"Huh?!"
Sophia and Lyzah's voices rang out in unison, their shock mirroring each other perfectly.
"I said, if the Chief and the Legion Commander fought, who would win?" Izikel repeated, his voice brimming with curiosity.
By sheer divine energy alone, they were the two most powerful individuals in the village. It was only natural for him to compare their strength, just as he had always done with characters in the books and webtoons he loved. The fanboy in him simply couldn't resist.
"The Chief would never fight the Legion Commander," Sophia stated firmly.
"Yes, I know, I know..." Izikel waved his hand dismissively. "But if you were to judge solely by their Divine Aura, the Chief might stand a chance. Haven't you guys ever thought about that?"
Lyzah, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, her voice carrying an unshakable confidence.
"My father would win."
Both Izikel and Sophia turned to her, taken aback by the certainty in her words.
Izikel turned to Sophia. "Do you agree with that?"
Sophia hesitated, her brows furrowing as she weighed the possibilities.
"To be honest, I don't know. Commander Flavius is a Blessed Saint who has already overcome his second trial in the second stage of Divinity. If he completes one more, he will advance to the next stage," she explained.
"While trials for Druids are different, I know the Chief is also in the second stage of Divinity. Anchors of the same stage are usually considered to have more soul energy than Saints, but that's not always the case. And fights aren't won by soul energy alone. The Commander is a seasoned warrior with vast battlefield experience. That has to count for something."
Lyzah's jaw tightened. "Yes, you're right. The Druids are unable to battle, so it would be pointless."
Her fists clenched at her sides. Only Izikel noticed. For some reason, admitting that last part pained her. And who wouldn't be? If she truly understood the position Druids were in, she had every reason to feel that way. Imagine living in such a dangerous world yet being unable to defend yourself because your mind lacked the instinct to fight.
'But I doubt a little girl like her truly grasps what that means,' Izikel thought.
Still, he decided it was best to change the topic.
"How about you and Raynoel?" he asked.
Sophia's response was instant, her expression darkening.
"I'll definitely beat that uncultured noble bastard who thinks he owns the world."
Izikel blinked. It was the first time he had seen Sophia genuinely irritated. Raynoel must really hold a special place in her heart—though not in a good way.
"You're not from a noble family, Sophia?" he asked.
"No," she replied. "I'm from a small spear village in the Felora region. My family is a lineage of Saints, so I chose to carry the mantle."
'No wonder I felt I could trust her. She isn't from the Argenthex,' he thought. Whatever they were planning, at least he knew Sophia wasn't part of it.
As they returned to the manor, Lyzah was unusually quiet, and for the first time, Izikel found himself almost worried. The noise machine had gone silent.
He glanced at her expressionless face, wondering what was going through her mind.
---
When they broke the news of Izikel's decision to Dremlin, the older man was far from pleased. His discontent was obvious, but he had no choice but to accept it.
"We'll start preparing tomorrow," Dremlin stated.
Izikel wondered why preparations had to begin two weeks in advance. Of course, he understood the danger, but he was still curious about what kind of preparations were necessary.
That night, as he lay on his comfortable king-sized bed, he flipped open a thick black book: the Vau-Leotard Diary.
Today, for the first time, he held a fountain pen, ready to follow the tradition of all its previous owners.
"Isiel Vau-Leotard is dead. He died by hanging himself."
That was how each entry began, documenting the fate of the last owner.
He sighed.
Just one day down the hill, and his already complicated life had become even more tangled.
As he skimmed through the pages, he wondered if anyone in this book had experienced something similar to him. Maybe within these inked words, he would find a way to heal the sick Old Tree. Or perhaps a clue as to why the Argenthex wanted him dead.
One name kept appearing repeatedly across the pages: Azrael Vau-Leotard—his great-grandfather. The man who had summoned Dremlin.
Azrael had written nearly a third of the book, mostly because he had ignited the Altar at an early age of twenty. A few years later, war broke out between the Bloodmoon Kingdom, the White Kingdom, and the Lunar Kingdom against a vast heretic tribe. Azrael had fought in that war.
He came to be known as the Prophet.
Azrael himself believed he was the long-awaited prophet of Oroborn, destined to live forever. But fate had other plans.
Reading through his ancestor's writings, Izikel couldn't help but chuckle. Unlike Azrael, he didn't see himself as someone capable of living forever. In fact, he had an unsettling feeling that he wouldn't even overcome the first arc of his own story.
But Azrael—from the day he ignited his Altar to the moment he watched its flames die—never wavered in his belief that he was chosen by Oroborn to accomplish great things.
And for that belief, he carried out great atrocities in Oroborn's name.
His final entry read:
"I have sacrificed thousands of Divine believers upon this Altar, yet here I sit, watching as the flames continue to dwindle. I fear I may not see the break of dawn."
The next entry was in a different handwriting:
"Azrael Vau-Leotard, the False Prophet, is dead."