Chapter 250: Aestrea Against The World (XXVII)

“…How did you find their base so quickly?” the Elven Emperor asked calmly, though his golden eyes flicked back to the piles of bloodied corpses still cooling in the wind.

Aestrea let out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly.

“They contacted me first,” he said.

“A few days ago.”

He looked off to the side, his tone calm but laced with a faint trace of annoyance.

“They claimed some goddess, obviously fake, told them I was mentioned in a prophecy. Said I was supposed to be their savior or whatever… the Dark Order even created a hologram of her to try and convince me…”

A small, cold smile tugged at the edge of his lips.

“In short… they wanted to use me. Manipulate me into helping them bring down your kingdom.”

He shrugged, casual, almost bored.

“I figured I’d save you the trouble and bring you straight to them.”

The Elven Emperor remained still, his brows furrowed as he processed Aestrea’s words.

His lips parted slightly, as if to speak… but no words came out.

Instead, he glanced once more at the corpses strewn across the council floor behind them, dark elves twisted in agony, some with charred limbs, others frozen mid-spell, a few who never even had time to scream.

“…So that’s what this was,” he murmured at last, his voice low. “A trap from the beginning.”

“Not a trap. More like… a reality check.” Aestrea tilted his head.

The Emperor turned his eyes back to him, something unreadable flashing within them, respect, perhaps… or caution.

Maybe both.

“You could’ve let them keep whispering. Let them gather power. Let them strike when we were weak,” he said slowly. “But instead… you gave me a blade and told me where to swing it.”

Aestrea’s expression didn’t change at all as he replied.

“If I wanted your kingdom destroyed, I wouldn’t have needed their help to do it.”

The silence that followed was heavy. The Emperor exhaled slowly, his voice lower now.

“…You’re dangerous.”

Aestrea smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded.

“I’ve been told that a lot of times.”

The Emperor turned, his boots crunching softly on the floor as he began walking away, probably back to the spatial ripple he had opened.

“I’m heading back to the capital. I want every trace of the Dark Order purged from my borders. This base will be incinerated by sundown.”

He paused in front of the spatial ripple, glancing back just once.

“…And Aestrea.”

“Mmh?”

“If you ever decide to turn that blade of yours on me… I hope you’ll have the decency to tell me first.”

Aestrea raised an eyebrow at his words, but then chuckled lightly.

“If that day ever comes… I’ll look you in the eyes.”

And with that, the Elven Emperor vanished into the wind, his silhouette quickly swallowed by the light outside.

Aestrea was left standing in the center of the slaughter, the scent of burnt flesh and smoldering fabric still heavy in the air.

He gave one last glance at Valieth’s crumpled form, her body half-buried beneath debris, ash still clinging to her torn cloak.

Her hand was outstretched, her fingers twitching faintly, as if still reaching for salvation.

“Pathetic…”

He exhaled through his nose and slowly crouched down beside her, resting an elbow on his knee.

“…Are you going to keep pretending to be dead?” he asked quietly.

For a breath, there was silence.

Fwip!

Steel flashed, so fast it shimmered like a silver streak through the air. A curved dagger snapped forward, straight toward his throat.

But before the blade could even kiss his skin…

Crkk!

A frostbitten crack rang out.

Valieth’s entire arm had turned to ice.

Her eyes widened in horror.

“You really are hopeless,” Aestrea muttered with a sigh, as if disappointed by how predictable she’d become.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head up with zero hesitation.

“Agh!” she gasped, her teeth gritting as her frozen arm snapped at the elbow from the pressure.

He leaned closer, his face emotionless, but his crimson eyes glinting with something cruel beneath.

“Tell me, Valieth,” he finally whispered her name.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. Not as a pawn or as a tool, but as something much, much worse.

Her pupils trembled.

“H–H-How do you know my name!?” she stammered, her voice cracking under his calm stare.

Aestrea just tilted his head slightly, a smile playing lazily at the edge of his lips.

“…Now that’s a strange question,” he murmured. “Coming from someone who’s already dead.”

His smile widened just a little, almost amused.

“I suppose… the Hellheim source really is working wonders for the Dark Order. Letting its little puppets walk around with no heartbeat, no warmth, no soul. You talk, lie, cry… but at the core, you’re just dust being pulled by strings.”

Her mouth fell open, but no words came out.

“I wonder,” Aestrea continued, now gripping her jaw in his hand. “Do you even remember what it’s like to breathe without permission?”

She jerked against his hand, but it was useless.

The frost spread mercilessly down her chest, wrapping around her ribs like a cage. Her legs had already turned blue, numb, useless, frozen in place.

Aestrea leaned in just a little more, his voice almost tender.

“Tell me, Valieth…”

Crk!

He snapped one of her frozen fingers clean off. The chunk of ice hit the floor with a dull clink.

“…Where is the Dark Order hiding?”

“Nngh—!” Her eyes twitched, but her mouth stayed closed.

Crk.

Another finger shattered.

“You’ll talk,” he whispered, almost gently now.

He touched her collarbone with two fingers, and in that moment, thin splinters of ice wormed their way under her skin, twisting, moving like sharp thorns inside her nerves.

She screamed.

“I’m waiting.”

Her breath shook. “T-the… the Southern Vein… Beneath the Ruined Sanctum… That’s one of them, there’s more—!”

Aestrea nodded slowly.

“And your Master…? What’s his name?”

Her lips trembled as soon as she heard his words.

And in response to that, his grip tightened.

“…W-wait—! I’ll say it, I’ll say his na—”

Sliiice!

A black gash split her mid-sentence.

Her body spasmed, then began melting fast.

Her form collapsed into a thick, bubbling pool of black liquid. Her frozen eyes were the last to sink.

“…Of course.”

Aestrea sighed.

Clap, clap!

A slow, mocking rhythm echoed from the corridor ahead.

“Oh my~, you’ve gotten quite fierce, my dear Aestrea~”

A shadow emerged, long and deliberate.

Kagetaro.

He stepped forward with that ever-unsettling grin, sharp eyes gleaming like an amused fox.

But this time… he was not alone.

To his left, the towering form of Belial, his mouth sewn shut with dark thread, his massive arms twitching erratically.

The skin over his chest was cracked, burned, and his wings shriveled to bone.

To his right, Belzebub…. he twitched slighly, like a marionette moved by unnatural strings.

Their skin was gray.

Their mana… reeked of death.

“…So they really brought you two back,” Aestrea muttered as his eyes flicked between them, unimpressed.

He let out a quiet breath, then smirked slightly.

“I wonder,” he said, folding his arms calmly, “just how much it cost to pull this off.”

His tone was casual, mocking even.

“Even with Hellheim’s power… bringing back two demon generals like them… must’ve burned through more souls than you had lying around.”

Kagetaro’s grin widened.

“Oh~, you’re not wrong. It was very expensive. But then again…”

He extended one hand, and the dark ichor on the ground behind him began to rise, forming symbols in the air, glowing purple.

“…what price is too high to kill the one who keeps spoiling all our fun?”

Aestrea’s smile faded.

Then, slowly, his lips curled again, but this time… not with amusement. Something colder, sharper lingered in his gaze.

“…That’s funny,” he said softly, “coming from someone whose entire purpose… was to awaken me in the first place, isn’t it?”

For the first time ever… Kagetaro’s grin slipped.

It was subtle, but undeniable.

The corners of his mouth twitched downward. His eyes widened, not in rage, but in confusion. As if he’d just been told the ending to a story he thought he wrote.

“…What?” he muttered.

Aestrea tilted his head with mock concern.

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

Then he smiled wider.

“You didn’t really think I wouldn’t figure it out, did you?” he asked, voice light and airy like wind through dry grass.

The lunar mark in his eyes began to glow again, pulsing faintly, like something ancient breathing beneath his skin.

“You left too many breadcrumbs. The fake goddess. The false prophecy. All those gentle nudges in the ’right’ direction…”

He stepped forward, arms slowly spreading.

“Well, congratulations.”

“It worked.”

The glow in his irises intensified, shimmering silver, like moonlight reflected in a pool of blood.

“I’m awake now. I’ve become your precious Vessel of the Moon, just like you always wanted.”

His voice twisted, then turned sarcastic, laced with venom.

“So what now?”

The silence was thick.

And then, Kagetaro muttered under his breath… as if trying to solve something in real-time.

“…No… This wasn’t supposed to happen. If the Vessel awakens—then… then he…”

His breath hitched.

“…Luntheris.”

His tone shattered into disbelief.

“Luntheris should’ve come back with you. He’s bound to the Moon. That was the whole, why isn’t—?!”

His eyes widened. A tremor passed through his body.

“WHY ISN’T LUNTHERIS BACK!?”

He screamed it now.

A wave of killing intent exploded from his body, pure, violent, and unnatural. The very air rippled, the sky above cracked like thin glass.

FWOOP!

The pressure rolled outward, slamming into everything in a three-mile radius like a silent, invisible earthquake.

But Aestrea… just stood there… wearing a faint smile on his lips.

“…Luntheris?”

He said the name like it was a joke.

“Did you really believe that he would come back?” Aestrea asked, stepping closer, ice crackling softly beneath his boots.

A pause.

“Keke~”

And then, a twisted, broken laugh slipped from his lips. Almost like a giggle. Childish, but with something horrible behind it.

“If this was still the old Aestrea… sure, maybe Luntheris would’ve returned.”

He stopped walking, his smile widened, fangs showing slightly.

“But that version of me…? He disappeared.”

His voice was low now.

“And with him… so did Luntheris.”

Kagetaro stared, pale, motionless.

“You’re lying…” he whispered.

But Aestrea’s eyes gleamed with something terrible.

“Oh, I felt him,” Aestrea murmured, touching his chest. “Scratching at my soul like some forgotten memory, trying to crawl back up… whispering things like fate and duty and divinity.”

His fingers curled.

“I felt him.”

Then, his smile dropped.

“But I didn’t let him in.”

The light from his eyes grew even brighter, warping the shadows on his face.

“Because this body is mine.”

He spread his arms again, mocking, like on a stage.

“And whatever that thing was inside me… that voice from the past, that old ’god’ you thought I would become…”

He took a deep breath.

“…It wasn’t me.”

Silence again.

And then a single, thunderous word echoed from Aestrea’s mouth:

“Die.”

He raised his hand slowly.

“The purpose of your life has disappeared now.”

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