Castorice jolted as if struck. The excitent on her face receded like a tide.
She instinctively lowered her head, looking at her own pale, slender hands—hands that bore an ominous power. She slowly clenched them into fists.
After a mont of blankness, a complex yet bright smile slowly spread at the corner of her lips.
"...Perhaps... you really could say that, Lord Phaethon." Her voice was soft, yet carried an unprecedented firmness and sense of release.
...
Several days later, atop Okhema’s towering city walls, the wind howled fiercely.
Phaethon leaned against the parapet, gazing into the distance, trying to let the cold wind disperse the irritation from days of exhausting efforts to avoid Phainon and Mydei.
And then, he saw the familiar, tall figure ascending the steps.
It was Mydei. His expression looked... incredibly complex.
Phaethon’s heart sank, but he maintained a calm façade, giving only a slight nod.
"Mydei, you’re here." He paused, deciding to take the initiative. His tone was deliberately flat. "Is this about... that... ’book’?"
*(Phaethon: You’ve got to be kidding ! I deliberately hid on this desolate wall! How was I pinpointed so accurately?!)*
Mydei walked to his side, also looking out at the vast land beyond the walls. He was silent for a few seconds before speaking. "Hmm... not entirely."
His expression was complicated. He thought for a mont, then added so worse news. "However, you’d better return soon. Phainon is practically turning the Holy City upside down looking for you."
"He’s declared that even if he has to dig three feet underground, he’ll find you and make you give him a ’complete,’ ’logical’ explanation."
Phaethon imdiately felt a dull throb at his temple. He sighed helplessly. "Let him be. The more he makes a grand spectacle of ’settling accounts’ with , the faster and wider that damned novel will spread privately, spawning even more outrageous versions."
Mydei also sighed, a trace of helplessness appearing on his steely profile. "I just ca from seeing Castorice."
He rubbed his own temples, looking at Phaethon with an extrely complex gaze. "All I can say is, Phaethon... your thod of resolving conflicts seems... a bit too extre."
This was probably the most tactful criticism he could muster.
Phaethon was amused by his words, temporarily forgetting his troubles. He raised an eyebrow, turning the tables. "My thod of resolving conflicts? You have the nerve to criticize ? Aren’t you also clinging to the title of ’Crown Prince,’ stubbornly refusing to officially take the crown and beco the rightful King of Castrum Kremnos?"
"What’s the matter? Is the crown too heavy, or can’t you bear to part with Okhema’s... ’warm and friendly’ atmosphere?"
"Hah—" Mydei let out a short, utterly helpless laugh and shook his head. "King? In that position, what tangible benefits could I bring my Kremnoan people right now, beyond an empty title and the unrealistic restoration fantasies of certain old die-hards? It would only create more barriers."
His gaze grew distant and pragmatic. "This way is fine for now. I can unite our people as the Crown Prince, yet integrate into Okhema as an ’ally.’"
"And... I have to admit, these past few weeks, the interactions between Okhema citizens and Kremnoans on the streets have indeed... beco much more harmonious than before."
He acknowledged the effectiveness of Phaethon’s strategy, even if the process was indescribable.
Phaethon was about to say more, but when his gaze inadvertently swept over the distant horizon—
His words instantly caught in his throat.
There, on the blurred line where sky t earth, a tiny yet jarringly out-of-place black dot was moving. Its speed wasn’t fast, but its posture was unnatural.
That form... was definitely no ordinary beast or any known creature!
That was...
A Titankin... corrupted and controlled by the Black Tide?!
...
The Garden of Life.
Ancient trees with gnarled branches. The air was filled with the refreshing scent of plants and a certain indescribable life energy.
Yet, this tranquility was shattered by heavy, urgent footsteps.
Mydei’s tall figure strode through the lush flower paths, his tal-soled boots striking the smooth stone with a sharp, hurried clang.
His eyes quickly scanned the garden, finally settling on two figures conversing under a glowing vine—Aglaea and Tribbie.
"Lady Aglaea, it appears now that the Titan of ’Strife’ worshipped by my people... has likely fallen completely, utterly succumbed to the corruption of the Black Tide."
This nearly confird, despairing news. For a Kremnoan Crown Prince whose foundation was faith and warrior’s honor, the impact was imasurable.
Aglaea was holding a cup of steaming floral tea. After several days of rest away from the vortex of power, and—she had to admit—the lightness she felt from "delegating" those tedious affairs to the very Elders she once clashed with, and even a touch of satisfaction from exploiting them... had noticeably lted the layer of perpetual frost surrounding her.
Hearing Mydei’s words, Aglaea’s slender fingers tightened slightly. Subtle ripples spread across the calm surface of her tea.
She let out a soft sigh. Her breath no longer carried its forr icy chill, but held more of a living person’s warmth and worry: "Sigh... So even a Titan holding the authority of ’Strife’ could not resist the Black Tide’s corruption?"
She lowered her head slightly, looking at Tribbie who sat quietly beside her. Her eyes grew firm and resolute. "Master, the ons grow clearer, the crisis presses closer. The ti has co... to gather our strength once more and embark on the second Fla Chase Journey."
Tribbie lifted her adorable eyes, giving Aglaea a happy look, and slowly nodded. "Nikador’s minions have co out in nearly full force this ti."
"But their unusual movents, in turn, point the way for us."
"This ti, we... will surely be able to follow the trail of the Titankin and find the true, long-lost location of Castrum Kremnos!"
Just then—
*Boom! Rumble—!*
A series of dull yet deeply penetrating explosions echoed faintly from the direction of the Holy City’s outskirts. One could even feel an extrely faint vibration beneath their feet.
Aglaea, holding her teacup, froze. She tilted her head, listening to the rhythm. A look of profoundly odd expression, mixed with helplessness and understanding, crossed her flawlessly beautiful face.
She turned to Mydei, her tone carrying a note of confirmation. "By the way, Mydei. That commotion... has Phaethon again...?" She didn’t finish the sentence, but the aning was unmistakable.
An extrely complicated expression instantly flashed across Mydei’s face. It seed he was recalling so scenes that were both "physically taxing" and "damaging to one’s pride."
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