, written by Lavoisi himself. Jin and I recovered it. The books revealed what the reader needed to know — past, present, and future. And they spoke of the four horsemen of the apocalypse: Astra, natural disaster; Aeros, war; and two others still unknown."
Silence enveloped the room. The Emperor had no inkling of the connection between the other world and this war. The implications were staggering — facing not just human foes, but entities beyond comprehension.
He looked at Marc with a serious and cold expression before saying:
"Have you met them before?"
"Only Astra."
"What was she like?"
"Strong. Nothing more."
"So… survival is possible."
The answers were quick and the conversation flowed smoothly. Marc didn't want to upset the Emperor any further, whose aura was beginning to seriously worry him.
A green, sparkling dust thickened the air, exerting immense pressure on Exorian, Marc, and Elie alike. Beautiful, yet terrifying.
"Perhaps for you, Emperor Turcan, but for others… not so. I've faced beings from another world called Goagi, masters of temporal loops. Their powers far surpass ours. Imagine, then, the natural disaster."
The Emperor's brow furrowed. Could he even fight such beings?
His gaze returned to Marc, the pressure intensifying.
"What did you see in that book?"
Marc grimaced.
"Not much."
"Why? Isn't it the only way to stop them?"
"To be honest… I was afraid. The books don't guarantee solutions. They reveal only what the reader needs to know."
Turcan's expression darkened further.
"Let me guess, Zeymond. What you need to know goes beyond this war and apocalypse. You fear it. That aura emanating from you… marks you as no ordinary being, yes?"
Marc met the Emperor's gaze with equal intensity. The atmosphere had turned almost suffocating.
He felt Turcan's subtle contempt, a recognition of Marc's extraordinary nature, and his own regret for lives taken in curiosity. Slightly bowing, Marc acknowledged it.
"Raise your head, Zeymond. Those destined for greatness are welcome in my palace. Until destiny arrives, we focus on stopping this war."
Marc's guilt lingered, but the Emperor was right. For now, survival depended on strategy. He centered his mind on the action plan.
Turcan reclined slightly, leaning against the projection table.
"For now, find those books and gather them here. We proceed as agreed: we strike south."