Chapter 80: The Royal Mandate

"Sylvara, send an emergency optical transmission to the Kingdom of Aethelgard immediately!" Evelyn ordered sharply. "The coliseum sits right on their border! We are too far away to march a strike team there in time, but if Aethelgard dispatches their elite vanguard now, they can stall until our reinforcements arrive!"

Sylvara gave a rapid nod. "Understood!"

Miles away from the pristine glass facades of Lumiria, deep within the heart of Aethelgard’s northern domain, Sylvara’s emergency transmission cut through the magical ether.

The communication network was powered by a specialized corps of psionic relay officers—mages who had undergone intense biological conditioning to act as living radio towers. By burning through their personal mana reserves, these specialists could intercept and project high-frequency telepathic transmissions across continental distances. The moment Sylvara locked onto their frequency, the signal jolted through the ether like a lightning bolt.

In the royal capital of Aethelgard, the grand throne room stood as an imposing monument to ancient military power and sheer, unadulterated opulence.

Unlike the modern, functional steel-and-glass structures of Lumiria, Aethelgard’s palace was carved directly from the heart of an obsidian mountain. Massive vaulted ceilings stretched eighty feet into the air, supported by monolithic marble pillars wrapped in solid gold filigree. Crimson banners bearing the kingdom’s thunderbolt crest hung from the high arches, and subterranean mana lamps cast a warm, flickering light across the polished red carpet that bisected the cavernous hall.

Seated upon the High Obsidian Throne at the far end of the hall was the young king of Aethelgard, Aren Veyl.

Only twenty-four years of age, King Aren exuded an aura of supreme, razor-sharp authority. He sat casually on his throne, resting his cheek against a gloved fist as his piercing blue eyes scanned the ranks of court ministers and armored generals lined up below. Aren was an S-tier Electromagnetic Lightning Elementist—a prodigy whose very presence caused the ambient air to hum with static electricity, faintly curling the edges of his dark hair with blue sparks.

PATTER-PATTER-PATTER!

The heavy silence of the court was broken by the rapid, frantic footsteps of a psionic communication officer sprinting down the central red carpet.

The officer wore a bulky leather harness fitted with an array of metallic coils and heavy copper cables that attached directly to a brass-reinforced headpiece covering his forehead. Sweat poured down his pale face as he reached the base of the throne’s dais, dropping heavily onto both knees and pressing his forehead against the cold stone floor.

"Your Majesty!" the officer choked out, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. "An emergency priority transmission... from Sylvara Elenith, personal aide to Princess Evelyn of the Starlight Kingdom!"

Aren’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly. The static hum in the room intensified. "Speak."

"Princess Evelyn formally requests an immediate military intervention from Aethelgard," the officer reported, keeping his head low. "She begs us to dispatch our elite vanguard to rescue an individual currently trapped in the border ruins."

"A rescue operation?" Aren scoffed softly, his lips curling into a cold, indifferent smirk. "Since when does Aethelgard act as a mercenary force for the remnants of Starlight? Who is this person that Evelyn deems worthy of my army?"

"The transmission states that the individual is of absolute strategic importance," the officer answered hastily. "He is the newly appointed Supreme Commander of Lumiria—the central stronghold that stood firm and sheltered the surviving populace after the Starlight Kingdom fell to the Aberrant siege."

"And why should I care if their little sanctuary loses its manager?" Aren replied, leaning back into his obsidian throne with an air of dismissive arrogance. "If Lumiria cannot protect its own leadership, that is a testament to their own incompetence."

"Your Majesty... Princess Evelyn included a direct personal warning," the officer stammered, a cold drop of sweat trickling down his neck. "She stated that if Aethelgard refuses to deploy immediate aid, and if our kingdom subsequently faces an apocalyptic siege of our own... Lumiria and the Starlight remnants will turn a blind eye and offer zero military assistance."

Aren’s jaw tightened. He let out a sharp, cold hiss through his teeth, his gloved fingers digging into the stone armrest of his throne until the obsidian cracked under his grip.

"Still as stubborn and manipulative as ever, Evelyn..." Aren muttered under his breath. He straightened his spine, staring down at the kneeling communicator. "Tell me the rest. Why is this man considered so irreplaceable that she’s willing to burn diplomatic bridges over him? What kind of help are they actually asking for?"

The communicator swallowed hard, his throat dry. "The report claims... this man possesses a unique biological affinity that represents humanity’s final hope against the Aberrants and the Heretical Dark Faction. He is a direct vessel containing a fragment of the Dark God Nyx’s primordial divinity."

Aren’s posture went rigid. The lazy smirk vanished completely from his face.

"A fragment of Nyx...?" Aren repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the officer confirmed nervously. "Princess Evelyn warned that if this man is killed or captured by the Heretical Dark Faction, his divine core will be harvested to accelerate the total collapse of the world’s atmospheric barriers. She considers his survival a non-negotiable priority for the entire human race."

Aren closed his eyes, his mind working through the tactical implications at breakneck speed. ’A divine vessel? Is Evelyn insane, or is she telling the truth? If a mortal has actually bonded with Nyx’s core without going insane, his potential as a strategic warhead is terrifying...’

Yet, mobilizing an elite strike force into contested border territory required a massive expenditure of royal resources. It was a tactical gamble that could expose Aethelgard’s own perimeter.

"What is the exact tactical situation?" Aren demanded sharply. "What is he currently up against?"

The psionic officer’s face went dead white. His shoulders began to tremble violently as he pulled the final details from the telepathic log.

Aren’s brow creased in annoyance at the man’s hesitation. "Answer me."

"The... the Commander is currently pinned down in the ancient mountain coliseum just outside our western border," the officer whispered, his voice shaking with absolute dread. "He is trapped in a direct engagement against... Lady Velista herself, alongside an eighteen-meter Apex Aberrant."

BANG!

A deafening crack of thunder echoed through the throne room as blue lightning exploded from Aren’s body, shattering the top step of his stone dais into fine dust.

The entire court of ministers gasped in terror, dropping to their knees as the sudden pressure wave swept across the hall.

Aren stood up from his throne, his face twisted in absolute, pale shock. "What did you just say?! Velista is at the coliseum?!"

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty!" the officer squeaked, pressing his face into the carpet. "Princess Evelyn is deploying her primary army, but their march distance is too great! They are begging Aethelgard to dispatch an advance guard to stall Velista and the Titan before the target is wiped out!"

Aren’s breath hitched. The air in his lungs felt heavy, almost suffocating.

This wasn’t just about rescuing some foreign commander anymore. The border coliseum sat less than twenty leagues from Aethelgard’s front gates. If Velista—the supreme executive of the Heretical Dark Faction—and an S-tier siege Titan were operating freely on their doorstep, the Kingdom of Aethelgard was already sitting in the shadow of absolute slaughter.

"Inform Sylvara immediately!" Aren roared, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings like thunder. "Tell Evelyn that Aethelgard accepts the engagement! We are deploying our force right now!"

"At once, Your Majesty!" The psionic officer bowed frantically, scrambling backward before sprinting out of the hall to transmit the confirmation.

The moment the officer vanished, the court erupted into chaotic murmurs. Ministers exchanged panicked glances, their faces pale with terror.

Aren turned to his supreme military commanders, his blue eyes flashing with lethal intent.

"Issue an absolute combat alert to all Vanguard Hero corps!" Aren commanded, his voice slicing through the noise. "Mobilize the First and Second Elite Divisions immediately! I want our entire perimeter line on total lockdown!"

He slammed his fist against his chest armor. "Activate the localized defensive barriers along the main gate! Prime every arc-mana trap and automated ballista array along the border trenches! Move!"

"By your command, Your Majesty!" The generals bowed in unison, turning on their heels to rush out of the hall to execute the mobilization orders.

Aren stood alone at the top of the dais, his knuckles white as his chest heaved with heavy, ragged breaths.

"Damn it... Velista..." he hissed, his teeth grinding together so hard his jaw throbbed. "How dare you bring your monstrous filth so close to my gates..."

The mere mention of her name dragged up a wave of suppressed, suffocating trauma buried deep within Aren’s mind.

To the world, Velista was a terrifying dark calamity. But to Aren Veyl, she was the living nightmare that had haunted his childhood.

Images flashed violently across his mind—the burning sky above the old capital, the smell of charred flesh, and the endless, agonizing screams of thousands of citizens being slaughtered in the streets. He remembered the blood-soaked night twelve years ago, when Velista had personally spearheaded a night raid on Aethelgard’s inner sanctuary.

He remembered standing frozen in a dark corridor, a helpless twelve-year-old child hiding behind a shattered pillar, watching in horror as Velista casually drove her dark scythe through his mother’s chest, before decapitating his father—the former King—with a single, effortless flick of her wrist. The memory of her soft, melodic laughter ringing out over his parents’ lifeless corpses still burned in his chest like hot iron. He had only survived that night because a royal guard had dragged his bleeding, broken body into a secret escape tunnel while the castle burned around them.

The ghost of that crippling terror threatened to seize his heart, but Aren forcefully crushed it under a wave of dark, absolute hatred.

He drew a sharp, deep breath and turned toward his personal guard. "Fetch Lady Qing Su. Immediately."

The guard bowed instantly and sprinted toward the inner sanctum.

A few moments later, the heavy oak doors at the side of the throne room swung open. The crisp, rhythmic clicking of high-heeled boots echoed across the marble floor.

Walking into the hall with effortless, ethereal elegance was Lady Qing Su.

Her long, ice-blue hair cascaded down her back like a frozen waterfall, framed by delicate curtain bangs that accented her breathtakingly sharp features. She wore a stunning, off-the-shoulder violet gown that hugged her slender frame, exposing her collarbones and pale skin. Resting squarely in the center of her forehead was a glowing, sapphire sword crest—the mark of a Grandmaster Sword Saint. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto Aren with a cool, unbothered intensity, her crimson-painted lips set in a thin, neutral line.

She walked up the central carpet, stopping ten paces from the dais without bowing.

"Why have you summoned me, Aren?" Qing Su asked, her voice calm, clear, and devoid of any formality. "I was in the middle of my meditation."

Without a second thought, Aren stepped down from the high dais, walking past his stunned guards, and dropped onto both knees before her.

The two royal guards standing near the throne gasped, exchanging terrified glances, but didn’t dare utter a sound.

Qing Su stared down at the young king, her blue eyes remaining entirely flat. "Get up, Aren. Stop making a spectacle of yourself and state your purpose."

Aren rose to his feet, keeping his head bowed in deep respect. Before this woman, he was not the supreme King of Aethelgard; he was merely a humble student seeking guidance from his master.

"Master... I beg for your assistance," Aren said, his voice trembling slightly with urgency. "Velista and an eighteen-meter Apex Aberrant have appeared at the border coliseum. Evelyn has sent an emergency plea, begging us to rescue a crucial individual trapped in their grip."

Qing Su’s slender eyebrow twitched upward slightly. "Evelyn?"

"Yes, Master," Aren pleaded, looking up into her eyes. "This isn’t just about Aethelgard’s security, nor is it about my own pride as your disciple. Evelyn—your most talented student—needs our help. If we do not intervene now, she will lose someone vital to her cause, and our kingdom will be next in line for destruction."

Qing Su remained silent for a long moment, her cool gaze sweeping over Aren’s tense face.

"Evelyn..." Qing Su murmured softly, her eyes drifting toward the vaulted ceiling as if reminiscing about the past.

She let out a soft, imperceptible sigh, stepping forward to look at Aren. "Very well. It has been a long time since I last stepped in to clean up my students’ messes. I will accompany your vanguard to the coliseum."

Aren’s face lit up with a flash of intense relief. "Thank you, Master!"

"However," Qing Su added, her tone turning ice-cold as she leveled a sharp glare at him, "I have one strict condition."

Aren stood at attention instantly. "Name it, Master!"

"The moment this crisis is resolved," Qing Su stated firmly, "you and Evelyn will officially terminate your childish rivalry. No more diplomatic posturing, no more petty border disputes. If humanity is to survive Velista’s divine ascension, your two factions will fight as one."

Aren didn’t hesitate for a single microsecond. He bowed his head deeply, his voice resolute.

"I understand, Master. The rivalry ends today."