The room fell silent, every eye fixated on him, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief.
The room froze, every eye on him as his words echoed through the chamber. The robed figures shifted uncomfortably, shock written on their faces. Dimitri's gaze was hidden behind his lowered head, but Arlon could feel his approval radiating through the silence.
"Wait, what?" the robed man stammered, clearly taken aback.
The robed men stared at Arlon, their surprise palpable. The atmosphere in the dining room shifted, tension hanging in the air like an impending storm. Yet, instead of answering their question, Arlon merely remarked, "The weather has changed; it seems it's going to rain… very hard." His tone was casual, but a deeper meaning lay beneath his words, one that hinted at the brewing chaos he sensed.
Before the guests could respond, a servant slipped into the room, whispering something to Dimitri before departing. Dimitri's expression shifted slightly, a subtle sign of relief crossing his face.
"The guests' broken carriage has been fixed," he announced, his voice steady and formal. Both Arlon and Dimitri sighed in unison, the weight of the situation momentarily lifting.
Arlon rose from his chair, his gaze cold and unyielding. "This conversation is over. Dimitri, see to it that our 'guests' are escorted out once their carriage is repaired."
The Pry leader didn't falter. Instead, he rose as well, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "As you wish, my Lord. But remember this: even gods can only wait so long."
The words lingered in the air, thick with hidden meaning. Arlon held his ground, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of unease stirred in his chest.
As the Pry members left the dining hall, Dimitri stepped closer, his voice low. "My Lord, are you certain it was wise to let them leave so easily?"
Arlon didn't reply immediately. His eyes drifted to the golden screen, which had begun to flicker erratically in the corner of his vision. Words appeared, jagged and fractured:
[—"The chain tightens. The path splinters."]
A chill ran down his spine. The game was changing, and he was no longer certain he understood the rules.
"Don't worry, Dimitri," he said at last, his voice steady. "I'll deal with them when the time comes."
But as he spoke, Arlon couldn't shake the feeling that the Pry's visit was only the beginning—and that the first true test of his new life was already upon him.
Arlon watch them leave the villa through the window, 'It's time to get ready'.
———
The night came, and Arlon was ready to sleep when Dimitri entered his room, holding another cup of black tea. Arlon blinked in surprise, wondering how he had managed to endure the bitter concoction for an entire day—this must be a new record.
Before Arlon could voice his confusion, Dimitri set the cup down on the table with his usual calm demeanor. "I thought you might like some more, my lord," he said, his voice steady but laced with concern.
Arlon opened his mouth to question him about it but paused when he noticed the serious look on Dimitri's face.
"Are you going to accept the 'guest's' offer in the future?" Dimitri asked, clearly still wary of Arlon's judgment.
Flop—
Arlon chuckled lightly, shaking his head.
"No, I'm not interested in joining a cult; that's just not my style." His tone was a mix of seriousness and playfulness, which he emphasized by leaning back slightly in his chair.
"I'm not going to rely on someone to gain what I want. It's best to act on your own at times." He took a sip of his tea, trying to maintain an air of elegance despite the grimace threatening to break through.
Dimitri raised an eyebrow, surprised by his young lord's decisive response. He bowed his head respectfully, though a flicker of relief crossed his expression. "I see. Then have a good rest, young lord," he replied, his voice steady and formal.
Before he left the room, Dimitri set the teacup down on the table with care, the steam curling up like a whisper of warning. He paused for a moment, as if contemplating whether to say more, but ultimately chose silence and stepped out, closing the door behind him.
Once Dimitri was gone, Arlon couldn't help but spill some of the tea on the table as he took another sip. The taste had changed even more strongly, like a bitter storm brewing inside the cup. He grimaced, shaking his head in disbelief.
"What kind of sorcery is this?" he muttered, setting the cup down with a thud. "Does it get worse every time?"
With a resigned huff, Arlon stood and swiftly changed out of his formal attire, slipping into a simple black long-sleeve shirt and fitted pants that allowed for easier movement. He pulled on a robe that draped around him comfortably, its fabric a dark shadow against the dim light of the room.
"That's right, Dimitri. Be more suspicious of me," he muttered to himself, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I'm not the type of person to sit around and do nothing." Arlon understood that Dimitri was still wary, unable to fully open up to him after everything that had happened, but he also recognized that his loyal servant would never betray or disobey him.
He turned off the lights, casting the room into a soft twilight, then approached the balcony window. With a steadying breath, he opened it, the hinges creaking softly in the silence. He adjusted the robe to cover his head, creating a shadowy veil around his face as he stepped out onto the balcony.
Step—Step
The villa's silence was broken only by the faint rustle of Arlon's robes as he slipped into the night. He moved with purpose, each step carrying him closer to his goal: Lawrence's hometown. If the Pry were after the Soul Sky Guardian, he needed to act before it was too late.
"Time to make my move," he thought, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him.
Arlon stepped quietly into the cool night air, his heart racing with a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. The villa loomed behind him, its stone walls casting long shadows under the pale moonlight. Just like a scene from a story, right? he thought, a wry smile creeping across his face.
Step— Step
With each careful step, he slipped from the confines of his home like a shadow, fully aware of the landscape around him. He recalled every inch of the villa and the meticulously arranged schedules of the guards patrolling the grounds.
Woooosh—
The air was thick with anticipation as he navigated through the maze of shadows. It was a risky venture, but one he felt compelled to take. What would the real Arlon think of me right now?.
Once clear of the villa, he broke into a swift, practiced run, dashing toward the thick line of trees bordering the property. The night air was cool against his skin as he entered the dense forest, his senses heightened. Branches snapped beneath his feet as he sprinted through the undergrowth, aiming for the river that he knew lay up ahead.
The river was low at this hour, almost a mere trickle over its rocky bed. While the Pry members usually took the long way around, Arlon had another plan. He retrieved a small mana stone from his pocket—a sharp, glimmering fragment infused with nature's power.
This particular stone had a speed enhancement, allowing him to cross swiftly over the shallow riverbed. With a faint glow, the mana stone thrummed to life in his hand, sending an exhilarating surge through his muscles. Arlon crossed in a blur, quick and silent, like a shadow flickering over water.
Fwoosh—
He activated the stone, feeling a surge of energy course through him. In an instant, he was propelled forward, his movements becoming a blur as he dashed across the low tide river. The cool water splashed against his legs, but he felt no chill; the mana stone enveloped him in warmth, fueling his drive. 'This isn't so bad! I could get used to this.
Rush—Splash—
As he closed in on his destination, an unsettling scent crept into his awareness. At first, it was subtle—a wisp of smoke threading through the damp forest air.
The forest burned in the distance, its eerie glow casting flickering shadows through the trees. Arlon froze, the metallic tang of blood sharp in his nostrils. His eyes locked onto the figure in the clearing—a lone warrior cutting through Pry soldiers with relentless, brutal efficiency.
"It's him," Arlon murmured. "Lawrence Hill…"
The protagonist of The Seventh War. Every swing of his sword was calculated yet ferocious, his opponents scattering like leaves before a storm. Lawrence's broad shoulders heaved as he caught his breath, the fiery glow reflecting in his fierce, determined gaze.
Arlon couldn't look away. This was the man destined to become a legend.
So transfixed was he that he didn't notice the root beneath his foot until it was too late.
Thud—
The sound wasn't loud, but in the eerie stillness that followed the battle, it might as well have been a cannon blast. Arlon cursed under his breath as Lawrence's head snapped toward him.
'Great. Just great.'
Moments later, Lawrence loomed over him, sword drawn and pointed directly at his throat.
"Who are you?" Lawrence demanded, his voice as sharp as the blade itself.
Arlon raised his hands slowly, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. "I... I'm just passing through," he said, forcing his voice to stay calm.
Lawrence's piercing gaze held no trace of mercy. Of course he's suspicious, Arlon thought, his mind racing. Lawrence wasn't the type to let anything slide. If I don't convince him now, this could end badly.
"I... I'm not one of them," Arlon said quickly, keeping his voice calm even as his heart pounded. He gestured toward the fallen Pry soldiers.
"I've only just awakened my power," Arlon said, steadying his voice. "I can't control it yet—that's why I keep it hidden."He hoped the words sounded convincing, though he could feel Lawrence's gaze assessing every inch of him.
Lawrence's eyes flicked to the mask covering Arlon's face, his grip on the sword unyielding. Arlon forced himself to stay calm. This wasn't the ideal first meeting, but he had to convince him.
"Why are you here?" Lawrence pressed, his voice low, demanding.
Arlon swallowed hard, carefully crafting his next words. "I was looking for… something. I heard rumors about this place and thought I'd find answers here." He kept his tone steady, though his mind raced to fill in the gaps of his half-truths.
Lawrence tilted his head slightly, as if weighing the sincerity of Arlon's answer. His grip on the sword loosened ever so slightly, but the tension in his stance didn't fade.
"Rumors?" Lawrence asked, his voice laced with suspicion. "About what?"
Arlon hesitated for the briefest moment, knowing the wrong answer could cost him. Then, he let out a small sigh, feigning reluctance. "About… cursed artifacts. I thought they might help me stabilize my power."
It wasn't a complete lie—he was looking for something, after all.
Lawrence narrowed his eyes, his expression unreadable. After a long, excruciating pause, he finally lowered his sword.
"You're not lying," he said, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced either.
Arlon breathed an internal sigh of relief, his mask hiding the flicker of nerves in his expression.
He pushed down his nerves and trailed after Lawrence, keeping a careful distance. Despite his own unease, he was determined to follow the protagonist's lead, wherever it might take him.
Step— Step—
As the two moved cautiously toward the smoldering ruins of the village, Arlon's senses remained on high alert. The acrid scent of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air, and the distant cries of villagers echoed faintly through the trees.
Lawrence moved among the survivors, his hardened expression softening as he offered quiet reassurances. Arlon kept his distance, watching the man who would one day become a hero.
'This is the Lawrence Hill I remember,' he thought. Lawrence's quiet strength drew people to him like moths to a flame.
But then Lawrence paused, his gaze sweeping the smoldering remains of the village.
"They were looking for it," he muttered, almost to himself. "The soul…"
Arlon stiffened. The soul? Could he mean the Soul Sky Guardian?
He forced his expression to remain neutral, though his mind raced. Nowhere in the novel had it mentioned that Lawrence knew about the Soul Sky Guardian. This was a deviation—a crack in the story he thought he understood.
"The soul," Arlon echoed softly, feigning curiosity. "You mean those Pry members were searching for something?"
Lawrence's sharp gaze cut back to him, as if weighing whether to answer.
"You don't need to know," he said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
'Stubborn as ever,' Arlon thought, suppressing a sigh. But he couldn't shake the feeling that this was a vital clue—one he couldn't afford to ignore.
As the survivors huddled around the makeshift fire Lawrence had built, Arlon stepped back, his mind spinning with possibilities.
'Lawrence knows more than he's letting on. But why? How does he know about the Soul Sky Guardian?'
Before he could dwell on it further, the golden screen flickered to life in the corner of his vision. Its text was erratic, pulsing with urgency:
Flutter—
["The chain tightens. The path diverges—."]
A chill ran down Arlon's spine. He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him.
'I've already changed the story, haven't I?'
His gaze drifted back to Lawrence, who stood tall and resolute against the backdrop of flames. For better or worse, Arlon's actions had set something in motion. And as the night stretched on, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.