Chapter 247: Aestrea Against The World (XXIV)

“Then, let’s make a deal.”

Aestrea spoke lightly, like he was just having a normal chat over tea.

“…A deal?” The Elven Emperor’s brow furrowed, suspicion flickering across his face.

He shifted uncomfortably on the ground, though he clearly lacked the power to object.

Aestrea didn’t smile.

“I want you to completely erase the Dark Elf race.”

The words fell from his lips like ice.

“…Eradicate?” The Emperor’s eyes widened, disbelief spreading across his face.

“Exactly,” Aestrea nodded slowly, leaning back in his seat, “Wipe them off this cursed planet. Every last one.”

There was a long silence.

“…And what do we receive in return?” the Emperor asked carefully, voice low, eyes narrowed, still clinging to some desperate trace of pride.

Aestrea tilted his head, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly.

That one small motion sent a sharp chill crawling down the Emperor’s spine.

“Are you really in any position to bargain?” His tone stayed calm, but his presence alone pressed down like a mountain.

The Emperor’s lips parted for a moment, but no words came. He lowered his head, shoulders slightly trembling.

“N-No… you’re right…”

Aestrea said nothing at first.

He watched the Emperor for a few seconds, as if waiting to see whether he would collapse or speak again.

Then he finally continued, with the same tone:

“Also… ensure that the Dwarf Kingdom doesn’t launch an attack against the human kingdom. If they do…” his gaze sharpened.

“…Then one of the continents will vanish from this world.”

The Emperor’s eyes shot open again, pure panic flashing through them.

“W-What?! That would spark a full-scale war between the continents!” he shouted, voice breaking as he stood up, hands clenched.

Aestrea blinked slowly.

“…So?”

That single word, empty, cold, and dismissive, struck like a slap.

The glow in his crimson eyes pulsed for just a second. It was enough to send visible goosebumps crawling over the Emperor’s skin.

His legs almost gave out.

Aestrea’s expression didn’t change as he leaned slightly to the side, resting his cheek against his closed fist, bored and dangerous at once.

“Weren’t the Elves and the Dwarves the ones pushing for war with the humans in the first place?”

His eyes flicked toward the Emperor’s wife, then back again.

“So consider this… damage control. Or maybe… punishment.”

He smiled faintly now.

“That’s the least you can do. Don’t you agree?”

Aestrea stared right into his eyes, and as he did that, the Emperor flinched again.

He tried to steady himself, but his knees wobbled beneath his robes. He couldn’t even meet Aestrea’s gaze anymore.

“…I…” he swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper.

“I accept…”

Aestrea said nothing for a moment. Just watched him.

The Emperor’s head lowered even further, as if he could disappear into the marble floor beneath him.

Even his wife, standing behind the throne, said nothing as she was pretty much terrified by Aestrea.

Aestrea slowly rose to his feet.

His cloak rustled softly behind him, the air shifting as he turned toward the wide balcony facing the open skies.

A warm gust swept through, lifting his dark hair slightly, catching the edge of his robes.

“…Good.”

That was all he said.

Then, without another glance, his body was surrounded by faint, silver energy.

It shimmered like soft starlight, then exploded upward with a quiet hum as he lifted off the ground.

His figure soared into the sky.

He hovered in the air, quietly observing the golden tree from above. The wind whispered softly against his ears, and his eyes narrowed as they locked onto the base of the tree.

“…Underneath, huh?” he murmured to himself.

His gaze scanned the scene. Dozens of Elven guards in radiant armor surrounded the base of the tree.

They weren’t moving much, but they were gathered tightly in one area, clearly trying to hide something.

“Couldn’t they make it more obvious?” he chuckled.

Aestrea’s eyes dimmed slightly, and he raised a single hand.

The world itself seemed to pause for a moment.

And then…

『 ✯ Time Stop ✯ (✯ 9th-level Spell ✯) 』

A ripple burst from his body, invisible to the average eye. The birds stopped mid-flight. The wind ceased to blow.

Even the leaves on the giant golden tree halted in mid-air, frozen where they hung.

The entire world had fallen still.

Only Aestrea moved now.

He floated down gently, landing without a sound just a few meters from the cluster of frozen guards.

They were like statues, locked in mid-motion, weapons drawn, faces tensed, eyes wide.

As if they sensed something coming… right before the world stopped.

Aestrea walked past them without a glance, and almost immediately, he found a crack between two roots, hidden beneath thick vines and a false stone wall.

It was very subtle, but not enough.

He placed one hand against the stone.

“…Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

With a gentle push, the entrance gave way.

Aestrea stepped through the entrance and paused.

He didn’t move forward just yet.

Instead, he waited, watching as the heavy roots behind him slowly shifted back into place, sealing the passage once more.

The stone clicked shut with a dull thud.

“…Continue…”

Time started to run again.

And then, he looked down.

A staircase revealed itself, wide and spiraling, made of reinforced wood that gleamed like polished obsidian.

Runes were carved deep into each step, pulsing faintly under his feet as he moved.

Each one was engraved with an ancient s, perhaps to reinforce the structure… or to keep something sealed.

He began to descend.

Step after step.

The deeper he went, the more he felt a strange pressure in his body. It grew heavier with each meter. The mana in the air wasn’t normal. It wasn’t even natural.

It swirled like vapor, thick and slow, pressing against his skin, seeping into his body as if trying to probe who, or what he was.

He didn’t resist it.

He simply walked.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. The descent felt eternal, like falling into the very heart of the world. But then….

The final step.

Aestrea reached the base.

He exhaled softly.

And the moment his feet touched the ground…

WHOOOSH…

A sudden gust swept past him.

It was warm and alive, almost like it was breathing.

Golden leaves drifted through the air, slow and silent, as if time had forgotten how to move here.

They shimmered like stars, each one glowing softly, dancing gently toward him as though recognizing his presence.

Aestrea raised his eyes.

And there it was.

Yggdrasil.

A vast, open chamber carved beneath the tree, wider than any temple, its walls made of living roots glowing with flowing mana.

Waterfalls of pure energy trickled down in slow streams, falling into small pools scattered across the chamber, each one pulsing with a different hue.

There were eight in total.

Eight sources of power, each tied to a realm of existence.

The Pool of Alfheim glowed with soft green light, lush with tiny floating flowers and vines.

The Pool of Vanaheim was golden and still, like liquid sunlight frozen in time.

The Pool of Jotunheim trembled with faint tremors, the water rippling with unseen power beneath.

The Pool of Midgard glowed pale blue, quiet and calm, its surface mirrored the chamber like glass.

The Pool of Niflheim was cold and silver, the mist around it thin and icy, whispering with faint voices.

The Pool of Asgard blazed with radiant white light, warm and majestic, its reflection shimmering like a crown.

And finally…

The Heart.

At the center of them all, where the golden leaves gathered, stood a massive, twisting core of glowing roots, a knot of living wood suspended in the air, breathing slowly.

It pulsed in rhythm, like a heart… like the world’s heartbeat.

Aestrea narrowed his eyes.

“…Helheim really is missing,” he muttered, gaze drifting toward the far end of the chamber, where one of the sources was absent.

The space where it should’ve been… was marred.

Dark, corrupted roots twisted together, sickly and blackened. They crawled outward like veins choking something that had once lived.

“But with defenses this light…” he exhaled through his nose, almost bored, “…of course one of the sources got stolen.”

But truthfully, it wasn’t a weak defense, since the guards protecting the entrance were none other than peak SS-rank awakeners.

Looking at the tree himself, Aestrea frowned slightly.

Then, he walked forward.

His boots barely made a sound against the wooden floor as he moved toward the pools, each one connected to a different realm.

He paused at the Pool of Niflheim first.

Soft silver mist curled around his feet.

He stared into its waters, feeling its cold mana brush gently against his skin.

“…Ice,” he murmured.

For a moment, he thought it might respond to him, since his main element was ice, although it had been transformed into winter.

But… he felt nothing.

No resonance or anything.

Aestrea frowned and turned.

One by one, he visited the other sources.

Alfheim. Vanaheim. Jotunheim. Asgard. Midgard. Even Niflheim again.

Each time, he stood in front of them, waited for something, anything, to react.

But there was nothing.

Not a flicker or anything like that.

Just still, sacred mana… completely detached from him.

“…What is this?” he said under his breath, a trace of irritation slipping into his tone.

He glanced back toward the center, toward the Heart of Yggdrasil.

Maybe that was where the answer was hiding.

Out of curiosity, he stepped closer.

He reached out… slowly.

The glow from the roots touched his fingertips.

Warm, powerful… but he still felt nothing.

No reaction… not even rejection.

Just emptiness.

Aestrea blinked, pulling his hand back slightly.

“…The fuck?” he muttered, scratching his head.

And then…

His gaze drifted again.

To the corrupted corner.

Where Helheim’s source should have been.

“Surely… not?”

He stepped toward it.

His breath caught for a brief moment, not out of fear, but out of instinct, and then he frowned as he noticed something.

“…What is this?”

As he approached the corrupted roots, his eyes narrowed.

Tangled deep inside, half-covered by moss and black vines, was… something familiar shaped.

Curious, Aestrea reached in.

The roots resisted slightly at first, pulsing against his hand like they didn’t want to let go, but they weren’t stronger than him.

With a firm tug, he pulled it free.

The vines snapped, and the roots flinched.

And in his hand… was a sword.

Its surface was dulled, the blade blackened, as if it had been burned in a fire that never went out.

The hilt was elegant but corrupted, half royal, half rusted.

A strange energy clung to it.

Violent… but hollow.

He turned the swlrd slowly in his hand.

And there, carved near the guard in fading silver…

[Midnight]

He read it aloud, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…Midnight?”

His eyes narrowed.

Why did it feel… familiar?

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