My return to Earth, as anticipated, brought with it a whirlwind of commotion—much of it from the three girls. Their patience over the past two years hadn't just been remarkable; it had been purposeful. They had worked tirelessly to ensure that my influence, my position, and my legacy weren't undermined in my absence. With the help of Jin and Kali, they had safeguarded the foundation I'd built.
Still, I couldn't regret those two years away.
Those two years had been essential—a crucible to temper the base of strength I needed. Without that time, I wouldn't have laid the groundwork for the soul metamorphosis that awaited me, the next step toward Radiant-rank.
"Arthur," a voice broke through my thoughts like a blade parting mist. The moonlight spilling through the glass ceiling bathed the figure who stepped forward in ethereal silver. Alastor Creighton, the King of the North, entered the hall with the effortless authority of a man who had commanded legions.
His bright silver hair seemed to shimmer, and his deep blue eyes pierced through the dim light. His presence still carried the weight of command, a reminder of the towering figure he'd been the first time I'd met him.
"What the hell did you do?" he asked, a resigned smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was no anger in his tone, only the weariness of someone who had grown accustomed to my chaos.
I tilted my head and offered a wry smile in return.
Right.
I still remembered the first time we met. Back then, the idea of standing before him as anything other than an ant beneath his heel had been laughable. Alastor Creighton, the King of the North, had seemed so far above me that I couldn't even imagine surpassing him.
But now?
Now, the gap between us was gone.
"I told you, Uncle," I said, my voice steady. "I will be the strongest in the world."
Alastor's eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face before it settled into something closer to pride—or perhaps resignation. My goal had never wavered, no matter how many detours I'd taken along the way. To be the strongest, to save the people who mattered to me—that was my purpose.
"Seriously," Alastor said, shaking his head as he studied me. "You're making me doubt my own eyes for the first time. And also—thank you. For Rachel. For saving her sight."
I looked away, my smile faltering for the first time. "It was because of me," I said quietly, the weight of the admission pressing down on me.
"Arthur," Alastor said, stepping closer. His voice was softer now, though no less commanding. "Don't blame yourself for Alyssara Velcroix."
'I'm not,' I thought, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I shook my head, unwilling to voice the thoughts clawing at the back of my mind.
Alastor sighed but didn't push further. His gaze shifted, sharp and knowing. "So," he said, his tone shifting to something lighter, though still laced with curiosity. "How did you like Nyxthar?"
I blinked, caught off guard by his perceptiveness, and then let out a small laugh. "You saw through it."
"Of course I did," he said with a shrug that was infuriatingly nonchalant. "You may have surpassed me, but that doesn't mean I can't see the bond between you and Nyxthar. That blade of yours—it's something else. A Legendary sword, once wielded by your late master."
His words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink around us. I reached for Nyxthar, my hand brushing the hilt, and felt the familiar hum of its energy. It was more than just a weapon; it was a legacy, a responsibility.
"I understand it now," I said quietly, my gaze fixed on the blade. "What it means to wield this. To honor what he left behind."
Alastor nodded, his expression softening. "And you've done more than that, Arthur. You've turned his legacy into something entirely your own."
There was a silence between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. For the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of clarity—a sense that the path I was walking, though fraught with danger, was the right one.
Alastor's voice broke the silence, drawing me from my thoughts. "So, what's next?"
I met his gaze, my expression firm, unyielding. "Stronger," I said simply. "To reach her... I need to become far stronger than I am now."
Alastor didn't respond immediately. His silence spoke volumes, his tacit agreement weighing heavier than words. I was strong—stronger than I'd ever been. But Alyssara? She was on an entirely different plane. A chasm separated us, one I could only cross with relentless effort.
I couldn't let her obsession with me dictate the terms of our future encounters. I couldn't afford to falter.
"There should be a banquet," Alastor said finally, breaking the tension. "A welcome banquet. Your return hasn't exactly gone unnoticed, Arthur."
"Is that really necessary?" I scratched my head, the thought of a grand event already exhausting me.
"Of course it is," he replied, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "You're going to marry three princesses and the daughter of an archduke soon. It's a political necessity."
"Speaking of that," I said, waving a hand dismissively, "Let's skip it. I have work to do."
"Work?" Alastor raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
"I do," I said, my lips curling into a smirk. "It's time to crush the Cults."
His expression shifted from amusement to incredulity. "That's... very daring. And impossible."
"No," I countered, shaking my head. "It's not impossible if you do it the right way."
"And that way is possible?" he asked, his voice a mixture of skepticism and reluctant intrigue.
"Yes," I said confidently. "But before that, I need to do something potentially dangerous."
Alastor's brows furrowed, his sharp gaze locking onto mine. "What are you planning to do?"
I took a deep breath and told him.
When I finished, his expression twisted into pure confusion and shock. He looked at me as though I'd just suggested attempting to box with a Radiant-ranked dragon.
"You're crazy!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands.
"Probably," I admitted with a shrug, a faint grin tugging at my lips. "But it has to be done. It is a calculated risk."
"A calculated risk?" Alastor repeated, stopping mid-step. "What you're suggesting borders on lunacy."
"Borders?" I teased. "That's generous."
He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "You remind me too much of myself when I was younger. Arrogant. Reckless."
"Effective," I corrected.
"Arrogance is only forgivable when it's backed by results," he muttered. "Fine. I won't stop you. But if you fail—"
"I won't," I interrupted. "And you'll see soon enough."
His sigh this time was laced with reluctant acceptance. "Then let's hope your insanity is contagious enough to inspire success. Because, Arthur, if this doesn't work..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence. I knew the stakes. Failure wasn't an option, not now, not ever. My path was clear, and I would carve it out, no matter the cost.