Dimensional Descent

Micarth no longer knew what to say. All of this preparation flew out the window and his experience, or lack thereof, was showing plainly. To make matters worse, his cough still hadn’t disappeared and the more he tried to stop it, the worse it became. Every time he held the cough back, there would be a slight few seconds of silence before the fit began again. He was making his own situation worse and worse by not allowing it to see itself through to the end.

It was when the situation seemed unsalvageable and his face was as ripe as a tomato that a young man stepped forward.

This young man was handsome, almost too handsome, it reminded Leonel a lot of Wise Star Order in that regard. His hair was a flickering bluish grey that shone more like light than filaments of hair and his eyes were a dreamy sort of violet, not pale like Leonel’s, but rather cool in hue and deep in resonance. It was easy to get lost in them, and it was only made more potent by the fact this violet faded to sky blue near the edges of his irises.

It was clear with a single look that this man was a Spiritual, or at least half of one. He was the representation of the Spirituals Religion, Ivan, a powerful Junior Ancestor himself and the backup plan in case Micarth fell flat on his face.

However, before Ivan could even speak, Leonel held up a hand, a law of sorts seemed to bind Ivan’s mouth. He could still move freely, but even when he moved to clear his throat no sounds came out. It was as though he had been made a functional mute.

“Forgive me, but I’m still in the middle of grieving. If a Spiritual speaks in my presence right now… I can’t promise I won’t kill them,” Leonel said lightly.

His tone was far more somber and light than it had been previously. The edge of cheeriness and carefreeness had vanished, and even without saying it in so many words, the position of the Spirituals Religion became precarious.

They were supposedly the neutral party, but the Race they worshiped had acted against the Human Domain. This was an undeniable fact. Velasco was clearly a man that could hold up the skies, and yet the Spiritual Emperor had come to attack maybe their greatest hope… at least that was how the smaller families saw it.

The situation was going from bad to worse, and even the Morales elders were beginning to fidget in their seats. The only ones who seemed emboldened and prideful were the two youths to Leonel’s back. They were beaming, feeling intoxicated by the prowess of their Patriarch.

And that was exactly why they were here. All of these messengers were so focused on Leonel and the two youths that had humiliated them that they couldn’t catch on the micro slips in the expressions of the Morales elders.

However, the situation was only becoming more and more tense. Leonel didn’t seem like he had a plan, it looked as though he was just venting his frustration. But even if it made him feel good for now, what would they do afterward?

A man cleared his throat. This was of the Suiard family, dressed in silver robes that radiated a swordlight when reflecting the sun in just the right way.

“Excuse me, Morales Patriarch, but I believe that the Spirituals Race is the only one that didn’t take advantage of our situation to attack. It’s a bit inappropriate to treat them like this, no? Also, the Spiritual Religion is quite misunderstood, they do not worship Spirituals, but rather their way of life, their oneness with nature, their balance with the elements. It is not the same as worshiping the race.”

“And even if they did worship the race, I do not believe it is as big of an issue as the Patriarch makes it out to be. There are many Half Spirituals in our lands, but have you ever seen any Half Nomads? Or Half Dwarves? Or Half Rapax? The Spirituals are the one race that do not treat us as lessers, but rather as equals enough to be life partners and mates.”

“I cannot speak to why that Spiritual chose to attack Hero Velasco, I do not wield that kind of power, nor do I claim to understand the thoughts of Ancestors. What I can say is that during the day of that battle, it wasn’t any one person that killed Hero Velasco, but rather the workings of the Heaven themselves.”

“Hero Velasco was a loner, a man who completed a great deal of experiments that he never shared with anyone, maybe other than you, his son. It is impossible to tell how he might have enraged the Heavens, but I hope that you can put your personal biases to think about… why else a noble Spiritual might have chosen to attack your father.”

That was it. Those words were finally spoken and everything would be over.

The elders of the Morales were quite sharp people, they could see the willingness to die in the man’s eyes. He was old, and wrinkled, even more so than the Overlord had been when he first appeared before Leonel. He might not live for more than a few more months or a couple of years even if he was able to walk out of here.

But speaking these words alone was what he had needed to do. Leonel would lose his temper, maybe even kill all those here using the power of the Morales.

Once he had spoken out this sentiment, it would boil and fester, and soon the title of “Hero Velasco” he had used to soften Leonel’s position so that the latter would allow him to finish would become nothing more than a joke.

Locke Suiard could already sense it, the shifting tide, the skepticism of the smaller families he had brought with him, and even the faint anger radiating from the elders of the Morales. His mission was complete and he could finally close his eyes, a proud Suiard.

And that he did. He closed his eyes and waited for Leonel’s strike, a smile of pride on his face no weaker than that of the children to Leonel’s back.

He was a Suiard, a Suiard of the Sword, he would die with his back straight, a smile on his face, and… a hand on his sword.

His hand slowly reached up, gently descending toward the hilt he had known all his life.