Chapter 275: 275

In the center of the garden stood a stone fountain, its waters murmuring softly as they cascaded into a clear, shallow pool. The air was filled with the sweet perfume of roses, lilies, and jasmine, mingling with the earthy scent of the soil and the crisp freshness of the leaves. On the walls of this garden was an inbuilt statue of Ikenga, the god of nature and curses.

Nwadiebube’s smile grew as he took in the sight. This was a place he had nurtured himself, each flower a testament to his love for the beauty and peace that the garden offered. Here, he was not just a king burdened by the weight of his crown but a man who found solace in the simple act of tending to his garden.

Looking up at the glass ceiling above the garden, revealing the deep night sky, Nwadiebube said to his sister, who was watering a flower, “I am scared, sister.”

The princess’s hand paused for a moment, but she silently continued what she was doing as she asked, “Scared of what?”

Taking a deep breath, the king spoke. “Scared of not being known, of being forgotten—only to be momentarily brought up in conversations before being forgotten again.

“Watching Father die and mourning him, only for the people to forget him and what he did because I came up and did better than he did. I wonder how many, like you, still think of Father the way you do.

“Being a king and a father wasn’t enough for him to be remembered as great. The only great thing to his name is that he is the founder of this great, standing kingdom.”

Princess Nwadimma continued to water the flowers, her movements slow and deliberate, as if each drop of water held a piece of the conversation. The soft murmur of the fountain filled the silence between them, a soothing counterpoint to the weight of her brother’s words.

“Brother,” she began after a moment, her voice gentle, “greatness is not measured solely by how long people remember your name. It’s measured by the legacy you leave behind, by the lives you’ve touched, and by the principles you’ve upheld.”

She turned to face him, her eyes meeting his with a quiet intensity. “Father may not be spoken of as often as you wish, but that does not mean he is forgotten. His influence is still here, in the foundations of this kingdom, in the way we live our lives, in the way you lead. You carry a part of him in everything you do, even when you don’t realize it.”

“I have no doubts about your word, sister, but people have dreams and expectations.”

“Most humans, apart from us, know the true nature of what Osita is. The children of the gods have done well to keep his existence hidden from most humans, but soon it can no longer be concealed.”

“The people of this world will realize that a stranger, an alien, is living among them in a world that is supposed to be their own. The children of the gods will be seen as saviors when this happens, but what about how other humans will view us?” Nwadiebube said as he looked at his sister.

Not waiting for the princess to respond, Nwadiebube continued, “We will be seen as cowards—our whole family and its name will be tarnished as cowards who dared not stop a stranger from taking their home.”

“The prestige we held will amount to nothing with this kind of stain on our name. My relationship with Osita isn’t only because of my ambition but also because of our history with humans. I want us to be known as the first humans who dared to fight such aliens.”

“Erik from the western continent may have faced another demon and won, but he wasn’t a pure human. His victory wasn’t born out of the human race’s hard work; it came from the other half of whatever he is.”

The princess listened to her brother with a somber expression, absorbing the weight of his words. The silence between them grew thick, as if the very air held its breath, waiting for her response.

“Nwadiebube,” she began softly, her voice carrying a mix of sorrow and resolve, “I understand the burden you carry—the desire to protect our family’s name, our legacy. But is it truly courage to fight out of fear of being seen as cowards? Or is it merely a different kind of fear—one that blinds us to the wisdom of restraint?”

She paused, searching his eyes for a sign of understanding. “Osita’s existence is not a challenge to our authority or a stain on our honor. It’s a test of our humanity, of our ability to coexist with what we do not fully understand. If we act out of fear, out of a need to prove ourselves, we risk becoming the very thing we despise—a force that destroys rather than protects.”

Her gaze softened, and she reached out to place a hand on his arm. “Erik’s victory, though lauded, was born of necessity, not pride. We must ask ourselves what truly matters: Is it the glory of a victory, or the wisdom to choose our battles wisely? Father taught us that strength is not in domination, but in the ability to foster peace, even in the face of potential threats.”

She sighed, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “The world will always remember the warriors who fought bravely. But they will also remember the leaders who chose the harder path—who sought understanding over conflict and who valued life, all life, over the fleeting satisfaction of a battle won.”

The princess looked at her brother, hoping her words would reach the part of him that still held their father’s teachings close. “If we must confront Osita, let it be because it is the right thing to do, not because we fear what others might think of us.”

Nwadiebube’s eyes flickered as he responded, “You speak wisely, sister, but what about my other fear—the children of the gods?”

The princess looked confused at her brother’s words. “The children of the gods have given us no reason to fear them.”

Nwadiebube walked to the statue of Ikenga, tracing his finger along its surface. “The children of the gods have indeed given us no reason to fear them, and that is exactly why I have a problem with them.”

“For centuries, they have maintained peace from behind the scenes in our world. Their very existence has led us humans to live reasonably with each other. War rarely happens, and conflicts are avoided for fear of angering the children of the gods.”

“In their attempt to keep peace, the children of the gods forget what makes us human. Conflict enables human evolution. If the children of the gods had continued as they did before the meteor shower, we humans would never have reached the point we are at now.”

“The meteor shower forcefully pushed the evolution of the human race to where it is today by introducing rich knowledge, structure, and weapon creation.”

“Unfortunately, humans weren’t the only ones to get their hands on this knowledge. The children of the gods also gained access to it, making them stronger than ever, which means we humans lost the chance to overtake them.”

The princess listened intently to her brother’s words, her confusion gradually giving way to understanding as he spoke.

“Nwadiebube,” she began, her voice steady but tinged with concern, “I see now where your fears lie. You fear that in their pursuit of peace, the children of the gods have stifled the very essence of what it means to be human—the struggle, the conflict, the growth that comes from overcoming adversity.”

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “It’s true that conflict can drive progress, that the challenges we face shape who we become. But must that conflict always be against each other, or can it be a shared struggle against a common threat? The children of gods have kept the peace, yes, but perhaps the time has come for us to redefine what that peace looks like—not as a fragile balance maintained by fear, but as a partnership where humans and the children of gods both strive for greatness together.”

She moved closer to him, her eyes searching his face. “The meteor shower brought change—not just in power, but in opportunity. We humans have grown, adapted, and learned. We are no longer the same as we were before. But that growth doesn’t have to be in opposition to the children of gods. What if, instead of seeing them as a barrier to our evolution, we see them as partners in it? What if the true test of humanity is not in surpassing them, but in working alongside them, finding a way to coexist without losing our own identity?”

Shaking his head, Nwadiebube looked at his sister and asked, “Do you know the average lifespan of a normal Apeling who hasn’t undergone mana training?”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep