Earth's Greatest Magus

The crown prince’s gesture was received favorably by the Grand Overseer. As an elder of the Nephilim, his duty was not to sentiment, but to stability. For him, the appearance of reconciliation held value.

“This is a good thing,” he said after a moment of consideration. “With chaos spreading across realms, mending relations is the sensible path forward.”

Klea listened without comment.

To her, the words felt distant, almost hollow. She had already decided that once her recovery was complete, she would leave the Nephilim domain entirely and return to Earth.

Yet only a few days later, the Astiel crown prince returned.

This time, he brought a formal invitation-an offer for Klea to visit Lysantheon, the Astiel homeworld itself. He spoke of transparency, of assurance, of proving with actions rather than words that the Astiel clan truly sought peace with Earth’s faction.

The Grand Overseer found the gesture excessive, even unnecessary.

But to his surprise, Klea accepted.

“Yes… will go with you.”

When she arrived at Lysantheon, the reception left no room for doubt. Klea was treated not as a negotiator, nor as a guest of convenience, but as an honored dignitary. She was guided across the planet’s renowned landmarks, through ancient cultivation grounds and crystalline cities, before being escorted to the main palace itself.

There, a grand feast awaited her.

Hundreds of Magus stood in attendance, alongside more than two dozen Astiel Grand Magus, all gathered for her arrival.

Klea smiled when required and returned every polite exchange, yet behind her composed demeanor, doubt remained unmoved. She did not believe in this truce, nor did she trust the intentions behind such extravagant hospitality. Her reason for accepting the invitation had never been peace.

She had come to observe, to measure, and to gather intelligence-quietly, patiently, and without revealing her hand. That purpose was enough to stir a faint spark within her clouded heart.

With her polished diplomacy skills, the clan’s story finally came to light.

There was a time when the Astiel name carried genuine weight, their name spoken with the same reverence reserved for the great Nephilim houses. Yet for several millennia, no truly remarkable patriarch had risen from their lineage. Even the current head, Darian Astiel, father of Prince Denard, was little more than a one-cosmos Grand Magus-respectable, but unexceptional, and scarcely stronger than his own son.

Because of this, the true pillars of the Astiel clan had long been their three Grand Elders.

The Sky Lord.

The Storm Lord.

The Winter Lord.

Of the three, the Sky Lord was the most enigmatic. Though still revered as the clan’s highest authority, he had not actively governed for centuries. His appearances were rare, and his influence was exercised through shadows rather than commands.

The Winter Lord, ancient beyond measure, was rumored to be approaching the end of his lifespan. For decades, he had remained secluded in deep recuperation.

That left the Storm Lord as the only active pillar-a mid-stage three-cosmos Grand Magus who functioned less as a leader and more as a deterrent.

Given these circumstances, it was hardly surprising that the Astiel clan had spent centuries hovering near the bottom ranks of the twenty Nephilim secondary families-respected enough to endure, but too weak to rise.

When the banquet ended, Prince Denard personally summoned Klea to remain as his guest a while longer.

As the days passed, subtle details began to stand out.

Younger, New generations Magus and Grand magus show unusual confidence, their techniques refined beyond what their public records suggested. Casual conversations carried an undercurrent of expectation, as if the clan were standing on the threshold of something long-awaited.

A sense that the future was finally turning in their favor.

The shift was too sudden, too deliberate. Klea could only conclude that an external force had intervened-someone powerful enough to reshape the clan’s trajectory from behind the scenes.

Who that might be, she did not yet know.

One thing was confirmed;

Within the Astiel clan, Denard’s authority quietly eclipsed even that of his father. Commands bent around him. Decisions followed his presence.

He was the future the clan had been waiting for.

Once she was satisfied that she had seen enough, Klea decided it was time to stop circling the truth.

She requested a private audience with the crown prince.

They met in a high pavilion overlooking Lysantheon’s frozen seas, the air unnaturally still, wards scaling the space from prying senses.

Klea did not waste time on pleasantries.

“I’ve seen everything you wanted me to see,” she said calmly. “Now tell me why

I’m really here. What do you want from me?”

Denard did not answer immediately. He stood facing the horizon, hands clasped behind his back, the glow of the frozen seas reflecting faintly in his eyes. When he finally turned, his expression was calm-but weighed down by calculation.

“My cousin Ishtar was short-sighted… a fool… She failed to see both the threat and the potential in you and your companions,” he uttered with a deep sigh. “I do not wish to make enemies of you. It is not in our family’s interest.

His words sounded sincere, measured, and even reasonable.

Yet Klea did not lower her guard.

If this had only been about Ishtar-about her repeated provocations since the academy-Klea might have been willing to consider a truce. But this went far beyond a single spoiled noble. The shadow of the Sky Lord still loomed over Earth, the same figure responsible for Fuxi’s death and the unseen hand manipulating events since the age of King Anu. That stain could not be washed away with polite words or a sincere promise.

Klea did not refuse immediately, not out of trust, but out of caution. She needed to know whether the crown prince was merely pretending-or whether he was truly ignorant of what his First Elder, the Sky Lord, had done.

The prince seemed to sense her hesitation.”I can see that you do not believe

me… and that is understandable. That is why I have prepared something more- something I hope will serve as proof of our sincerity.”

He produced a memory crystal and positioned it in her palm. The moment her divine sense touched against it, ancient imprints unfolded-an Astiel inheritance, a cultivation art passed down through generations of Winter

Lords.

[Eternal Winter Sutra]

Klea was momentarily taken aback. The Astiel prince states that by mastering this technique, she could be able to challenge yet another Sanctum trial: the Frozen Throne. If she succeeded, becoming a bearer of three Acon legacies, her name would be carved into the Sanctum’s highest records, celebrated among Nephilim elites for generations.

Yet the promise stirred nothing in her heart.

Fame meant little to her. Power, even less.

She was already prepared to walk away from the Sanctum forever.

But as she examined the technique further, she discovered its true nature.

The Eternal Winter Sutra was not merely an ice cultivation art. At its core, it enforced absolute stillness-freezing not only spiritual energy, but emotion itself. Through deliberate suppression and severance of emotional turbulence, it promised clarity and stability.

Through this sacred technique, Klea could see a path-one that could restrain, perhaps even heal, the festering curse of her Dao Heart.