NOVGO.NET Chapter 254: Cthulhu [3]
Chapter 254: Cthulhu [3]
“A request for aid? My, my. Surely you understand the current predicament of Aetherion, don’t you? We are hardly in a position to offer assistance to an allied nation at the moment.”
“Yes, of course. We understand the severity of your circumstances. But this matter does not concern Zyphran alone. It concerns the entire continent. We have already sent delegates to the neighboring Empires as well.”
“….”
Franz’s eyes narrowed at the Zyphran diplomat’s words.
Seated upon his throne like the iron ruler he was, he scrutinized the man below him in silence.
“So,” Franz said at last, his voice calm and deliberate, “you’ve come seeking help from an Empire still licking its wounds?”
The diplomat met his gaze calmly.
“Yes,” he said. “Because whatever is stirring in the sea will not stop at Zyphran’s borders.”
Franz’s pupils turned to Vanitas, who was standing beside him. His advisor. His right hand. The man Aetherion was now openly claiming to be the devil.
“What do you think, Vanitas?”
At Franz’s question, the diplomat swallowed. Vanitas’s presence itself had intimidated him so.
“The sea doesn’t move without reason,” Vanitas said. “And Zyphran doesn’t come begging unless the problem has already gone beyond containment.”
He looked back at the diplomat.
“If you’re here, then you’ve already lost control of the situation.”
The diplomat didn’t deny it.
“Yes… We are holding for now. But if the leyline remains active, it will escalate…”
Silence followed.
Franz leaned back against his throne. His eyes never left Vanitas.
“And?” he prompted.
“Demons,” Vanitas said. “Knowing what Zyphran deals with on a daily basis, this means it has gone beyond even Iridelle Vermillion’s capabilities.”
The diplomat nodded grimly. “That is our assessment as well. Great Power or not, a single individual can only do so much. The situation has grown so severe that even our Vice-Admiral, Iridelle Vermillion, was forced to take the field.”
Franz let out an exhale, joining the conversation.
“Well,” he began, “it seems my advisor has already decided.”
He rose from his throne.
“Tell Zyphran this,” Franz continued. “Aetherion will listen. Not out of goodwill, or for the purposes of an alliance.”
“….”
“But because we don’t intend to wait for hell to reach our shores.”
* * *
To prepare accordingly, the Zyphran delegates were escorted to temporary lodgings while Aetherion began mobilizing its forces.
It was well known that Zyphran were professionals of the sea. But the fact that they were requesting aid from neighboring empires meant they no longer expected the battle to remain confined to the ocean.
“Is this the Prophet’s doing?” Franz asked.
“It might be,” Vanitas replied. “Which is why I intend to go as well.”
“Can’t you contact him?”
“I tried. But he appears only when he feels like it. Quite an annoying bastard.”
Franz let out a short chuckle. “Then that means he isn’t omniscient.”
“If he’s listening, you would be the first target, Franz.”
“Oh?” Franz tilted his head. “Why me? Why not you?”
“Even if I’m playing both sides, I’m a necessary variable. Fyodor cannot dispose of me so easily. I won’t let him.”
Franz’s smile faded. “So you’re saying I’m expendable?”
“No,” Vanitas said. “I’m saying you’re visible.”
Franz leaned back, fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne. “That’s hardly reassuring. What makes you so certain he won’t target your fiancée?”
“If he does, I will kill myself.”
The words fell heavy.
Franz stared at him, then let out an incredulous laugh. “And you wouldn’t do that for me?”
Vanitas finally turned his eyes toward him. “I’m sorry, but respectfully, who do you think you are?”
“….”
For a moment, Franz was silent.
Then he burst into laughter.
“Hahaha!”
Franz wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and let out a long sigh.
“I suppose that answers everything. I quite envy you, Vanitas. Perhaps Olivia would’ve gotten along with your fiancée.”
“….”
Vanitas said nothing.
There were some names that did not need to be spoken again.
Franz rested his head against the throne’s backrest, staring ahead as if he could peer past the walls of the palace itself.
“Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if the Aetherions were never rulers,” he said. “Would Olivia have lived a happy life? Would I have lived one too? Would I have been able to laugh with my little sisters without all this blood between us?”
The hall was silent.
Those questions never had answers.
Franz let out a breath and closed his eyes for a moment.
“But wondering doesn’t change anything,” he continued. “We were born into this name. Into this throne. Into this hell. And once you’re inside it, there’s no such thing as a different ending.”
He opened his eyes and glanced at Vanitas again, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“I apologize, but that’s not exactly accurate, Franz,” Vanitas said. “Don’t talk about endings like they’re set in stone. Because they aren’t. Fate is just superstition.”
Franz raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
“People love pretending the world is written for them. Makes failure easier to swallow. Blame fate, blame destiny, blame some invisible bastard in the sky instead of admitting they made choices.”
Vanitas turned his gaze outside the window.
“This world is hell,” he said. “Not because someone designed it that way, but because people keep making it so. Over and over again.”
He scoffed.
“And if there really is a God watching all of this,” he added, “then I’ll kill God too. That’s all there is to it.”
“….”
Franz did not laugh this time.
As their conversation continued, a sudden bell chime echoed through the air. Both Franz and Vanitas paused at once.
There was no bell within the throne room.
——Interesting. So you really are coming along, Vanitas Astrea?
They turned toward the source of the voice. It was feminine, yet it carried a chill that crawled straight down the spine.
“You weren’t kidding, Vanitas…” Franz muttered. “It really is quite disturbing…”
Appearing out of thin air, with his hands clasped behind his back, was Fyodor, assuming the form of the Saintess, Selena.
“Fyodor,” Vanitas said.
“Yes,” Fyodor replied lightly. “Aren’t you glad to see me? I made time for you, after all.”
Silence reigned over the throne room.
Fyodor tilted his head. His gaze alternated between Franz and Vanitas.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” he asked.
“So this is the Prophet,” Vanitas said. “Or should I say, the Saintess? Damn, it’s too weird.”
Fyodor merely smiled.
“Titles are troublesome things,” he replied. “But if you must, I suppose Prophet will do. Though I prefer you call me Fyodor, Emperor.”
“This is Franz Barielle Aetherion,” Vanitas said. “Aetherion’s ruler.”
“Mhm.” Fyodor nodded slowly, studying Franz up close. “You look exactly like your grandfather. Or perhaps your great-grandfather? I can never quite tell. Every Aetherion ruler was blonde, after all.”
Franz inclined his head to a bow, but before it could deepen, Fyodor lifted a hand.
“That’s enough,” Fyodor said. “There’s no need for a ruler to bow to a foreign power. If anything, I should be the one bowing.”
A smile curved his lips.
“I am, after all, nothing more than a heretic.”
“Then…” Franz began, hesitating slightly. “To whom do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Fyodor?”
Fyodor’s smile deepened.
“Straight to the point,” he said. “I like that. Very well. I’m here because Zyphran is about to burn, and when it does, the fire will not stop at the sea.”
Franz nodded. “So it is your doing.”
“In part,” Fyodor replied calmly. “But not entirely. You give me too much credit. The world is already rotting. I merely press where it hurts most.”
Vanitas finally spoke. “He’s telling the truth. The leyline in the sea was unstable long before he moved. Especially now with the Archmage out of commission.
Fyodor glanced at Vanitas, amused. “See? Your advisor understands me so well.”
“And what do you want from Aetherion?” Franz asked. “A declaration of war? Submission?”
Fyodor shook his head. “Neither. I want you to stay exactly where you are.”
“Pardon?”
“Do nothing,” Fyodor continued. “Prepare your armies. Mobilize them. Let the world see that Aetherion is ready to act. But do not interfere unless I allow it.”
Franz narrowed his eyes. “And you’re asking me to follow your words?”
“No,” Fyodor said. “I’m asking you to be selfish. If Zyphran falls, the balance shifts. If the balance shifts, Aetherion becomes the next pillar the world leans on. Power always gathers where stability appears.”
Silence followed.
Franz looked at Vanitas. “And you?”
Vanitas met his gaze. “Zyphran cannot fall. But if Fyodor moves freely, it will. That’s why I’m going.”
Fyodor chuckled. “You see, Emperor? You already have your answer. I didn’t come to negotiate. I came to confirm that the pieces are where they belong.”
He turned, the hem of the Saintess’s robes brushing the floor.
“Whether this ends in salvation or damnation,” Fyodor added, “will depend on how long you can pretend neutrality is a choice.”
Franz’s fingers tightened against the armrest.
“And how,” he asked slowly, “can I be certain you won’t touch Aetherion?”
Fyodor’s gaze slid sideways. He lifted a hand and pointed casually.
“Because of this one,” he said. “Vanitas Astrea can vouch for me. Every cultist has already fled your nation. I have no reason to soil Aetherion further.”
He paused, the faint smile still there.
“I will not apologize for the troubles we have caused. Including the Empress’s death—”
Franz’s expression hardened in an instant. The light in his eyes vanished. A suffocating pressure bled into the room.
Vanitas moved before Franz could speak.
“Enough,” Vanitas said.
Fyodor stopped, his smile curving just a little wider.
“Ah. So that wound still bleeds.”
Franz rose from the throne with a blade in hand.
“Say her name again,” he said, “and I will forget every reason not to kill you here.”
There was nothing theatrical about his threat. Vanitas wasn’t even sure if Franz had the means to kill Fyodor, when not even the Great Powers were successful.
But for the first time, Fyodor inclined his head.
“Very well,” he said. “I forget sometimes how fragile kings are when you touch what they love.”
He turned his attention back to Vanitas.
“You see?” Fyodor continued. “This is why I won’t touch Aetherion. Not because I fear him. But because you would make it inconvenient.”
Vanitas met his gaze without blinking. “Keep it that way.”
Fyodor laughed.
“Of course. I did say I was only a heretic. Even heretics know when not to provoke a war they don’t need.”
The pressure eased, though Franz remained standing.
“Leave,” he said. “Before the first blood in this room sheds.”
There were some merits to his threats. Just as Franz didn’t have the means to kill Fyodor, neither did Fyodor.
After all, Vanitas was certain. This wasn’t even Franz’s real body.
Fyodor took a step back, the Saintess’s robes fluttering with the breeze.
“As you wish, Emperor,” he replied. “We’ll speak again. When the sea starts screaming.”
The space warped, and Fyodor vanished in an instant.
For a moment, silence returned to the throne room before Franz exhaled slowly and sat back down.
“…Next time,” he said, “warn me before you invite monsters into my palace.”
Vanitas didn’t look away from where Fyodor had stood.
“He wasn’t invited,” he said. “He just doesn’t knock.”
Franz shook his head slowly.
“Vanitas. You are aware of my stigmata, correct?”
“I have an idea.”
For a brief moment, Franz regarded him silently. Then the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Then this makes things easier,” he said. “I will join you.”
The light in the throne room shifted at once. From the shadows behind the pillars, a single figure stepped forward.
It was Franz, identical in every detail. The same golden hair. The same crimson-red eyes. The same form, down to flesh and bone.
“….”
Vanitas did not react.
* * *
All Vice-Admirals and Admirals were gathered at once in Zyphran.
It was worth noting that within the Bundesritter Navy, Vice-Admirals were regarded no differently from full Admirals in practice.
The distinction existed on paper, but not on the battlefield. Authority was measured by command capability, combat strength, and the number of fleets one could mobilize independently.
In that regard, Vice-Admirals stood on equal footing.
There were only three such figures in the Dominion.
Iridelle Vermillion. A Great Power. A living weapo herself.
Roman Neuschwan, Vice-Admiral of the Western Fleet. A man known less for overwhelming power and more for his brilliant strategies, boasting the lowest casualty rates in Zyphran history.
And finally, the sole Admiral by rank.
Admiral Julius Schneider.
Commander of the Central Armada and the man responsible for maintaining Zyphran’s maritime dominance for over four decades.
Unlike Iridelle, he was no Great Power. Unlike Roman, he was not a tactician. Julius Schneider was a veteran who had seen too many ships sink and too many men drown to care for glory.
When all three stood in the same room, it meant only one thing.
The situation had surpassed ordinary crisis.
Thump!
Julius Schneider struck his staff against the floor.
The change was immediate. The temperature plummeted, quite literally. As if the cold itself had been brought to order.
If Karina was considered second to none among the ice mages of the Bundesritter, then she was, without question, a candidate for Julius Schneider’s successor.
At once, the entire Bundesritter motioned into a salute.