At this crucial moment, Matar spoke.

“In a few days…” he began, his face and tone unnervingly calm, a placid mask. All eyes were fixed on him. “…We will journey to MOONATORIA!” He raised his voice at the end, letting the word reverberate through the hall like a thunderclap, ensuring every soul present heard his destination. A wave of shock and fear rippled through the crowd.

“WHAT!!!” everyone shrieked, their voices a cacophony of utter disbelief.

“Moo—Moona… MOONATORIA!???” Fhajo stammered, his face drained of all color, a pallid canvas of terror.

“Son, have you lost your mind!” Sapar bellowed, his voice a booming wave of incredulity. “You wouldn’t even accept Thallerion’s challenge, and now Moonatoria?” He nearly held back a laugh, but true to form, he erupted in loud guffaws. “You’ve truly gone insane, hahahha!!” His laughter echoed like a booming gong, full of derision and triumph.

The people present dissolved into laughter, some scratching their heads, utterly bewildered by the self-inflicted chaos Matar was inviting.

Matar rose, disregarding the pandemonium erupting around him.

“Perhaps the king is simply drunk,” some muttered.

“Did he drink wine last night?” a leader queried. “If he were drunk, he’d be stumbling around!”

“He’s probably just joking!” another scoffed.

“Since the fall of the nation of Ossibuz…” an elder’s voice drifted through the air like a fading memory, heavy with history. “…During the dawn of our own civilization! A king swore that Ossibuz would never again war with Moonatoria, for after that bloody conflict, many suffered, and the Ossibian lineage was nearly extinguished.”

“Now, tell me, who among you is the coward you speak of?” Laniro challenged, but no one dared to meet his gaze or answer. He then stood.

“This meeting is adjourned,” Laniro declared, rising to his full height. “Let’s go, Gallexe, we still need to find those who will accompany us to Moonatoria.”

“Am I one of those Matar will take?” Adamoth inquired, a sly grin spreading across his face, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“No,” Laniro replied curtly, his voice firm and unyielding, leaving no room for doubt.

“Impossible! Everyone knows that for every upcoming mission, I’m always the one chosen?” Adamoth protested, his voice tinged with confusion and a hint of outrage.

“I regret to say that is not the king’s current intention.”

As Laniro reached the door, Fhajo pursued him, demanding an answer. “Do you truly believe you’ll survive Matar’s grand scheme? I warn you, it’s like picking up a massive stone and smashing it against your own heads!”

“Matar is both brave and intelligent! I have no reason to doubt his plans.” Lanero firmed at his word.

“Really? But on that note…” Fhajo’s face lit up like a struck match, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll prepare your graves for your inevitable suicide.” Fhajo quipped, his words dripping with a chilling sarcasm.

“Just ensure the grave you prepare isn’t too wide, because if it is, you might find yourself in your own hole,” Laniro retorted bravely, his voice sharp and defiant, cutting through Fhajo’s mockery.

****************************************************************************************************

In the heart of the Rigil district, King Xerxez presided over a tense council of his military commanders. The chamber, adorned with sprawling maps and ancient relics, spoke of a kingdom steeped in history—a history meticulously preserved in the revered Thallerion tome, rendering the wisdom of living elders obsolete. For the Thallerions, knowledge of their past was paramount, and ignorance a folly.

Xerxez, facing the full assembly of his military leadership, first confirmed the grim message dispatched to Ossibuz. His words to their leader, Matar, were unwavering: “I will not retreat from you, Matar, even though you are Corvus’s subordinate. Just ensure you uphold the agreement, but if you attack as you did in Wendlock, we will not announce when we strike.” The fate of Cathark, their messenger, remained unknown, adding to the palpable tension.

“How is Cathark? Has he returned?” Xerxez’s gaze fell upon Catana and Vethor. Catana, her face briefly brightening, reported, “The messenger Cathark has not yet arrived. Perhaps Cathark finds it difficult to enter the borders of Ossibuz.” Vethor quickly interjected, reassuring the king, “Do not worry, my king. Once he returns, I will immediately convey the Ossibians’ response to your letter.” A small measure of relief touched Xerxez’s stern features.

Xerxez then spoke of past wounds and present threats. “Moonatoria shattered us once,” he began, his voice heavy with sorrow. “And now the nation of Ossibuz has laid waste to our farmers in Wendlock and slain them.” As his commanders listened intently, Xerxez’s eyes swept across their faces before he took a deep, fortifying breath. “Whatever fate our hands shall forge, remember this…we are Thallerions; we will never kneel to anyone.”

Chief Commander Matheros added with a heavy sigh, “We have no entity to rely on; therefore, we can only rely on ourselves in the coming war.” The ominous mention of an “Entity” hung in the air, a chilling reminder of past struggles and the formidable foe they now faced in Corvus, known for his mastery of illusions and dark magic.

“I ask you, can you do everything to fight the Ossibians?” Xerxez’s voice, though fervent, carried a tremor of the fear that accompanied confronting such a powerful adversary. Phalleon, resolute, declared, “I am ready to lay down my life, for that is the vow of our ancestors. Because of what they did in Wendlock… I swore to myself that I would personally kill the old man Sapar.”

Matheros then urged swift action: “Let us not waste time, comrades; do everything for the training of our soldiers.” His adornments clinked as he moved amongst the oblong table, emphasizing the urgency.

Just then, Xerxez announced a crucial, unexpected development: “However, I have something important to tell you.” All attention shifted to the king. It was a difficult confession—he and Matheros would journey to Thartherus to forge an alliance, even before King Driother’s birthday.

“What is it, my king?” Catana inquired, her bow gleaming and her braided hair falling over her shoulder. Xerxez, striving to convey his strategic intent, explained, “Do not think that I am leaving you here to sightsee in Thartherus. You likely know that King Driother’s birthday is approaching. We will go there early to seek aid and additional weapons for our soldiers.” He observed their faces, noting no unusual reactions.

“I will accompany Xerxez to Thartherus,” Matheros confirmed, placing the immense responsibility of soldier training squarely on Phalleon’s shoulders. “Phalleon, I know you are easily angered by our complaining soldiers, but I trust you to tame them.” Phalleon’s unsettling smile hinted at his unique methods: “Hehe, I’ll take care of it; that’s child’s play for me.”

As the meeting concluded, Xerxez and his commanders carefully planned their next moves, keeping their strategies guarded. Guards stood vigilant outside, ensuring no prying eyes or “ravens” could infiltrate the Rigil camp and discover their preparations for the war to come.

****************************************************************************************************A blinding light suddenly struck Xerxez vision, then, on his mind it feels like he was teleported into the different dimension, but this time, the surrounding become louder. The visual swept him from a blinding light space into a terrifying scene. Though it is fragmenting.

“Woah, what was that light?”

He saw the light violently crashing down from the sky. He saw a wide, glowing shield affixed to the heavens like an ultimate, unbreakable barrier, and a creature trying to destroy it with a powerful mechanism. The boy was too young to understand, ignorantly watching the face of nightmare.

GRAWRR!!!!!

“Ah, is that a monster?”

“If this is still real, then, I saw a real monster, a long-tailed creature breathing fire…His is fighting…and fighting… against magic and powerful weapons? and then he become a— boy? Who is that boy? Oh, it disappear!”

Then, a vertical line rise in the sky. There is a black. An open field in the sky. Suddenly, there are giant tentacles appear too! It resembling claws, and trying to widen the hole in the sky.

“Whoah, there is a monster face, made of thorny evil energy, a halo of dark purple monster, peeked out from it. Its eyes, like… like the galaxies with malicious intent? Ehh, he stared at me!”

One tentacle, it coil at him, like an octopus!

“No, I have nothing to do with this, the man just brought me here.” The boy felt like peeing himself in fear at the sight of the lashing monster as he was gripped. “Let me go!!! Please, no, don’t eat me!!!”

It lunged, not just grabbing, but enveloping the boy in its crushing grip, the air squeezed from his lungs, his bones groaning in protest. He felt himself being pulled towards its mouth, not just swallowed like an egg, but pulverized, created, absorbed into its very essence, his consciousness dissolving into a painful, eternal scream as he became one with the terrifying creature.

“If this is what he say, life and death? Then, this is not funny!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep