The Golem Mage

758: Meeting.

758: Meeting.

“Emmm…

are you sure it’s a good idea to let someone like Terran leave the academy grounds?” The New Dean frowned, his voice laced with concern.

“You do realize that aside from the Orcs in the Second Dimension who already have a bounty on his head, he’s also made enemies with the Faction?, And from the way things look, they won’t be satisfied until he’s dead.”

Alderic chuckled, shaking his head.

“That’s exactly why we should send him out, he’s tough, and no one would be stupid enough to go after him from the Faction especially not with Mad Dog returning soon, and if they do send anyone, it’ll be disposable hunting dogs, the kind with no ties back to them.”

He leaned forward, his sharp gaze gleaming with confidence.

“Besides, I doubt anyone they send would make it back alive, even though Terran hasn’t been given access to the Mental Training Rooms, which makes it harder for him to be able to repair his soul injuries, and hasn’t made any progress in broking through to Tier 8 yet, but his Earth Manipulation keeps growing.

It’s almost like he’s approaching the Third Stage.”

Alderic smirked.

“If he does make that breakthrough, even the barrier to Tier 8 won’t be much of an obstacle for him, his mental strength will recover, and it’ll likely even grow stronger.”

Old Man Alderic words carried a sense of finality, the glint in his eyes making it clear that Terran must be the one to be deployed.

–

#Second Dimension, Demonkin Abyss Region

Deep in the core regions of the Second Dimension, at the very heart of the Abyss, where the strongest Tiered Races resided, the dual moons hung ominously in the sky, one glowing deep blue, the other a haunting purple.

Their eerie light bathed the Demonkin Arena, casting shifting shadows across the land.

Despite its name, the arena wasn’t a traditional battleground, it was an open expanse, a place where the Monarchs of all the Demonkin races gathered to hold their most critical meetings.

And today, the reason for their assembly was one Monarch in particular, Azgoth.

Seventy-two Demonkin Monarchs sat upon floating thrones, orbiting the debris-filled arena in solemn silence.

Their expressions were serious, their auras oppressive, except for one.

The man of the hour, Azgoth, lounged on his throne with complete disregard for the tension in the air, unlike the others, who sat rigid with authority, he had shifted his throne into a half-reclined sofa, casually lying on his side.

With his left hand propped under his head, he gazed at the others as if this meeting was nothing more than a dull inconvenience.

Azgoth fluttered his eyes tiredly, his violet-hued skin pulsing faintly, like a dying ember struggling to stay alight.

With a lazy smirk, he turned his gaze toward the female Monarch sitting just thirty meters away, flashing her his most charming smile.

“Come on, Azgoth, be serious for once.

Is the old man dead?” one of the Monarchs demanded.

But Azgoth simply scoffed, his expression unreadable.

“Do I really owe you an explanation?

Especially when you were one of the loudest voices against me scouting him out, claiming I was just satisfying my boredom and might end up dead?”

“Come on, man, you made it back in one piece.

Just spill it.” The Monarch leaned forward, eyes glinting with curiosity.

Azgoth, however, ignored him completely, blowing a kiss toward the female Demonkin Monarch, who, as always, continued pretending he didn’t exist.

“Tch, if you won’t talk, then I see no reason to have come here at all, this is turning into a waste of my time.” Another Demonkin Monarch stood up, his face concealed by a mask, with his two curved horns arching forward menacingly.

Just as he was about to walk away, Azgoth’s next words froze him in his tracks.

“That old Protector will soon die, and at the hands of the very Royal Clan he devoted his life to protecting.”

And at that moment Silence reigned for a brief second.

Then, suddenly, laughter erupted throughout the arena in the next second.

Mocking, cruel, and gleeful.

They found it amusing, the thought of the Lord Protector of the Northern Kingdom, a man who had sacrificed his life force and hopes of cultivating further to cast the Blood Moon Curse over the peak space gate above the Royal Palace, was ultimately betrayed by the very people he had sacrificed a lot for just to protect.

For years, these Monarchs had fantasized about killing him themselves, only to be restrained by the curse he had casted.

The only way they could pass through the gate unscathed was if they surpassed the Monarch Realm and entered the realm beyond which none of them was confident in achieving yet, or if they decided to endure the curse and stormed into the capital at a great cost of having their realm reduced down to the Peak Tier 6 realm.

But such lofty demons would never dare to repeat those mistake, as some had tried in the past, only to be struck down by Rae Blaze when he was still a peak Tier 6 Mage, a man who had established himself as an unmatched force in his realm.

Even now, despite rumours that Rae had gone missing in the Second Dimension, none of them dared to set foot on the surface of the Earth Realm.

After all, they had once considered themselves immortal, standing at the pinnacle of their race, challenged only by a select few in the Abyss, such as the Fallen Clan and the Dragon Race.

But the day Rae Blaze had slaughtered Monarchs like them who had their realm suppressed by the curse, he had shattered their illusion of invincibility and reawakened their fear of death.

That was why none of them had ever dared to pass through the space gates again, as the Blood Moon Curse would suppress their realm, and the humans would do everything in their power to slaughter a Demonkin Monarch on sight.

Fighting without their full strength in a battle for survival was dreadful to those monarchs, just the memory of their fallen brethren haunted them, reminding them of the terrible cost of underestimating humans.

But none of that mattered anymore.

As Azgoth, who had long petitioned for an invasion, claiming the curse was weakening, had finally returned with news, news that claims that very soon they could attack with full force, and this wasn’t just speculation.

It was happening.

Soon.

“If that’s the case,” the masked Demonkin Monarch finally spoke, his voice cold and calculating,

“Then let’s send the armies out again in the next war to terrorize them further, and cut them down those that might cause trouble early.”

But before anyone could agree, Azgoth cut in.

“I have a better suggestion.”

His sly smile widened as every Monarch turned to him, waiting for what he had to say.