Chapter 487: 487

A vast field stretched out before them, cleared and sunken, the land severed with unnaturally sharp edges. The sight was unnatural, the destruction too precise, too absolute, as if reality itself had been carved away.

A heavy silence followed, the gathered rulers absorbing the implications of what they were seeing.

Wulv’s gaze lingered on the image before he finally turned back to the others.

“This,” he said, “is the aftermath of the Beast King using its talent.”

No one spoke immediately. There was no need—what lay before them was already unsettling enough.

The image of Zirikon shifted, seamlessly merging into the newly displayed scene. The gathered rulers watched as the projection now depicted a golden portal standing ominously behind him, shimmering like liquid gold against the backdrop of the cleared-out field.

Wulv’s expression darkened as he raised a hand, gesturing toward the portal.

“This,” he stated, “is evidence that Krogan—and this Zirikon figure—possess a teleportation technology.”

His voice was measured, but the weight of his words was undeniable. The air in the room grew heavier as the implications sank in.

“This technology,” Wulv continued, “is something we have long restricted—The Gates.”

A tense silence followed. The Gates were not meant to be used freely. The godlings themselves had ensured that.

“But from my observations, this is no prototype,” Wulv went on. “Even in its brief use, it was clear that this portal was fully functional. It was neither unstable nor experimental. It brought Zirikon to his target with precision and then successfully extracted both of them.”

The atmosphere in the room had shifted completely.

Gone was the previous neutrality—now, every ruler present bore a look of grim seriousness.

For an outsider—especially one tied to the Cursed Lands—to possess unrestricted teleportation, bypassing barriers meant to control movement across domains, was a severe development.

Yet Wulv was not finished.

“Krogan,” he continued, his voice like a blade, “has shown great interest in recruiting this Mammoth Beast King.”

The words hung in the air like an ill omen.

Wulv exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. “And unfortunately… he succeeded.”

His admission sent an unspoken ripple through the gathered rulers.

“I had no choice but to let it go,” he added, his tone carrying a rare note of frustration.

Even for a godling, certain situations left little room for maneuvering.

Before concluding his report, Wulv fixed his gaze on the others, his next words spoken with deliberate weight.

“Their teleportation capabilities are a serious threat. Were it not for a strange coincidence that led me to clash with their objective, I—and everyone else—would have never even known they were in my domain.”

Silence.

Kael’s voice broke the silence, calm but resolute.

“I understand your earlier frustration, Wulv,” he said, inclining his head with sincerity. “And I would like to apologize for my oversight. It wasn’t intentional.”

He paused, his tone growing more somber.

“My people have long upheld the agreement with Krogan—not out of kinship, but out of respect for the strength he wields… and in deference to the former queen who brokered the accord. But in light of these recent developments, it seems we may need to reexamine that understanding.”

Wulv gave a slow nod, mildly surprised by the young Kael’s composed response.

He hadn’t expected such measured maturity.

“Then allow me to apologize as well,” Wulv said, his tone softer now. “I was too quick to point fingers at your people. I should have known—things are never that simple. There’s always more at play.”

Kael nodded back, the faintest smile curving his lips—not smug, but genuine, a silent show of shared understanding.

A small but meaningful crack formed in the wall of formality between them.

Seeing the moment settle, Wulv straightened slightly and addressed the room once more.

“This meeting,” he said, his voice clear and deliberate, “was initiated by me—but this is not just about my territory.”

He swept his gaze across the gathered rulers.

“I called you all here because I want to know—have any of you noticed anything unusual?”

A pause.

“Strange movements near your borders, disturbances in the flow of mana, beasts behaving abnormally—or more specifically…” He leaned forward slightly. “Have any of your Beast Kings gone missing?”

The gravity of the question hung thick in the air.

They all knew the implications: if Krogan was truly building something—recruiting Beast Kings under their noses—then this was no longer just a matter of Wulv’s domain.

The atmosphere shifted—heavy and uncertain—as the other monarchs exchanged glances, their expressions darkening.

No one spoke at first. Not out of disregard, but because the truth was more unsettling than silence.

Beast Kings had never been a problem.

They were powerful, yes—beings to be respected, even feared—but they rarely ventured from their territories. Ancient and prideful, they ruled vast swaths of land in isolation, disinterested in the affairs of mortals unless provoked.

They existed more as legends etched into record, names passed down through generations as cautionary tales or as targets for the ambitious young.

In truth, the primary purpose Beast Kings served for most of them now was as trials. Living gauntlets for young prodigies to challenge, to test their limits against.

But that was the issue.

Their continents were vast—too vast. Even with all their resources, it was impossible to monitor every corner, every movement. And now, with Wulv’s revelation about the forbidden portal technology—

That changed everything.

If a Beast King could vanish or be taken in mere moments, without warning, then what else might slip past them unseen?

The tension was palpable. Unspoken guilt clung to their silence—not from neglect, but from the realization that they may have already lost more than they knew.

Wulv, reading their troubled expressions, spoke up gently.

“You needn’t force an answer,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I understand how difficult it must be. Even for me—it was only because it happened so close to one of my outer territories… and by sheer chance, my people happened to be nearby when it occurred.”

He folded his hands before him.

“I know how it sounds. Like we’re already two steps behind. But this isn’t to shame anyone.”

His gaze swept across them once more, firm and resolute.

“This is a warning—and a chance. Because next time… we might not even get that.”

Zephyr’s expression shifted—subtle, but noticeable. A flicker of doubt passed over his features before he finally spoke, his voice laced with hesitation.

“I believe I might have something… regarding the Beast Kings within my territory,” he said slowly. “Not a full picture, of course—but if something is amiss, there are those who would notice.”

The others turned their attention to him, the ripple of interest breaking the tense quiet.

Drowz, observant, narrowed his eyes slightly. “You sound uncertain, Zephyr,” he said. “Is it your information, or your informant?”

Zephyr gave a slight nod, exhaling through his nose. “It’s not the information I doubt—it’s the source. They’re… peculiar.” He paused for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Their reliability isn’t the problem. It’s that they don’t always share what they know—especially if it conflicts with their ’principles.’”

Before anyone could probe further, Zephyr lifted a hand and continued.

“You all must have heard of them by now—the druids.”

That name alone was enough to change the atmosphere once more.

The gathered monarchs tensed visibly. Not from fear—but discomfort. Unease.

A silence settled again, not of confusion but of recognition. Each of them wore the same look—darkened, as if a shadow had crept across the memory of that word.

Druids. The strange, reclusive practitioners who had emerged from eastern lands—born of a deep, mystical reverence for the God of Nature.

They claimed no allegiance to kings or borders, only to the balance of the land. And while their abilities were undeniably potent, their practices were… unpredictable. Their ideals, too rigid. Their code, immutable.

Some saw them as sages. Others, zealots.

And even among Zephyr’s own people, the druids were a subject of debate—revered by some, regarded with suspicion by many.

Zephyr gave a half-smile, dry and knowing. “Judging by your expressions, I see your lands share the same… sentiments.”

No one denied it.

“But eccentric or not,” he added, “if there’s anyone who would know of irregularities among the Beast Kings—especially those that aren’t visible to our eyes—it’s them.”

He paused, gaze turning thoughtful.

“I’ll reach out to them. But like I said—if their code deems it unworthy of interference, they won’t speak. Even to me.”

A moment passed. And then Zephyr looked up, his voice steady.

“Still, I think it’s worth trying.”

Apart from the apelings, the only other godling race known to practice the druidic faith were the merfolk. Bound by their own deep reverence for the cycles of the sea and nature’s quiet wisdom, it was no surprise they found kinship in the druids’ way of life.

The werewolves, in contrast, dismissed the path entirely—seeing it as a denial of instinct, of hunger, of survival. And the harpies, prideful and freedom-loving, found the idea of submitting to the will of forests, beasts, or ancestral trees beneath them. To them, the druids’ passive, symbiotic existence was shackling.

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