Chapter : 813
“Oh, you magnificent, beautiful System,” he murmured to the empty room, his voice a low, triumphant purr. “You truly do work in mysterious ways.”
He had been so focused on the intricate, subtle game of infiltration, on the delicate art of social engineering, that he had almost forgotten the simplest, most direct path to power: overwhelming, undeniable, and glorious violence.
He had been planning to acquire his Lilith Stones through a slow, careful process of manipulation and coercion. He would have healed the Qadir heir, become the family’s trusted physician, and then subtly, over a period of months or even years, leveraged that trust to gain access to their mine, slowly bleeding them of the resources he needed. It was a good plan, an elegant plan.
But it was a slow plan. And his enemies, the ghosts from his past, were not slow. They were out there, somewhere in the shadows, hunting him. He did not have the luxury of time.
The Jahl Challenge, however, was a thunderclap. It was a shortcut, a fast-track, a high-risk, high-reward gambit that could give him everything he needed in a single afternoon. A twenty-five percent share of the royal mine. It was a prize so vast, so staggeringly disproportionate, that it was almost comical. It was not just a handful of stones for a prototype; it was a river, an endless, self-sustaining torrent of the most valuable strategic resource in the kingdom.
With that kind of supply, he wouldn't just build one Aegis suit. He could build a hundred. He could equip an entire legion of loyal soldiers with magically-powered technology that was centuries ahead of its time. He could build a war machine that could bring the entire continent to its knees.
The prize was not just the key to his personal power; it was the key to an empire.
And the price of entry? A single, public, and glorious battle against a Fire Demon. For a man like him, a man who commanded a god of fire and a goddess of storms, it was not a challenge. It was a performance. It was a coronation.
His mind was already racing, the cold, beautiful logic of the strategist taking over. The pieces were all there, and they fit together with a perfect, satisfying click.
---
Lloyd’s mind, now a finely-tuned engine of military planning, began to dissect the tactical realities of the Jahl Challenge. The first and most critical variable was the enemy itself: Ifrit, the bound Fire Demon. He needed more than Sumaiya’s historical accounts; he needed hard, actionable intelligence.
He reached out with his mind, sending a silent, coded pulse of intent to his hidden shadow. ‘Ken. New primary objective. The Jahl Challenge. I need everything. The Demon’s physical specifications. Its known abilities and attack patterns. The exact nature of the magical bindings that hold it. The arena’s layout. I want a complete tactical dossier. And I need it yesterday.’
The familiar, affirmative pulse returned, a silent promise that the information would be his. Ken’s fledgling network, which had been so effective in uncovering the Qadir family’s secrets, would now be turned to a new, more dangerous purpose: espionage against the Crown itself.
With the intelligence gathering in motion, Lloyd turned his focus to his own assets. His primary weapon would, of course, be his own fire demon, Iffrit. The irony was a delicious, almost poetic piece of symmetry. He would fight fire with fire, a demon against a Demon.
But he couldn't just unleash Iffrit in his full, glorious, Transcendent form. That level of power was still his ultimate trump card, a secret he had to guard with his life. The story had to be that of a man with a single, powerful, but ultimately manageable, Ascended-level spirit.
He would have to suppress Iffrit’s power again, just as he had in the Dahaka Jungle. But this time, it would be a more delicate, more theatrical suppression. He needed to show struggle, to show vulnerability. The fight had to be a drama in three acts: the initial, shocking display of his own power, a brutal second act where he is seemingly overwhelmed and on the brink of defeat, and a final, triumphant, last-second victory, snatched from the jaws of a fiery death.
It would be a dance on the edge of a razor blade. He would have to push himself and his spirit to their absolute limits, to take real damage, to make the struggle look, and feel, authentic. The risk of miscalculation, of being genuinely killed in his own theatrical performance, was very real. But the prize was worth the risk.
And then there was his other asset. Fang Fairy. The goddess of the storm. She could not appear in the arena. His legend was already being built around a single, mysterious fire spirit. To reveal a second, equally powerful Transcended spirit would be a truth so unbelievable, so far outside the known laws of their world, that it would shatter his carefully constructed narrative. It would not make him a hero; it would make him a monster, an anomaly to be feared and hunted.
No, Fang Fairy would be his ace in the hole, his silent, invisible guardian. She would remain merged with his soul, her power a hidden reservoir he could draw upon for speed, for perception, for that final, miraculous burst of strength he would need to win the fight. She would be the unseen goddess, guiding the hand of her chosen saint.
The plan was beautiful in its complexity, its audacity, its sheer, magnificent arrogance. He was not just planning a fight; he was scripting a legend.
He felt a deep, resonant hum from within his own soul. It was the combined, eager thrum of his two spirit partners, sensing his own rising excitement, his own bloodlust. They were beings of pure, elemental power, and they had been dormant for too long. They craved the release of glorious, purposeful combat. Iffrit yearned to face his namesake, to prove his own dominance as the true lord of the flame. Fang Fairy, the calm, silent storm, was eager to be the unseen current that would guide her master to his victory.
Lloyd placed a hand on his chest, a quiet, reassuring gesture to the gods that slept within him. ‘Soon,’ he promised them. ‘Soon, you will have your war.’