Chapter 75: Scouting the Next Generation [II]
"Huh? The chosen one?"
"B-but... how... is this possible?"
"Could this be real? After all these years... has the chosen one finally arisen?"
Multiple questions flooded their minds as the words sank in, realization dawning on them, daring to believe it for the briefest second.
Before they could spiral too deep into thought, a shriek echoed through the chamber.
"I-impossible! There’s no such thing as a chosen one! It’s all just a legend passed down... there’s no way!" Selene yelled at the top of her voice, as if her very life depended on denying it. Her eyes shrank, the possibility of a reality-altering figure such as the chosen one shattering every belief she held about power.
"Oh, but it is possible." Seraphina breathed, satisfaction bubbling inside her as she watched the rest of the council react. The shock, the surprise, and the faint hope burning on their faces—it was all just too priceless.
Her thoughts were cut short by an imperial voice booming across the room.
"Are you certain of this, Seraphina?" Orren asked, leaning forward, his icy blue eyes drilling into hers. His hands clenched the armrests of his chair, his fingers sinking into the reinforced metal as if it were butter. Was this truly real? He dared to hope for once in his long life.
The mischievous glint in her eyes faded as Seraphina recited words deeply ingrained into everyone’s soul:
"Two shall be born into one, their light flickering for eternity unshackled by mortal bounds. Forged into he, the blood of dragons roars within his veins. Only he shall rise to avert the crisis that looms over Arcadia."
She paused, then continued. "The First Ancestor left us this prophecy, speaking of the chosen one. After deciphering it, we all know what it means."
"He whom I speak of is dual-awakened, part of his lineage extending to the long-lost mythical bloodline of dragons. And his talent... it’s an evolving one, unshackled by mortal bounds. His potential stretches into infinity by this aspect alone—just like the First Ancestor. So yes, I am certain he is the chosen one the prophecy speaks of."
Another wave of silence blanketed the room as everyone absorbed her words.
Orren stared blankly, the news echoing in his mind. His detached bearing faded as a multitude of emotions welled up inside him. A whisper escaped his lips.
"You were right all along, First Ancestor," he breathed. Then, raising his head, a smile colored his face as he asked, "Does this chosen one have a name?"
"Huh?" Seraphina blinked, surprised at how quickly he was accepting this, before mumbling under her breath. Her words still carried in waves, amplified by the sheer force of her power.
"His name is... Aurelian Draegor."
"Aurelian... Draegor." Orren muttered repeatedly under his breath. "A warrior’s name. Good, good, good."
Then, unable to suppress the emotions bubbling deep within him, his figure suddenly straightened. His fists slammed into the arms of his chair, crushing them to scraps before he exploded into laughter.
"HAHAHAHA! The heavens have yet to forsake me, Orren Vaelthar Voidhart! To send us the chosen one when we need him most!" Orren roared, his happiness uncontained. If the First Ancestor’s words about the chosen were true, then this could not be a better time. The academy and the world may have seemed normal to regular figures, but to powerhouses like Orren, the storm brewing in the distance was all too clear. This was merely the calm before it.
Suppressing his excitement, he regained his composure. His bearing shifted, eyes lighting faintly with a cold, icy hue. He whispered, voice sharp as a blade:
"Not a word of this to anyone."
A sliver of his aura escaped, radiating across the chamber for the briefest moment. But that was enough to make the rest of the council break out in sweat, reminded once again of the unbridgeable gulf between A-rank powerhouses and an S-rank being.
"Y-yes... of course. We know better than that."
"Yeah... me too. I like my head the way it is and would like it to remain that way."
"We dare not taint our legacy with betrayal."
Nodding at their responses, Orren lifted his hand. "Good. Then I adjourn this meeting. I will inform you of my decision about the chosen one."
The council members rose from their seats. But before they could disperse, Orren added, "Also, the prodigies you mentioned—extend invitations to them for the academy selections. And the girl..." He paused. "I don’t care what it takes. Make sure she joins the Grand Ancestral Academy. We cannot let her slip through our fingers."
"Yes, Dean," the figures replied, bowing deeply, everyone except one emerald-eyed beauty.
As they departed, Orren’s lips curved into a smile. He motioned toward Seraphina. "Follow me." Then he strode out.
Seraphina sighed softly, watching his retreating figure before stepping forward. The matter of the chosen one was of utmost importance; she expected the Dean to have many more questions.
As she caught up, Orren flashed her a warm smile, his cold façade melting away.
"This chosen one... tell me more about him."
"Mm." Seraphina nodded, eyes twinkling as memories surfaced in her mind. She parted her lips, ready to speak spiritedly, but Orren suddenly cut her off with words that left her gaping.
"So... how old is this chosen one? Is he engaged yet? Do you suppose he has a thing for emerald-eyed beauties? If so, I have a daughter..."
"FATHER!!!" Seraphina gasped, her face turning crimson as she blushed furiously.
"Aha! So you do have a thing for him." Orren teased, watching his daughter squirm under his gaze, a rare sight.
"No... it’s not like that..." she sputtered before fleeing in embarrassment, her figure darting away in a blur.
Left behind, Orren smiled warmly, his gaze softening as he whispered:
"Our little girl has finally grown up. If only you were here to see it..." His eyes drifted upward, piercing through the rune-engraved ceiling to the sky beyond.
***
Elsewhere, at Maelstrom City’s entrance gate, a buzz of conversation rippled through the air as dungeon guards questioned new arrivals.
"Name and purpose of entry to the city?" A gruff middle-aged man growled, directing his words at two approaching figures.
He glanced up, but froze. Before him stood a mildly handsome youth dressed in noble robes, beside a strikingly beautiful woman whose curves strained against her own.
"Forgive me for my rudeness!" The guard bowed, snapping out of his stupor just in time to catch the youth’s words.
"My name? You can call me Azrael... Azrael Chaos." The youth’s pale eyes locked onto the guard’s, his tone carrying an unsettling weight.
"T-this..." The guard stammered, a creeping sensation crawling through his bones. It was as if some ancient monster stared into the depths of his soul. This youth was no ordinary man.
"I hear there will be academy selections in about a week. Well... here I am." Azrael smirked crookedly.
"And the lady?" the guard asked nervously, daring only a brief glance at her.
"This is Tara... my woman." Azrael chuckled, swatting her butt. The guard twitched as her rear jiggled.
"Ain’t that right, Tara?" he added, his hand lingering, rubbing softly.
"Mm." Tara nodded curtly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. Memories flooded her mind, reminding her of one thing: the youth before her was not to be trifled with. If anything, it wouldn’t surprise her if he turned out to be the devil incarnate himself. That talk of him being a discarded orphaned slave? Pure bullshit.
Her fingers curled in rage, recalling the one who had ordered his assassination describing him as weak trash. Weak trash, my ass. She smirked bitterly at the thought—the same ass Azrael was now rubbing.
"T-that... would be twenty gold coins for the entrance fee," the guard stammered.
"Twenty gold?" Azrael chuckled, swatting Tara’s rear again, this time purposefully.
Catching his cue, Tara released a thread of her aura. The pressure slammed into the guard, his eyes going wide.
A soft whisper brushed his ear.
"Now that’s not necessary, is it?" Azrael smiled, his brows arched.
"I... I didn’t know you were a D-rank powerhouse... forgive my blindness..." The guard trembled, frozen under the weight of the aura.
"No need to trouble yourself," Azrael said lightly as he strode past into the city. His smile twisted darker as he added, "Just be sure to keep this little interaction between us. It would be... unfortunate if you woke up without a head tomorrow."
"Y-yes... of course..." the guard gasped, clutching his head, terror seizing him as the pair vanished from sight.
Inside the city, Azrael’s hand still rested on Tara’s curves. His crooked smile morphed into a dark grin as he muttered under his breath:
"I suppose my journey to reclaiming my seat as the ruler of the Nine Eternal Realms of Chaos begins here."