NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 217: Chapter 230-239
Chapter 230: Wrath Devours Itself
Satan stumbled back, clutching the wound at his chest.
The blade Isaac had conjured was already gone—faded into the air like it had never existed. But its mark remained. Crimson fire leaked from the wound, pulsing with chaotic energy that refused to seal.
He looked down at the blood seeping through his plated palm.
He had bled.
He had never bled.
Across the fractured throne room, Isaac stood still. Calm. Breathing slow. Not a scratch on him.
His posture was relaxed—almost casual. The aura of Genesis Bloom still pulsed faintly around him, bathing the ground in soft silver and white-gold hues.
There was no tension in his stance.
No fear in his eyes.
No acknowledgment of Satan's divine wrath.
"You…" Satan's voice was hoarse. He clenched his jaw. "You should be… breaking. Crumbling. Kneeling."
Isaac tilted his head slightly. "You keep saying that."
Satan's body trembled—not from weakness, but from pressure.
From rage that couldn't reach its target.
"I am Wrath," Satan spat. "I am the end of kingdoms. I am the storm that breaks the gods—"
"And I'm the wall that doesn't fall," Isaac replied, voice low. "Even when the storm screams."
He took a single step forward.
Satan flinched.
The reaction was involuntary. He realized it a moment too late—and rage twisted into something worse.
Doubt.
No one had ever pushed him this far.
No one had ever taken his power, spat it back at him, and walked through the fire unscathed.
Not a Primordial.
Not a god.
Not even the other Sins.
But Isaac…
Isaac wasn't crumbling. He was analyzing. Thinking. Adapting.
And worse—he was holding back.
"You're not even using all of it," Satan whispered.
Isaac didn't deny it.
His silence was confirmation.
The throne room grew heavy. The air turned leaden.
The Wrathfield, once so volatile, now flickered like a candle before a tempest.
Satan looked around.
His dominion—his sanctuary of rage—was failing him.
"How?" he rasped. "What… are you?"
Isaac raised his gaze. His voice was soft.
"I'm what happens when a man refuses to be chained again."
He lifted his hand—and the pressure of reality itself shifted.
Satan felt it.
Not a skill. Not a spell.
A presence that surpassed what his soul could comprehend.
Something outside the system.
Something that had eaten the rules.
"You're not the only one who knows what it's like to burn," Isaac said.
"And I didn't just survive it."
He stepped forward once more.
"I became the fire."
Satan stepped back instinctively—then stopped himself, horrified.
He—the embodiment of Wrath—had retreated.
He had never done that before.
He clenched his fists. "No," he whispered. "No. NO!"
He slammed his fists into the ground, erupting a geyser of magma and flame. The entire keep split in half. Rivers of hellfire howled upward. Screams filled the abyss.
But Isaac walked through it like it wasn't there.
The battle wasn't over.
But the balance of power had already shattered.
Satan's greatest weapon—his wrath—was turning inward.
And for the first time in his existence…
Wrath was afraid.
Chapter 231: The Death of Wrath
The keep was in ruins.
Blackened sky peeled open to reveal deeper layers of the Abyss, and pillars of fire twisted in protest. But it no longer mattered. The domain of Wrath was collapsing—because its anchor, its god, was falling.
Satan stood in the center of the broken throne room, barely breathing.
Armor cracked.
Flesh scorched.
Soul trembling.
He had used everything—rage, dominion, Wrathfield, forbidden bloodpacts. But it didn't matter.
Isaac still stood.
Unburned. Untouched. Unstoppable.
"You…" Satan wheezed, one knee bent to the ground. "You were supposed to break..."
Isaac said nothing at first.
He only extended his hand. And floating above it, a gleam of silver-blue flame pulsed once.
Then—
The blade appeared.
A weapon made from Isaac's own essence, his soul refined through victory, conjured by [Phantom Legion], blessed by [Genesis Bloom], and driven by [Devourer Omega Matrix – Ω Rank].
A blade that couldn't be blocked.
A strike forged not from hatred… but from judgment.
"I don't need rage," Isaac whispered.
"I have purpose."
He thrust the blade forward—clean, swift, final.
It pierced through Satan's chest, bypassing all resistances, phasing through Wrath-aspected protections, severing the last tether between soul and sin.
The Great Demon of Wrath froze.
Eyes wide.
Burning.
Then the light in them extinguished.
[Devourer Omega Matrix – Ω Rank] Activated
– Enemy slain: [Satan – Great Demon of Wrath]
– Extracting soul data…
– Absorbing stat residue…
– Acquiring skill essence…
The corpse hadn't yet fallen before the system continued.
+97,000 Strength
+96,000 Agility
+99,000 Endurance
+92,000 Intelligence
+91,000 Willpower
+85,000 Charisma
Luck: ??? increased
Essence stabilized.
Unique skill identified…
You have acquired: [Burning Sovereignty – Rank EX+]
[Burning Sovereignty – EX+]
Passive SkillMultiplies all base stats by ×50Duration: Permanent (can be toggled on/off at will with no adverse effects)Effect stacks with Ω-rank Devourer benefitsYou are not bound by Sin conditionsYou are not a slave. You are the flame's sovereign.
Skill has been adapted to host soul signature. No penalty. No control clause.
The system paused for a heartbeat.
Then—
WORLD NOTICE
[The Great Demon of Wrath—Satan—has fallen.]
Slain by: Isaac
Title Earned: Slayer of Wrath
The light faded.
The keep collapsed entirely into ash and silence.
And in the heart of that silence… Isaac stood alone.
Chapter 232: Sovereign of Flame
The silence after Satan's fall was unlike any other.
Not the stillness of fear.
Not the aftermath of survival.
But something deeper—finality.
Isaac stood alone atop the crumbled throne of Wrath, molten rivers cooling around him, the last embers of hellish resistance fading to blackened glass.
He had won.
Not by chance. Not by mercy.
But by strength.
True, untouchable strength.
A soft pulse glowed beneath his palm.
A familiar interface bloomed before his eyes—structured, clean, and newly updated.
[STATUS – Isaac]
Level: 137
HP: 1,187,650 / 1,187,650
MP: 574,655 / 574,655
Strength: 214,940
Agility: 211,954
Endurance: 218,765
Intelligence: 214,931
Willpower: 205,212
Charisma: 194,883
Luck: ???
And now, at the very top of his skill list, sat something glowing brighter than the rest.
[Burning Sovereignty – Rank EX+]
Multiplies all base stats by ×50
Toggle: Can be activated or deactivated at will without side effects
Fully adapted to host soul signature
No cost. No control clause. You are the flame's sovereign.
Isaac narrowed his eyes slightly.
'Satan's core power… now mine. But without the chains.'
He flexed his fingers once.
Then focused.
"Activate Burning Sovereignty."
The effect was immediate.
His aura expanded violently, though still under his control.
A golden-red corona shimmered across his entire form—subtle at first, then pulsing with deeper intensity. The ground beneath his feet liquefied for a moment, then hardened again.
All around him, the pressure changed.
Not wild. Not destructive.
But absolute.
Even the air respected him.
Stat projections surged into his vision.
Projected Stats (Sovereignty Active):
Strength: 10,747,000
Agility: 10,597,700
Endurance: 10,938,250
Intelligence: 10,746,550
Willpower: 10,260,600
Charisma: 9,744,150
(HP: 109,382,500 | MP: 53,732,750)
Isaac let out a low breath.
'These numbers are beyond the divine…'
He raised his hand again and conjured a blade from [Phantom Legion]. Not to fight. Just to test.
He swung.
A single arc of energy traveled across the ruined domain.
It bisected a mountain on the horizon.
Cleanly. Silently.
But Isaac's eyes remained calm.
A moment later, he whispered, "Deactivate."
The red aura faded without resistance.
He stood quietly, arms folded.
'I don't need this on all the time,' he thought. 'This power… is for when something truly dangerous appears.'
He turned away from the ruined mountain.
'Until then… it sleeps.'
The flame receded into him without resistance, like a tame elemental obeying its master.
He had become the flame's ruler.
Not just in title—but in discipline.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, letting the quiet stretch.
The Abyss trembled far below, but none rose to challenge him.
No Sin stirred.
No god spoke.
The sky had nothing left to say.
He turned toward the fading portal behind him—his gateway back to Emberlight.
He had seen what he needed to see.
Tested what he needed to test.
The title "Slayer of Wrath" was already his.
Now, it was time to return.
Chapter 233: A Quiet Return
The portal rippled softly, like silk caught in a breeze, before stabilizing into a perfect silver ring. Isaac stepped through without sound, emerging into the upper levels of Emberlight, far above its central sanctum.
No fanfare.
No announcement.
Just silence.
Moonlight spilled through the crystal canopy above, casting patterns across the polished stone floor. The air here was cool—artificially regulated by the environment protocols encoded in his [World-Integrated Vault]. The systems responded to his presence immediately, adjusting pressure and temperature like a living thing greeting its master.
Isaac stood still for a moment.
No one was here yet.
No one knew he'd returned.
And he preferred it that way.
He exhaled slowly, walking forward, his boots echoing softly against the quiet halls.
The throne of Wrath was dust behind him.
Satan's curse was nothing but a stat line now—tamed, absorbed, and buried beneath control.
Isaac didn't smile, but his shoulders eased.
He passed through the quiet corridor, gently touching the walls with his fingers. The structures he had forged with his own skill responded with warmth—walls that hummed softly with embedded energy, sigils that lit as he passed.
A home, not a battlefield.
A world of peace—so long as he stood to defend it.
At the far end, a balcony overlooked the inner core of Emberlight.
Lush forests, flowing rivers, glimmering structures, and hidden vaults sprawled in perfect balance below. Everything here had been placed with intent. His intent.
Isaac sat down on the edge of the balcony railing, one leg hanging lazily over the side.
He let out a long breath.
For the first time in a while, he simply… rested.
And then they felt him.
Somewhere deep within the realm, three hearts trembled at once.
Sylvalen was reading a treaty document in her study when her hand froze mid-signature. She stood up, the ink still dripping from her quill.
Lira was practicing mana loops by the lake when her entire body surged with heat and clarity. Her book fell into the water, forgotten.
Asmodeus—no, Asmodeus—was in the cathedral of Lilyshade, speaking to a group of advisors. She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes widened. Her voice caught.
Their bond had no need for words.
They knew.
He was back.
All three moved at once.
Sylvalen vanished in a blur of wind and ethereal leaves.
Lira surged upward in a pulse of white-blue light, lightning flashing around her feet.
Asmodeus ascended in a plume of midnight and rose-gold fire, her cloak trailing divine flame.
They converged on the upper balcony in less than a minute—no permission asked, no warning given.
Isaac heard them before he saw them—three heartbeats syncing across space.
He opened his eyes.
And they were there.
"Isaac!" Lira called first, her voice breaking with relief as she rushed forward.
Sylvalen followed a heartbeat later, arms already open. "You're safe…"
Asmodeus said nothing at first. She simply walked to him, placed her hand on his cheek, and exhaled.
"You came back," she whispered.
Isaac stood slowly, but they were already around him—hugging him, holding him, not caring about appearances or hierarchy or image.
Just him.
"Of course I came back," he said softly, his voice steady but warm.
He looked at each of them, one by one.
"I said I would."
In that moment, it didn't matter that he had slain a Sin.
Or that the world had changed.
All that mattered…
Was that he had returned.
To them.
Chapter 234: The World Trembles
The world didn't stop.
But it staggered.
When the celestial message flared across every known sky, when the words carved themselves into stone altars, temple walls, system cores, and divine archives alike—there was no more room for doubt, no corner of the world that could claim ignorance. It was an announcement not just of death, but of upheaval.
WORLD NOTICE
[The Great Demon of Wrath—Satan—has fallen.]
Slain by: Isaac
Title Earned: Slayer of Wrath
And for a breathless moment, all things stood still.
Then chaos rippled outward like the shockwave from a divine eruption.
In the Demon Realms
In the molten halls of Greed, the Great Demon Mammon—he who bathed in liquid currency and ruled contracts bound in blood and vice—dropped a goblet of smelted gold mid-sip. The metallic wine within hissed violently as it splattered against the veins of molten silver that pulsed through the floor. The goblet clattered, its handle twisted, almost weeping heat as if in mourning.
Mammon sat motionless upon his throne of obsidian and hoarded artifacts, his clawed fingers curling over the armrests until they groaned beneath his grip. Not a single advisor dared breathe. The silence around him was so absolute that even the ambient screaming of damned souls in his vault was momentarily smothered.
"That brute... actually lost," he murmured, more baffled than enraged. His eyes, like twin emerald furnaces, narrowed with cold intent. "Satan—the foundation of unchecked rage—snuffed out like a candle."
And then his voice dropped to a whisper, one far more dangerous than any roar.
"Isaac. A mortal. An anomaly. Not bound to Heaven or Hell. Not owned. Not shaped. Just... ascending."
He tilted his head back, a sharp-toothed grin beginning to crack through his golden-bearded face.
"I wonder what price you'd fetch," Mammon muttered, "or if you're beyond valuation."
In the Divine Realms
Far from Terra—across the veils of dimension and layered heavens—the Divine Realms stirred.
Within the radiant halls of the Tower of Judgment, floating in a realm of eternal law and celestial gravity, the Archangel Michael hovered mid-flight. One hand clutched the Horn of Reckoning, while the other froze over a parchment of divine records that had just begun to burn from the inside out.
Satan's name had vanished.
His wrath-born dominion—erased.
The eternal balance, held between Heaven and Abyss across countless worlds, had just shifted.
Michael's gaze narrowed. His aura pulsed. "Who is this mortal," he muttered, "who breaks chains between worlds?"
And far across that radiant realm, in a secluded sanctuary of blossoms untouched by war, Freya, the Goddess of Beauty, stood alone in thought. She watched the starlight shift, as one of the primal Sins vanished from the weave of divine fate.
She exhaled softly—gently, as if not to disturb the gravity of the moment.
"He burned the chains," she whispered.
Not just in Terra.
But across creation itself.
Across the Mortal World
On distant coasts and quiet plains, under temple roofs and battle-torn banners, the reaction was the same.
In the merchant republics, seers scrambled to reinterpret star alignments as their diagrams warped on contact with new divine flux.
In royal courts, scribes redrew family trees, hoping for some forgotten link to this man named Isaac—whose mere presence now threatened to reforge political dynasties.
In the streets, taverns, and alleys of the common folk, the name spread like fire on dry wood.
Isaac.
To some, he was a savior.
To others, a blasphemy.
To all, a name that could not be ignored.
The Great Demon of Wrath was dead.
Not sealed.
Not banished.
Dead.
And the one who did it—was not a god.
Not a prince of heaven.
Not a chosen prophet.
But a man.
A corpse once forgotten beneath the soil, now risen with fire in his eyes.
In the place where Wrath once reigned supreme...
A new flame began to rise.
And the world watched.
Chapter 235: A Flame at Rest
After the world trembled, after Satan fell and the balance between realms was shattered, the heavens waited for the next upheaval. But Isaac… did not. He didn't ascend another mountain or confront another divine. He didn't claim victory or broadcast his triumph. Instead, he let the ripples settle. He let the silence breathe. And in that pause, after flame and fury had passed, he made a simple choice—one rarely afforded to those with power.
He chose to rest.
To be still.
To be human.
Morning in Emberlight was unlike anywhere else in the world. The skies shimmered with gentle gold and lilac as mana-light diffused through crystalline canopies above. Mist curled between trees that never shed their leaves. Soft rivers carved smooth paths through sacred ground, and floating isles of bioluminescent flora drifted lazily overhead. The realm was alive—quietly aware, passively nurturing. Every element within it was soulbound to Isaac, and it hummed in harmony with him.
He sat barefoot in the middle of it all, atop a marble bench beside a glimmering koi pond. His robe—black and silver-trimmed—hung loosely around his frame. The lightest breeze stirred its edges as birds that had never known fear chirped nearby. In his hands, he held nothing. No weapon. No scroll. No battle plan.
Just time.
Time to breathe. Time to exist.
He sensed her before she arrived—Lira, approaching with a hesitance laced in affection. She didn't announce herself. She didn't speak. She simply came close, curled her arms around his shoulders from behind, and rested her head against his back like a girl afraid to let go of a dream.
"You're finally relaxing," she murmured after a moment, her breath warm through the thin fabric of his robe. "I was starting to think I'd have to challenge you to a duel just to make you stop."
Isaac smiled slightly, his hand brushing against hers. "And what would you wager for victory?"
She nuzzled against him with a quiet giggle. "Everything. But only if you promised to lose."
The sound of soft footfalls soon approached, light and graceful as moonlight across snow. Sylvalen entered the garden from the left, her silver-blonde hair cascading in waves over her pale blue dress embroidered with ethereal blossoms. Her presence brought a cooler calm—serenity and regal composure that never demanded attention, only invited it. She didn't speak immediately, nor did she rush to claim space.
Instead, she knelt beside Isaac and placed her hand gently over his, her gaze lifting to meet his with quiet certainty.
"You don't need to carry everything by yourself anymore," she said, her voice soft but firm. "You've done more than enough. Let us hold some of it—for a little while."
Isaac didn't answer right away, but his hand closed around hers, warm and steady.
Then came the flame.
A burst of gentle heat announced Asmodeus, whose arrival needed no fanfare. Dressed in crimson and gold, barefoot, with her long blonde braid trailing behind her like a comet's tail, she moved with the confidence of a queen but the intimacy of a woman deeply known. Her violet eyes caught Isaac's as she approached, one brow arched in amusement.
"I see my flame has cooled," she said teasingly. "Should I be concerned… or offer myself to relight it?"
Isaac tilted his head with a wry smile. "You're always welcome to try."
She leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth, and whispered close, "Then I'll burn slowly. All day, if you let me."
And so, beneath the shade of Emberlight's silver-leaf tree, the four of them gathered—no longer as warrior, noble, demon, or legend—but as people. Lira nestled against his left side, fingers tracing idle loops over the back of his hand. Sylvalen sat with one leg folded beneath her, reading from a book of elven poetry that shimmered faintly with illusion, pausing to explain phrases only she knew. Asmodeus reclined against the pillows behind them, her head resting in Isaac's lap, humming an old lullaby her people hadn't sung in centuries.
There was no battle today. No diplomacy. No decisions.
Just quiet laughter. Shared fruit. Teacups that refilled themselves. The occasional sleepy joke about Emberlight's garden golems developing personalities. The comfort of silence shared between souls that had burned together and survived.
And Isaac—slayer of demons, breaker of laws, reborn corpse turned sovereign—said nothing grand. He didn't narrate his path or ask what came next. Instead, he watched them, listened to their breaths, the soft cadence of their voices, and felt something deeper than victory.
He felt belonging.
The sun rose higher, casting golden latticework across the crystal dome overhead. They moved inside not long after—into the heart of the Emberlight sanctuary, where thick cushions, gentle music, and glowing lanterns waited. They didn't rush. No one pulled or demanded. They simply stayed near, touched, and let the weight of love replace the weight of power.
And maybe—just maybe—beneath that calm, behind Isaac's quiet expression, there was the faintest smile.
Because he knew this moment couldn't last forever.
But he also knew…
He'd earned it.
Chapter 236: The Sky Sends Word
It had been several days since Satan fell—since wrath was unmade and balance rewritten. The realm of Emberlight had quietly adjusted to the ripple of that change, its ley-lines warmer, its trees more luminous, as if recognizing its master's deepening strength.
But peace could never remain untouched for long.
Not in a world that watched Isaac with bated breath.
They returned to the Elven Kingdom just as the sun dipped behind the twin peaks bordering the capital. The Teleportation Gate beneath the canopy of crystalwood trees flared softly as Isaac stepped through, followed closely by Sylvalen, Lira, and Asmodeus. The transition was seamless, but the moment they emerged, an escort of royal guards was already waiting.
One bowed low, head down, and spoke with barely restrained urgency.
"Your Highness, Lord Isaac… the Council requests your presence immediately. A visitor awaits—an envoy from Arx Aurelia."
Isaac's brow lifted. He glanced sideways at Sylvalen, whose expression shifted from calm to contemplative.
"Asmodeus?" he asked casually.
She shook her head. "Not one of mine."
"Lira?"
The youngest among them looked just as surprised. "I've heard the name before… but only in stories."
Isaac exhaled slowly. "Then I suppose it's story time."
The Council chamber was quieter than usual—no political squabbling, no veiled suspicion. Only tension. All six dynasties were present, their representatives seated with perfect formality. In the center of the chamber stood an elegant woman clad in slate-blue robes trimmed in starmetal thread. Her insignia bore a silver spire entwined with a ring of twelve stars.
She didn't speak—not yet. She merely nodded with composed grace as Isaac entered, flanked by the three women whose presence now commanded as much awe as his own.
Before the envoy could introduce herself, Isaac turned to Sylvalen. "I've heard the name Arx Aurelia before… but I want to hear it from you."
She nodded, stepping forward with poise, her voice clear.
"Arx Aurelia," Sylvalen began, "is not a city. It is a sovereign nation suspended high above Terra—held aloft by divine ley-lines and ancient gravity crystals that defy the bounds of the natural world. Some call it the Crown of the Skies. Others whisper its name as myth. But I assure you, it is very real."
Isaac folded his arms. "How high are we talking?"
"Thousands of meters," she replied. "Entirely inaccessible except by designated teleportation nexuses, all of which are protected by arcane gating. Its presence touches nearly a tenth of the continent—not through conquest, but through influence. Culture, knowledge, and magical superiority flow down from it like water from a mountain peak."
Lira, curious now, tilted her head. "So it's… an empire of learning?"
"In a sense," Sylvalen agreed. "At the center of Arx Aurelia lies the Aurelia Spire Academy—the most prestigious institution on Terra. Built atop the floating island known as Spireheart, it trains heroes, monarchs, warlords, and legends. To graduate from it is to guarantee your name is remembered."
Isaac raised a brow. "Is it just for nobles?"
"No," Sylvalen replied. "That's what makes it so powerful. While many royals do attend, it is merit—not blood—that opens its gates. Anyone with enough strength, knowledge, or potential can gain entry… if they survive the trials."
Asmodeus's expression turned thoughtful. "I've heard of it… but only whispers. They don't meddle in wars. They don't pick sides. Arx Aurelia guards its neutrality with iron resolve. Their airspace is sacred."
"Correct," Sylvalen confirmed. "But despite that neutrality, their graduates shape kingdoms. Even the Six Dynasties of the Elves regard Arx Aurelia with caution and respect."
Lira asked, "What do they teach?"
"Everything," Sylvalen said simply. "Combat Mastery, magical theory, soulcrafting, divine lore, forbidden histories, tactical warfare, leadership… even familiar bonding and beast taming. Their curriculum is vast. Ruthless. And unmatched."
Isaac looked at the envoy for the first time. "So why are they here now?"
The woman finally stepped forward, bowing with graceful precision. Her voice was melodic and calm.
"Because the sky no longer trembles above you. It listens. Arx Aurelia has taken notice, Lord Isaac… and the Headmaster-Primarch wishes to meet the man who burned Wrath from existence."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Isaac chuckled—softly, but genuinely.
"And what do you think I'll find up there?"
The envoy smiled faintly.
"Opportunity. Danger. Curiosity. And perhaps… equals."
Chapter 237: Envoy of the Spire
The moon had risen by the time the council recessed and the formalities faded into stillness. The great marble-and-crystal halls of the Elven capital, cradled within the boughs of the world's oldest trees, now shimmered under starlight. All that remained was the scent of cool wind and the hush of guarded anticipation.
Isaac stood quietly on a high balcony, arms folded over his chest. His cloak, black as the abyss and trimmed with silver fire, fluttered faintly in the breeze. Behind him, the envoy from Arx Aurelia stepped forward—not with the arrogance of a messenger from a skyborn nation, but with the measured grace of someone sent to speak with a sovereign.
He didn't turn to face her immediately. "I thought they'd want to test me," he said calmly. "Or at least lecture me about consequences."
"They considered both," she replied, her voice soft yet composed. "But the Headmaster overruled them. He said there's no point measuring what's already beyond the scale."
Isaac glanced at her. "That sounds like someone trying very hard not to offend me."
"He's trying not to underestimate you," the envoy corrected. "That's not the same."
She took another step closer. "Which brings me to the purpose of my arrival."
Isaac waited.
"The Headmaster-Primarch of Aurelia Spire Academy requests your presence at the academy… as a teacher. Not as a student, not as a guest, but as an instructor of your own design."
A silence settled between them.
Isaac stared at her evenly. "You want me to teach?"
"Your power is not just unprecedented—it's disruptive to everything we thought we knew. You have knowledge, perspective, and abilities that rewrite established doctrine. The Headmaster believes your very presence would shift the next generation of prodigies. That is why he extends this offer."
He exhaled through his nose, glancing up at the twin moons hovering over the canopy. "I'm not a lecturer. I don't care about blackboards or theory."
The envoy's lips curved faintly. "We don't want a lecturer. We want a flame that doesn't follow a wick. We want someone who can make students rethink the very fabric of reality."
She reached into a shimmering satchel at her side and withdrew a rectangular object, wrapped in black silk and sealed with a crimson rune that shimmered faintly with divine suppression.
"And there is one more thing," she said, holding it carefully.
Isaac turned.
"I'm listening."
"As a token of trust—and as part of the reward for accepting—the Headmaster offers this: a second copy of the Journal of Herodotus."
At those words, Isaac's expression changed.
The air around him stilled.
"You have another copy?" he asked, voice lower now. Controlled.
The envoy nodded. "The original was believed lost across dimensions. But Arx Aurelia preserved a second transcription within the Pinnacle Library. It was sealed—restricted to the Primarch and the Executors alone. Until now."
Isaac took a step forward, eyes narrowing. "That journal… taught me that Terra isn't what it pretends to be. That the gods we see aren't the gods that came first."
"And what you've seen," she said gently, "barely scratches the surface. The Headmaster believes you've earned the right to read more."
Isaac looked down at the journal in her hands, then toward the distant floating glow in the night sky—the ambassador's skyship, hovering far above the Elven capital. He didn't answer immediately. But the thought had already taken root.
It wasn't just curiosity now.
It was confirmation.
More secrets. More truth. And perhaps… more weapons hidden in knowledge.
"I'll visit," he said finally. "But I'm not making any promises about staying."
"That is more than enough," she replied, bowing deeply. "The sky will prepare to receive you."
As she turned and vanished into the corridor, Isaac remained for a time, standing beneath the stars with the faintest flicker of anticipation in his gaze.
A second copy of Herodotus's Journal.
A teacher's invitation.
And a floating kingdom of secrets waiting to be cracked open.
He didn't know what awaited in Arx Aurelia…
But he intended to find out.
Chapter 238: Into the Sky
The morning sky blazed with hues of silver and gold as the skyship descended like a divine bird from the clouds.
It hovered just above the Elven capital, an enormous vessel carved from celestial metal and anchored by swirling ley-lines. The hull gleamed with mirrored enchantments, while its wings—broad arcs of floating crystal—shifted with every wind current, held aloft by gravity defiance and divine engineering. Above it, silver banners fluttered with the insignia of Arx Aurelia: a spire crowned by twelve stars, radiating upward.
From below, the Elves watched in silence, a mixture of awe and reverence in their eyes. Even the most hardened soldiers could not look away from the vessel that had arrived without a sound, yet carried the presence of a god's command.
This was not a diplomatic visit.
It was an invitation from the sky itself.
Isaac stood atop the balcony with Sylvalen, Lira, and Asmodeus at his side. All three wore travel garments designed for comfort and mobility—elegant yet practical, woven from Emberlight threads that shimmered faintly under sunlight. The aura surrounding them was unmistakable: the flame-born sovereign, the elf-princess of moonlight, the storm-touched mage, and the great demon in golden guise.
The Elven Council stood nearby, their eyes lingering on Isaac with the same blend of admiration and unease they had shown since the fall of Wrath.
"You don't have to go," one councilor said, though his voice betrayed the futility of the suggestion.
"I do," Isaac replied calmly. "And not just for them. I want to see what the sky hides."
Lira clutched his sleeve as they began to walk. "Are you sure it's safe?"
He smiled. "No. But that's what makes it worth it."
The envoy stood at the ship's lower platform, hands behind her back. Her expression was serene, but even she seemed more alert now—perhaps aware of the weight these four carried.
"The ship is yours for the journey," she said respectfully. "Once aboard, it will rise without pause until we reach Arx Aurelia's border. The ascent will take approximately two hours."
Isaac nodded. "Then let's go."
The ramp shimmered beneath their feet, pulsing with runic light as they stepped aboard. The interior of the vessel opened like a blooming lotus—polished floors of white-gold wood, walls etched with ancient script, and windows that offered a panoramic view of the sky.
Asmodeus let out a low hum of appreciation. "I must admit… they know how to travel in style."
Sylvalen's gaze was more analytical, scanning the arcane anchors and floating orbs that powered the vessel. "This ship isn't just transportation. It's a sanctuary. A fortress."
Lira, wide-eyed, rushed to the edge of a transparent observation deck. "It's like flying inside a star…"
Isaac joined her at the edge, gazing down at the shrinking world below. The forests of the Elven Kingdom began to stretch into distant tapestry. Mountain ridges curved along the horizon. The clouds parted, not above them—but beneath.
The ship rose higher. Past birds. Past sky serpents. Past the breath of storms.
Terra lay beneath them now.
And ahead—Arx Aurelia awaited.
As they soared upward, the sun caught Isaac's eyes. He raised his hand slightly, letting its warmth press into his palm.
"It's strange," he murmured. "The higher we go, the smaller everything else becomes."
Sylvalen stepped beside him. "But some things grow clearer the higher you rise."
Asmodeus leaned against the opposite rail, violet eyes glinting. "Let's see what the sky hides, then."
Lira grinned, her hair swept up by the wind. "Together?"
Isaac nodded, answering without hesitation. "Together."
And so, as the skyship pierced the boundary between world and sky, four figures stood at its heart. Sovereign and scholar, mage and demon, bound not by title or blood—but by choice.
Rising toward a nation that floated above the clouds.
Toward a place where power and purpose would be tested.
Toward the Crown of the Skies.
Chapter 239: The Spireheart
The moment they crossed the final ley-gate, the world changed.
A surge of pressure passed through the skyship—gentle, like mist brushing skin, yet ancient in weight. It was not a barrier, not exactly. More a veil. An invisible curtain that separated the world below from the nation above. And as it parted, the realm of Arx Aurelia revealed itself in full.
Gasps escaped without shame.
Even Isaac's breath paused for a moment.
Arx Aurelia did not float like a city.
It soared like a celestial kingdom.
Vast crystalline landmasses drifted in tiered layers across a sea of blue-gold sky, held aloft by radiant gravity anchors embedded in the floating isles. Bridges of light and carved stone stretched between districts that shimmered with activity—academies, libraries, temples, dueling coliseums, alchemical towers, and plazas paved in living sigils. Celestial rings orbited the outer rim of the capital, pulsing with energy so dense it distorted the light.
And at the center of it all… stood the Spireheart.
A single, impossibly tall structure of translucent aetherglass that pierced the heavens. It radiated calm authority—an axis around which all else revolved. Golden spires wound around it like vines, and great banners bearing the crest of Arx Aurelia streamed from its balconies, untouched by gravity.
Isaac had seen many impossible things.
But this… was constructed awe.
The skyship angled gracefully toward a floating platform covered in glowing tiles, where mages in azure robes awaited. Dozens of students and faculty stood in neat formation, though their discipline was tested by wide eyes and barely-hidden murmurs. They knew who was coming. Word of Isaac's arrival had already spread.
As the vessel settled into its docking position, Lira pressed against the window in stunned silence.
"This place… it's like a dream made solid," she whispered. "Is that a floating waterfall over there?"
"Yes," Sylvalen answered quietly. "That one powers their purification channels. The water cycles through the floating districts and never touches the ground."
"I can feel the mana everywhere," Asmodeus added, her tone less teasing, more contemplative. "Even the ley-lines below us hum with respect. They've turned the sky into a throne."
Isaac said nothing yet. He simply watched.
The ramp extended with a chime of arcane tone, and as Isaac stepped down with the three women behind him, all conversation on the platform ceased.
The wind shifted slightly, rippling his coat. His presence was quiet, but absolute.
Eyes widened.
Students froze.
Some bowed by instinct.
And from the end of the welcome line stepped an older man—bald, his white beard trimmed to a perfect line, eyes like molten bronze. He wore a deep violet mantle bearing the insignia of twelve stars around a spire. He stopped only a few steps away from Isaac and offered a respectful nod.
"Lord Isaac. Welcome to Arx Aurelia," he said. "I am Executor Vaelus, Dean of Integration and representative of the Council of Executors. On behalf of our Headmaster-Primarch, I bid you honor, and peace."
Isaac studied the man's stance. Calm. Measured. No fear, but no arrogance either.
"Thanks," he said. "I'm here to look. That's all—for now."
"Of course," Vaelus replied smoothly. "We will offer you privacy, accommodations, and unrestricted access to the non-sealed sectors of the Spireheart. When you are ready, the Headmaster will receive you."
Isaac gave a single nod. "Good."
And with that, the first step was complete.
As they were led from the platform into the floating city proper, Sylvalen quietly leaned toward him. "What do you think?"
Isaac glanced around once more—at the gravity-defying halls, the spellwork etched into every stone, the disciplined formation of curious eyes watching him from every balcony and tower.
He smiled, faint but honest.
"I think this place was built by people who were never content with the ground," he said. "I can respect that."