Ex rank talent Awakening: 100\% Dodge rate-Chapter 173 - : QUELLING FLAMES OF WAR

Greg found himself in his room, the black tendrils of shadow dissolving into the air around him like a fading dream. The atmosphere was calm now, as though the chaos and revelations of his encounter with Sabbah had never occurred. The silence of the room was almost eerie in contrast to the storm of thoughts swirling inside his head. He instinctively checked on everyone, ensuring their safety, and felt a measure of relief wash over him when he confirmed that no harm had befallen them.

What puzzled him, however, was Lilith. She was not in a slumber or meditative trance like usual, but rather wide awake, lounging on the couch in a silk nightgown, idly flipping through a fashion magazine with an air of supreme boredom.

"You didn't feel any presence some time ago?" Greg asked, his voice low, cautious.

Lilith tilted her head, flipping another page before glancing at him. "Presence? Aside from yours, which I felt when you decided to intrude, no. Am I supposed to feel another presence?"

Greg studied her face for signs of deceit but found none. "Never mind," he said, masking his thoughts behind a tired expression.

He decided not to say more. Telling them about Sabbah—about what he was, and what Greg himself might be—felt like handing over a curse. It was too early. Too dangerous.

He had a short, almost routine conversation with Lilith. She complained about boredom again, saying life outside the game lacked thrill. Greg gave a vague reply, nodding occasionally, but his mind was elsewhere. He eventually excused himself, returning to his room to rest.

Sleep came, but not easily. The knowledge of his origin, the role he was expected to play, and the weight of prophecy settled like iron chains on his soul. Even as he drifted into slumber, the face of Sabbah haunted him, eyes glowing with ancient knowledge, and a voice heavy with consequence.

Morning came sluggishly. Sunlight crept in through the curtain slits, brushing against his skin like a reminder that life moved on, regardless of destiny. Groggy and disoriented, Greg dragged himself from bed, washing his face in cold water to drive away the fog. He walked into the kitchen, surprised at how empty it felt.

"Brother, you slept rather early yesterday. Are you alright?" Annabelle asked as she entered, her tone light but laced with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just felt like resting early yesterday," Greg replied, attempting a smile. It didn't reach his eyes.

Breakfast was uneventful. Some light conversation about food and mundane matters filled the silence, but Greg remained withdrawn. His thoughts were elsewhere—on what was to come. He needed to act.

Once the plates were cleared, everyone returned to their capsules. The game awaited.

"All alone once more… sigh," Lilith muttered, staring at the ceiling as boredom wrapped itself around her like a fog. "Hmm, guess I can try that," she whispered, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes.

Greg logged in, greeted immediately by the sound of wind, distant roars, and the ambient hum of wilderness. Erisu materialized before him, her wings dimly shimmering.

"Annabelle and Azrael have already departed, my lord," she said gently.

Greg nodded. He knew, but it still stung. Maybe it was selfishness. Maybe instinct. But it never sat right, watching family walk away.

He turned his gaze toward the horizon. "Erisu, what other settlements of demonized beings are in this part of the wilderness? I want only the strong ones."

Erisu bowed her head respectfully. "My lord, among the nearby lands, four major groups remain unclaimed. To the north dwell the demonized titans—colossal beings whose pride matches their raw, terrifying strength. They destroy any who intrude upon their mountainous dominion."

She raised a hand, conjuring illusionary maps and images in the air. "To the east, you'll find the demonized ogres. Slow-witted, but their regenerative abilities and overwhelming force make them formidable. They crush their enemies with crude, giant clubs.

South of here lies the domain of demonized arachnids. Their poison kills swiftly, and their exoskeletons deflect common weapons. Even their young are lethal in swarms.

And to the west—the demonized ants. Though individually weak, they are dangerous in numbers. Organized, relentless, and blessed with an unbreakable will. Their queen breeds them endlessly, and they expand like a plague."

Greg watched the illusionary map flicker before dismissing it with a wave. "And the rest?"

"They lie farther still, unreachable without first conquering these four groups. This region was once the frontier of the demon horde. Those who remain are the strongest."

Greg nodded in satisfaction. "Very good. Fetch the Wolf King. I'll subdue them one by one. The rest are to remain here and guard the fort."

Erisu bowed and disappeared into shadow. Greg returned to his house, gathering supplies, checking his weapons, though he knew none were necessary. He was a god now—at least to some. His true power came from within.

Soon, a sharp howl pierced the air. Greg stepped out, eyes locking with the approaching beast. The Wolf King had arrived, its silver fur glowing with latent lightning.

"You're here. Good." Greg approached and ran a hand along the beast's mane. "I'll call you Tempest from now on. You're more than a beast—you're my herald."

Tempest gave a respectful growl, lowering its body to let Greg mount.

Greg turned to Erisu, who reappeared like a breeze. "Tell the others I didn't bring them because they're still weak. If they want my blessings, they'll need to earn them with strength."

With a silent nod, Erisu vanished again.

Greg took a deep breath. "Let's go."

Tempest roared, wind gathering around him. With a leap, they vanished into the northern skies, destination: the domain of titans.

Elsewhere, the sky above the central continent remained calm, but tension simmered beneath the surface.

A massive round table stretched across a hall of white stone, celestial energy humming faintly around the golden borders. The Oracle sat at the head, flanked by an armored celestial. Kings and leaders of various factions occupied the other seats, but harmony was absent.

"I've called you all here once more to mediate and extinguish the flames of war that have been brooding," the Oracle began, his voice gentle yet firm.

King Edmund scoffed, his gauntlet slamming the table. "It's too late for peace, Oracle. If the Grey Empire hadn't been so greedy—assassinating kings during a demon invasion—maybe then we'd have listened."

Emperor Augustus sat calmly, dressed in dark regal robes with a golden crown resting on his brow. He regarded Edmund coolly. "I've said it before. These are demonic schemes. The Grey Empire had no hand in any assassination. The fact that you believe so shows your weakness."

"You dare—!" King Arthur snapped, slamming his fist down. "Then explain why one of your commanders turned into a demon!"

Augustus's gaze narrowed. He leaned forward. "If I wanted all of you dead, I could have made it happen long ago. You underestimate us at your peril."

The Elf Queen rose, her beauty overshadowed by fury. "You've insulted the alliance for the last time!"

"Enough!" the Oracle shouted, his voice laced with frustration. "This will get us nowhere. We are surrounded by enemies. We cannot fight among ourselves while the demon horde continues to grow stronger."

King Edmund crossed his arms. "Of course you'd defend him. The founder of the Grey Empire was your kin—a celestial's son. All of you protect your own while the rest of us bleed."