Chapter 24 : The Meeting

Far beyond the borders of the Caldar Continent, on the other side of the Mist Wall, the ocean stretched endlessly beneath a sky that seemed to have neither beginning nor end.

The sea was in turmoil. Massive waves rose like mountains before crashing violently into one another, their immense bodies colliding with enough force to shake the waters for miles around and send towering columns of spray into the air. The wind tore through the surface of the ocean, carrying the mist and seawater into the distance, yet none of that violence seemed to affect the four figures standing silently above the raging waters. Their wide black robes fluttered gently in the wind, but their bodies remained as unmoving as statues.

None of them looked down at the ocean.

Their attention was fixed entirely upon the colossal wall of mist dominating the horizon.

The Mist Wall rose directly from the depths of the ocean and continued upward until it disappeared into the heavens, an immeasurable curtain of white that seemed less like a natural phenomenon and more like a boundary separating two entirely different worlds. Dense mist constantly shifted within its enormous expanse, moving in slow, indistinct currents that made the wall appear almost alive. Whatever existed beyond it remained hidden even from senses that would have been capable of crossing ordinary distances with ease.

Among the four figures, one appeared particularly out of place.

She seemed like a little girl who was no more than eight years old.

Her small body was wrapped in a wide black robe, while dark purple hair fell softly around her shoulders and down her back. Her violet eyes possessed a depth that did not belong to a child, resembling ancient wells whose bottoms had long since been swallowed by darkness. In her hands she carried an old staff that was actually taller than her own body, and resting upon its tip was an equally ancient clock.

The clock's surface was worn and faded, marked by countless traces of time. Its metal had lost whatever brilliance it might once have possessed, while its hands and outer frame carried the dull, weathered appearance of an artifact that had witnessed an era far older than any of the beings standing beneath it.

The little girl stared at the Mist Wall for several moments.

It was only after she had seemingly finished calculating something in her mind that she finally spoke.

"There is still some time before the Abyss Lord enters."

Her voice was young, but there was nothing childish about its tone. She spoke with a calmness that seemed almost unnatural for someone so small, as though the body standing before them belonged to a child while the mind within it had accumulated far more years than her appearance could possibly suggest.

"If we succeed in the first stage, there will be no need for us to use force."

A heavy snort came from beside her.

The man standing there was enormous compared with the little girl. His body was broad and powerful, covered by a presence that seemed more suited to the battlefield than a quiet negotiation. Thick brown hair framed his head, a short beard covered his jaw, and his sharp eyes carried an almost permanent irritation. Even while standing motionless, there was something about him that suggested he would much rather solve every problem with his fists than waste another moment discussing it.

The contrast between him and the little girl was almost absurd. She barely reached his waist, yet the difference in their size did nothing to diminish the authority she naturally carried.

The man folded his arms across his chest and glanced down at her.

"You didn't summon me here just to stand around and wait, did you, Golden Clock?"

His impatience was obvious.

Golden Clock did not immediately answer. Before she could respond, however, the old man standing nearby quietly intervened.

"Respect your elders, Sky's Edge. We are not a group of barbarians who know nothing except fighting. We are civilized and respectable people."

The old man looked completely different from Sky's Edge. Long white hair fell over his shoulders and blended with an equally long white beard that covered his chest. His white robe was simple and clean, while the wooden staff in his hand looked almost ordinary compared with the artifacts carried by the others. His expression was gentle, almost kind, and his voice carried the calm patience of someone who had spent a very long time cultivating the appearance of wisdom.

"There is no need for a fight," he continued. "All we have prepared is a place where negotiations can take place. If everything goes as planned, there should be no reason for violence."

Sky's Edge slowly turned his head toward him.

For a brief moment, his expression remained completely blank.

Then he sneered.

"Ah. Civilized?"

His eyes narrowed as he studied the old man.

"Are you calling me a barbarian, Lightheart?"

Lightheart did not answer.

That silence alone was enough to make Sky's Edge's smile widen.

"At least I'm not a hypocrite like you," he continued, his voice filled with open mockery. "Isn't that what being civilized means? Learning how to hide your barbarism behind polite words and pretending you're somehow better than everyone else?"

He gave a short laugh before adding, "Really, it's a word that suits you perfectly."

Lightheart released a long, weary sigh.

"Talking to you is exhausting. If this weren't an important matter, I would never waste my time arguing with an idiot from the Path of Battle."

The muscles around Sky's Edge's eyes tightened.

For a moment, the atmosphere between the two men changed.

The ocean below continued to roar and the wind continued to tear across the sky, yet the space between them suddenly carried a different kind of pressure. Their exchange had stopped being merely verbal, and neither man seemed particularly opposed to allowing the argument to become something more.

Golden Clock finally spoke before that could happen.

"Enough. Both of you."

Her voice was not loud, but it did not need to be.

The simple firmness within those words immediately silenced them.

Golden Clock turned her head toward Sky's Edge first, then toward Lightheart. Her violet eyes remained calm, yet a cold seriousness had entered them, making it clear that she had no intention of allowing their personal quarrel to continue.

"Focus on the mission. What we decide here today may determine the fate of the tens of thousands of years to come.This is not a place for you to display your pride. Whatever personal grievances you have with each other are meaningless compared to what is waiting beyond that wall."

Her gaze returned to the Mist Wall, its immense white expanse reflected within her violet eyes.

"We are not fighting for victory. We are fighting for survival."

The words lingered between them.

After a brief pause, she continued, "We will begin with negotiations. If they succeed, there will be no reason for us to fight. But if they fail..."

Her violet eyes gradually became colder.

"...we will not hesitate to use force."

Silence descended over the four figures once more.

Sky's Edge remained still for several seconds. The displeasure on his face made it obvious that he did not particularly like being reminded of the situation in such a manner, but even he understood the weight behind Golden Clock's words. Whatever personal grievances existed between him and Lightheart were insignificant compared with what awaited them beyond the Mist Wall.

“Tsk.” Eventually, he clicked his tongue and turned his gaze toward the wall.

He did not argue.

Golden Clock watched him for another moment before shifting her attention toward the fourth member of their group.

A woman stood quietly beside them.

Her appearance was almost too beautiful to seem real. Long black hair fell all the way to her waist, moving gently in the ocean wind, while her crimson eyes possessed a sharpness fundamentally different from that of an ordinary human. They resembled the eyes of a predator patiently observing its prey—cold, beautiful, and utterly devoid of hesitation.

She wore an elegant black dress that moved softly around her body, and on the ring finger of her left hand rested a golden ring containing a mysterious crimson gemstone. The gem seemed to possess a faint life of its own, its color deep enough to resemble a drop of blood suspended within the metal.

Yet the ring was not what drew the eye.

Two horns rose from the top of her head.

They were unmistakable.

Despite the woman's otherwise human appearance, those horns immediately revealed the truth of her identity. She was a dragon, and not merely an ordinary one. She was one of the most terrifying beings this world had ever produced, an existence whose very name had become associated with death, destruction, and calamity.

She was known by the title “Death Dragon.”

Although she had not spoken a single word since they arrived, her existence alone seemed to weigh upon the surrounding space. The air felt heavier around her, almost as though the world itself instinctively recognized the creature standing within it.

Neither Sky's Edge nor Lightheart dared to stare at her for too long.

Golden Clock, however, showed no fear.

She looked toward the Death Dragon calmly.

"And you? Are you ready?"

The Death Dragon's crimson eyes shifted toward her.

"I will try to resolve everything peacefully and repair what can still be repaired," Golden Clock continued. Her voice softened slightly, although the seriousness within it remained. "But if things take a turn for the worse..."

She paused.

For a moment, the little girl seemed to weigh the words that followed.

"I hope you will not hesitate."

Her eyes became colder.

"For the sake of this world."

The Death Dragon remained silent as she looked at her.

Several seconds passed before she finally answered.

"Do not worry."

Her voice was calm and strangely quiet.

"I know what I must do."

Golden Clock's shoulders relaxed slightly. A quiet breath escaped her lips, almost like a sigh of relief.

"Then, would you like to come inside with me?"

The Death Dragon did not answer.

Golden Clock waited before continuing.

"This may be our last chance to speak with him. Perhaps your presence will make the negotiations smoother. It may make speaking with him easier."

Still, the Death Dragon remained silent.

Instead, her crimson eyes slowly lowered toward the golden ring on her left hand.

She stared at it for a long moment.

Something almost imperceptible appeared within her expression. Neither Sky's Edge nor Lightheart seemed to notice it, and it was so faint that it might have been mistaken for a trick of the surrounding light. It was not fear, nor was it anger. It was something much quieter, something that seemed to belong to a memory she had no desire to revisit.

Eventually, she shook her head.

"I do not think I can see him."

Her voice remained quiet.

"And there is nothing left to talk about."

Golden Clock looked at her.

For the first time, sadness appeared within the girl's violet eyes.

"What a cruel fate..."

She lowered her gaze and remained silent for a moment, as though she understood that there was nothing more she could say to change the woman's decision. Finally, she released a quiet sigh.

"Very well. I will go."

The Death Dragon said nothing.

Golden Clock slowly closed her eyes.

For several seconds, the four figures remained suspended above the raging ocean, surrounded by nothing but the endless sound of waves and wind.

Then the space beside Golden Clock began to distort.

A faint ripple passed through the air. It spread outward in delicate waves, and from within that distortion another figure gradually emerged.

At first, it was little more than a vague silhouette.

Then its features became clearer.

A little girl appeared.

She possessed the exact same appearance as Golden Clock: the same small body, the same dark purple hair, the same deep violet eyes, the same wide black robe, and the same ancient staff. Even the old clock resting atop the staff was identical.

To anyone looking at them, it would have been impossible to distinguish one from the other.

Yet anyone capable of sensing power would immediately notice the difference.

The newly created girl's presence was vastly weaker.

Golden Clock examined the copy for several moments, her eyes moving across the clone as though confirming that every detail had been reproduced correctly. There was something strangely fascinating about watching another version of oneself standing before you, but Golden Clock did not linger on the thought.

Apparently satisfied, she gave no further instruction.

The clone vanished.

When it appeared again, it was already standing directly before the enormous Mist Wall.

The little figure raised her staff.

It looked exactly like the one Golden Clock carried.

At its tip, the ancient clock suddenly began to glow.

A warm golden light spread outward, illuminating the surrounding mist. For the first time, the surface of the enormous Mist Wall began to change.

Dense white mist rippled outward as though a stone had been thrown into a vast lake. The disturbance spread farther and farther until, at the center of the wall, a point of golden light appeared.

The light expanded.

Slowly, a doorway began to form within the Mist Wall.

The clone stepped forward.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the golden entrance disappeared behind her.

The Mist Wall returned to its previous state as though nothing had happened.

The ocean continued to rage beneath it.

Sky Mountain

At the center of the Caldar Continent stood Sky Mountain.

The enormous mountain pierced through the heavens, its towering peak disappearing into the vast sea of clouds above. At its summit stood the castle of the Great Ruler, a magnificent fortress that had long since become one of the most important places on the entire continent.

Inside the grand reception hall, Rowan sat comfortably upon his throne, his golden eyes gazing calmly across the vast chamber. Beside him stood Liz, as composed and immaculate as ever, her long white hair cascading down her back while her clear blue eyes remained fixed upon the scene before them.

When the image of the battlefield finally disappeared from the blue screen, the vast reception hall returned to its usual silence.

For some time, neither of them spoke.

The atmosphere within the hall was unusually quiet.

Rowan's gaze remained fixed upon the distant battlefield where Alexander's battle had taken place. Although the fight itself had already ended, the traces it had left behind still lingered within his mind—the destruction, the power that had been unleashed, and, most importantly, the result of the battle. All of it had confirmed something Rowan had already believed for a long time.

Eventually, he turned his head toward Liz.

"Haah... I told you he could do it."

"Yes."

The answer came immediately.

Rowan stared at her.

Liz's expression remained exactly as cold and emotionless as ever, as though they had just finished discussing something completely insignificant rather than witnessing an event capable of shaking the continent.

Rowan sighed.

"It seems you need to reconsider the way you look at other people."

"Yes."

The answer came so quickly and so calmly that Rowan blinked.

He turned toward her and stared for several seconds. He had expected at least a little resistance, perhaps an explanation or some attempt to defend her earlier judgment. Instead, Liz had simply accepted his criticism as though he had pointed out a minor mistake in a report.

Finally, Rowan sighed again.

He stared at her for several seconds before finally asking, "Isn't your reaction a little too cold?"

Liz tilted her head slightly, apparently giving his words some serious thought. After a moment, she nodded.

"Oh. You are right, my lord."

Her tone remained completely flat, without even the slightest hint of embarrassment.

"How should I react?"

Rowan's face twitched.

For some reason, that question made the situation considerably worse, but he didn’t want to lose the argument. Rawan opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. He hadn’t expected her to actually ask the question. For a moment, he seemed hesitant about whether he should even attempt to answer such a question."Well..." He raised one hand, searching for the right words. "Perhaps you could show a little more surprise?"

Liz stared at him, her expression remaining completely unchanged. "Like this?"

"...No."

She tried again, this time widening her eyes by what seemed to be approximately one millimeter. "Like this?"

Rowan simply stared at her. A long silence settled over the hall before he finally muttered, "...Stop."

"Yes, my lord."

"No, I mean..." Rowan rubbed his forehead, already regretting the direction this conversation had taken. "Just forget it."

Liz nodded obediently. "Understood."

Rowan lowered his hand and sighed. "Your reaction is incredibly cold."

"Oh." Liz blinked once. "I apologize."

Rowan looked at her.

Somehow, that was even worse.

"...That doesn't help."

"I understand."

"No, you don't."

"I understand."

"You definitely don't."

"I do understand."

"Umm... no. Stop. This is getting embarrassing... just...please, stop."

Rowan slowly covered his face with one hand and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

Everything about Liz was fine. More than fine, actually. She was reliable, powerful, intelligent, and probably one of the most useful people he had ever had at his side. Yet her complete lack of emotional reaction, combined with those absurdly calm responses, possessed a strange ability to make him feel as though he were performing an entire comedy routine alone.

And the worst part was that she did not even seem to realize she was doing it.

Rowan eventually lowered his hand and looked toward the distant horizon once more. The amusement in his expression slowly faded into something warmer.

"But Marilz...huh"

A faint smile appeared upon his face.

"He was truly impressive."

His eyes grew distant as memories came flooding back to him.

"You really did it, Michael. Your will is still alive."

The words came more quietly this time, carrying genuine recognition rather than the teasing tone he had used with Liz..

For a brief moment, the great hall around him seemed to fade into the background, replaced by memories from an era that had already become distant.

Rowan had defeated countless opponents throughout his life and killed even more. He had walked through battles that would have driven ordinary beings into despair and emerged victorious from circumstances that should have been impossible. His strength, stubbornness, and ability to survive situations that should have marked the end of his life had always been extraordinary.

But there was one particular person Rowan remembered more clearly than most.

That suspicious bastard who had constantly followed him around.

A strange stalker who seemed to possess an almost supernatural determination to remain attached to Rowan no matter how many times he tried to get rid of him. There had been countless occasions when Rowan had seriously considered gouging the man's eyes out simply to make him stop staring at him, yet even after being beaten, the bastard had refused to disappear.

He had remained stuck to Rowan like gum.

The memory alone made Rowan's lips curve upward.

A faint, almost nostalgic smile appeared on his face.

"Those were good days, though."

The words came naturally.

For a few moments, Rowan simply remained there, allowing those memories to pass through his mind. There was something strangely warm about remembering those days now. At the time, he had often found them irritating, troublesome, and exhausting, but after everything that had happened since then, even those irritating memories had gradually become precious.

"Hah..."

Only after several moments did Rowan realize how far his thoughts had wandered.

He shook his head and returned his attention to the present.

"Oh, right."

His eyes shifted toward Liz.

"I almost forgot."

He leaned back against his throne, his expression becoming more relaxed.

"We may have a guest."

He rested one hand against his forehead before looking at her.

"Liz, prepare me a drink."

He paused, then added with complete seriousness, "And make sure it is extremely bitter."

Liz remained silent.

Rowan continued as though this were an important matter requiring very precise instructions.

"Something bitter enough to make me feel like my head is going to hurt in a few minutes."

He waved his hand toward her.

"Go."

Liz nodded and left.

Time passed slowly within the great hall.

Eventually, she returned carrying a silver tray with a glass pitcher and a single glass cup resting upon it. She approached Rowan with her usual calm expression and stopped beside the throne before placing the tray down.

Inside the pitcher was a freshly prepared drink made from extremely sour fruits, balanced by a small amount of sweetness and several ancient herbs. The combination produced a strange fragrance, sharp enough to reach Rowan even from where he sat.

He looked at the glass.

Then he looked at the pitcher.

After a moment, Rowan ignored the cup entirely and reached out to take the pitcher directly from the tray.

He raised it to his lips and took a large drink.

The sourness immediately spread across his tongue.

For an ordinary person, the taste would probably have been unbearable. Rowan, however, merely leaned his head against the back of the throne and allowed the sensation to settle before releasing a satisfied breath.

"Ahh..."

"Much better."

He remained like that for a while.

The great hall gradually returned to silence.

There was something strangely comfortable about that silence. The vast chamber had witnessed countless important events, yet for the moment it contained nothing more than Rowan sitting upon his throne and Liz standing quietly nearby. No armies were moving outside. No battle was shaking the earth beneath them.

For a brief moment, everything felt almost peaceful.

Eventually, Rowan began to wonder how much time had passed.

He lowered his head, and his gaze slowly moved toward the enormous entrance of the castle.

Something had changed.

It was not a sound at first. Rather, it was the faint sensation of another presence approaching, subtle enough that it would have gone unnoticed by an ordinary person but impossible for Rowan to miss.

He leaned comfortably against his throne and waited.

Someone was coming to visit him.

A wide shadow gradually appeared across the entrance of the great hall, stretching over the enormous floor before its owner even entered. Then came the sound of footsteps, slow and measured, echoing softly through the vast chamber.

Rowan did not move.

He simply watched.

The figure finally emerged from the entrance.

It was a little girl who appeared to be around eight years old.

She possessed deep violet eyes, dark and mysterious like an ancient well whose bottom could not be seen, while dark purple hair framed her small face. A wide mage's robe covered her body, making her appear even smaller within the enormous hall.

In her hand was a staff.

At the top of it rested an old yellow clock.

Its hands were covered in rust, and its ancient surface carried the unmistakable marks of countless years.

The girl stopped before Rowan.

Her violet eyes met his.

Neither of them spoke immediately.

Rowan looked at her for several seconds.

There was no surprise in his expression.

Instead, a faint smile slowly appeared on his face.

The arrival of this particular person was not something he had failed to anticipate. After all, there were very few people in the world who could enter his castle without his permission, and even fewer whose arrival could awaken something resembling nostalgia within him.

Rowan leaned slightly against his throne.

"So..."

His voice carried a faint trace of amusement.

"What an honor it is to receive your visit after such a long time."

His smile widened slightly.

Then he spoke the single word that carried with it the weight of countless years.

"Teacher."