Chapter 189: Like A True King

"We will not grovel!" King Alfred's voice echoed off the translucent white walls, the iron in his tone absolute.

"I respect you, Omares, but you are asking me to do something that I have sworn a long time ago never to do. And that is to beg that Outworlder!"

Alfred pointed out the window. "When he walked out on us and left us to protect ourselves, he made his decision clear. To crawl to him like beggars and plead for his help even after abandoning us?" The King's eyes softened sadly. "Do we have no shame?"

Omares didn't say anything in response. He only watched the Human King, a silent glint of understanding yet steadfastness in his eyes.

Alfred blinked the emotions away and moved his glare from the Great Scholar directly to the Elven King. "And while we speak of this outlaw, King Galadrien, perhaps you can explain why an Elven royal is currently bringing terror to my streets?"

Galadrien's graceful posture stiffened slightly.

"My scouts report that Eristasia Windwhisper and an entire battalion of the Wind Guard have descended upon Crimson City," Alfred continued, his jaw locked.

"They attacked a market district, destroying property, and threatening human citizens in their frantic manhunt. This is a gross violation of our borders!"

"It is an act of war!" Lord Ulcraft bellowed, slamming his fist onto the marble table. "If the Elves want to march armies into our capital, we should meet them with steel!"

"Sit down, Ulcraft," Grigor murmured. "You are again letting your pulse outrun your politics."

Ulcraft leered at his friend.

"Percival Nightstar, the human outworlder your kingdom summoned, brought terror to our doorstep first, Alfred," Galadrien said, adjusting his tone to sound stricter. "He murdered the daughter of a High House on Elven soil. Eristasia is a mother consumed by vengeance."

"But do not fret. I have sent my fastest doves to recall her, but the wind does not listen to reason when it is howling for blood. Her grief is a storm I cannot simply cage overnight."

"Then she will find herself caved in by human stone," Alfred promised darkly. "She must leave immediately. We are doing our part in bringing the Outworlder to justice."

"This entire conflict is a distraction from the true threat," Omares interjected. His white, unreadable eyes swept the table, smoothly leveraging the political chaos to his advantage.

"If the Wind Guard slaughters the Outworlder in the streets, his knowledge of the Demon Gates dies with him. And the realm follows shortly after. We must capture the Hero alive. We must secure him, extract what he knows, and ask for his aid."

Standing at the periphery of the circular chamber, Aethelstan clenched his fists so hard he almost shattered his gauntlet. He gritted his teeth as anger boiled in his chest and thoughts of rage in his mind.

Ask for his aid? The greatest leaders of the realm were sitting in the Sovereign Bastion, placing the fate of the world on the shoulders of a filthy, arrogant peasant who had humiliated him.

Aethelstan felt completely sidelined, his status as the chosen leader of the Heroes was being overshadowed by a bloody murderer.

King Alfred noticed his son shifting stance. He turned his heavy gaze to the gathered party.

"You were there," the Human King commanded, his voice cutting through the hall. "You witnessed the Outworlder in action. Tell this council exactly what happened in the Hollowcreek forest. How did the Elven Hero die?"

Aethelstan slowly took a step, facing his father. "Liraeth died defending me, Your Majesty. The Outworlder was a savage, with murder in his heart for no other reason but jealousy of me taking his place. Because I am the prince and the hero."

Vadrian and Stenya immediately stepped forward, their faces flushed with righteous fury.

"He butchered her, Your Majesty!" Vadrian spat. "It was a cold-blooded execution!"

"She was merely trying to apprehend him," Stenya added, her voice trembling with anger. "He struck her down without a second of hesitation. He is a monster!"

Ulcraft threw his hands up in vindication. "You hear that? The Outworlder is a rabid dog!"

"That is not the entire truth, Your Majesty."

The Bastion fell dead silent.

Nessa stepped forward from the line. Grigor sat up, his eyes gleaming as he watched his young Nightfall take the center stage, her expression entirely stoic as she faced the three monarchs of Evernia.

Aethelstan turned to glare at her, his eyes burning with a silent, venomous threat, but Nessa did not falter.

"Prince Aethelstan engaged the Outworlder first," Nessa stated clearly, unafraid. "The Outworlder parried and defended himself. Lady Liraeth then launched a series of offensive spells at him from his blind spot. The Outworlder retaliated to preserve his own life. By the established laws of the three kingdoms, he acted entirely in self-defense."

"What is your daughter doing?" Ulcraft leaned and whispered to Grigor. "She is defending a murderer!"

"My daughter does not lie," Grigor said matter-of-factly. "If she's saying this, then it is the truth."

The entire room was thrown into confusion.

"Does anyone else corroborate this absurd claim?" King Alfred demanded, his eyes narrowing at the fractured party.

For a moment, nobody moved. It seemed to be that Nessa was on her own, and that would mean she was lying… to the Kings. But then, from the back of the group, Princess Corisande stepped forward.

Her hands were trembling slightly, her diamond eyes wide, but she lifted her chin to meet the gaze of the Kings — including her father's.

"Nessa speaks the truth," Corisande said softly. "Liraeth cast the first spell with the intent to harm. The Outworlder merely struck back."

Corvell, unwilling to let the Princess stand alone under the crushing stares of the council, immediately stepped up beside her. "I witnessed it as well. It was self-defense."

A heavy, complicated silence settled over the marble table. The absolute kill order the Kings had been leaning toward was suddenly clouded by the legal reality of self-defense, testified to by their own chosen Awakeners.

Omares watched the display without a single change in expression, though internally, the fracture perfectly suited his need to keep Percival alive.

King Baldric grunted, stroking his thick iron-grey beard. "Surface-dweller politics. You lot will argue over the legality of a sword swing while the abyss swallows your cities whole."

"The summit will adjourn for the hour," King Galadrien announced suddenly, his graceful facade showing serious cracks of exhaustion. "We will reconvene to finalize the joint battalion logistics."

As the council dispersed into the various wings of the cathedral mountain, the tension remained thick enough to cut.

Rather than following his royal guard, Galadrien headed to the sunlit alcove that overlooked the vast Center Land plateau.

He did not have to wait long. The soundless footsteps of the Great Scholar approached from behind.

"You wished to speak with me privately, Your Majesty?" Omares asked, his baritone voice calm.

Galadrien turned, leaning heavily against the pristine white railing. Stripped of the prying eyes of the human nobles, the Elven King looked profoundly tired.

"Master Omares," Galadrien began, his voice now a whisper. "What you said in there... about the Demon Gates. Do you truly believe this Outworlder can save us?"

"I do not play games with the apocalypse, King Galadrien," Omares replied, his blank, white eyes unblinking. "The Outworlder is the only person that matters now. If you keep sending Awakeners into those miasma-filled tears, you're only making them corpses."

Galadrien closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his flawless features. "If I officially pardon him, Eristasia will rebel. She will fracture Eldermoor and start a civil war over her daughter's blood."

The Elven King opened his eyes, looking out over the neutral, high-altitude earth.

"But if the realm falls to these Demon Gates," Galadrien murmured, a difficult choice resting upon his shoulders, "there will be no Elves left to rule. We must find him. Not to execute him... but to beg for his help."

Omares's expressionless face almost looked relieved. "Spoken like a true king," the Scholar said.