Chapter 928: My master had been generous. You denied his generosity.
Aelyra was once again in the war room when the report arrived.
The castle on the far eastern edge remained surrounded by rain, wind, and violent waves crashing against the black cliffs below the walls. Outside, the sea roared as if trying to climb the stones and invade the halls, but at that moment, not even the sound of the storm seemed enough to fill the tense silence inside the room. Captains, advisers, and agents stood scattered around the large circular table, avoiding looking directly at the Monarch of Stormy Tides while they waited for her next word.
The subordinate kneeling before the table was soaked, not only by the rain, but by the cold sweat running beneath his collar. He had run from the lower communication post, crossing corridors, stairways, and inner courtyards to personally deliver the information. Normally, reports from external operations passed through three layers of verification before reaching Aelyra, but that situation had stopped being normal the instant Asgard responded.
Aelyra kept her fingers on the edge of the table.
"Repeat that."
The subordinate swallowed hard.
"Asgard has been completely sealed, my lady. No trains enter or leave. Every gate has been locked. The known underground routes have also been sealed, and the external barriers have been raised in layers."
Aelyra narrowed her eyes.
"And the secondary groups?"
The man lowered his head a little further.
"Dead."
The word crossed the room like a stone thrown into still water.
Several advisers exchanged discreet glances. One captain tightened his jaw. The woman in black robes who had coordinated part of the operation remained motionless, but her fingers tensed slightly around the hilt of a dagger.
Aelyra remained silent for a few seconds.
"Dead how?"
The subordinate looked as though he wished that question had never been asked.
"Instantly, my lady."
The Monarch of Stormy Tides slowly turned her face.
"Explain."
"The groups that tried to approach the external barriers were destroyed before touching the first defensive layer. Some were carbonized by white fire. Others froze from a black energy the agents described as living ice. A third group simply disappeared when they tried to cross a runic containment zone. There was no battle."
The room remained still.
"There was no battle?" Aelyra repeated.
"No, my lady."
"So they died to a wall?"
The subordinate hesitated.
"To the city, my lady."
That answer seemed to irritate her even more.
Aelyra closed her eyes and brought two fingers to her temple, slowly massaging the painful point beginning to throb above her eyebrow. It was not fear, she told herself. It was irritation. Irritation at the incompetence of assassins who had been given enough resources, information, routes, and protection to execute one simple task. Enter, take the child, leave. Nothing beyond that.
Even so, they had all failed.
"Useless," she murmured.
No one answered.
"Useless, expensive, and dead."
The subordinate remained kneeling, waiting for the rest of the order.
Aelyra took a deep breath, trying to regain control. The operation may have failed, but that did not mean everything was lost. If the child had not yet been recovered by Strax, there was room for negotiation. If she had been taken out of Asgard, perhaps there was still a route. If any agent had survived, perhaps there was something to salvage.
She opened her eyes.
"And the child, did they manage to—"
The sentence died before it could end.
Aelyra felt it.
It was not sound.
It was not tremor.
It was not ordinary magic.
It was presence.
A devastating aura appeared at the far opposite edge of the horizon, so heavy that it crossed the sea, the wind, the rain, and the walls of her castle as if all those defenses were nothing but wet paper. The first came like a blade driven into her chest. The second arrived soon after. Then another. And another. And another.
At least twelve.
Aelyra went completely still.
So did the war room.
Several captains reflexively moved their hands to their weapons, though none of them knew what they intended to fight. The weaker ones simply went pale. The kneeling subordinate lost his balance and placed one hand on the floor to keep from falling.
Aelyra ran to the window.
Rain-laden wind rushed in violently when she pushed the heavy curtains aside. Her eyes turned west, crossing the dark sky beyond the cliffs and stormy waves. For an instant, all she saw were dense clouds, occasionally cut by distant lightning.
Then the clouds opened.
Aelyra froze.
On the western horizon, above the sea, there were dragons.
Not one.
Not two.
At least ten.
Perhaps more, considering the gigantic shadows moving behind the clouds. They advanced in a broad formation, each carrying its own aura, its own colors, its own wings, and a different nature. One had scales as red as freshly stirred embers. Another possessed a long, serpentine body covered in bluish plates that reflected lightning. There was a dark green dragon whose wings seemed made of metallic leaves, another white with silver markings, another golden, another ashen, another covered in black and red spikes.
But none of them was the main problem.
The problem was the dragon at the front.
Completely black.
So enormous that it made all the others seem like mere shadows around it. Its immense body cut through the clouds with a terrible slowness, not because it was weak, but because it had no need for haste. Its wings stretched like torn pieces of the night itself, covering part of the sky while lightning slid over its scales without harming it. Its head was colossal, crowned with long, curved horns, and its eyes shone like two golden abysses.
It was larger than the palace.
Much larger.
Larger than the towers.
Larger than the outer wall.
Larger than any creature Aelyra had ever seen outside ancient forbidden illustrations.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
"W-what the fuck is that..."
She did not finish.
A hand closed around the back of her neck.
Firm.
Warm.
Impossibly close.
Aelyra’s entire body reacted before her mind did. Mana exploded around her, spiritual tides swirling like liquid blades, but the hand did not move. On the contrary, it tightened just enough to make her understand that her resistance had been considered and ignored.
Aelyra slowly turned her face.
And saw a demon.
Albedo stood behind her.
Her eyes glowed with a cruel light, and the smile on her face held no trace of sweetness. Her dark wings were partially open, her tail moved slowly behind her, and her fingers held the Monarch’s nape with offensive naturalness, as if she were grabbing a disobedient servant by the collar.
"The master said he will deal with you personally," Albedo said.
Aelyra tried to speak.
She could not.
Because at that same instant, she noticed the rest of the room.
The guards were dead.
All of them.
There had been no scream.
No battle.
Not even enough time to notice when it had happened. Bodies were scattered throughout the hall, some fallen beside the doors, others over the table, others near the walls. The captains who had previously stood in military posture now lay motionless, empty-eyed, their weapons still partially caught in their sheaths. Even the most experienced agents had died without completing a single movement.
Behind Albedo, a little farther away, Lithara sat on the edge of the circular table with a bored expression. In one hand, she held one of the guards’ heads by the hair, studying the dead face as though examining a defective object.
"The master is very generous," Lithara said, tilting her head. "But you were not courteous at all."
Aelyra felt her throat go dry.
Lithara smiled.
Then the head in her hand exploded into a dark mass of mana and fragments, dissolving before it even touched the floor. It was not a necessary act. It was a demonstration. A simple way of saying the guards, the captains, and every name gathered in that room had never been obstacles.
Aelyra tried to gather mana again.
Albedo tightened her grip on the back of her neck.
Pain shot down her spine like lightning.
"Do not do that," the succubus said. "I very much want you to, but the master asked that you arrive whole."
"You invaded my castle," Aelyra whispered, trying to recover some authority even while her body trembled.
Lithara laughed.
"Invasion implies difficulty."
Albedo brought her face closer to Aelyra’s ear.
"This was a visit."
Outside, the sky darkened even further.
The black dragon advanced.
With each beat of its wings, the sea below retreated for an instant before rising again in distorted waves. The castle’s external magical defenses began to ignite, ancient circles of protection engraved into the cliffs, walls, and towers. They were barriers built to withstand naval fleets, sea monsters, and attacks from other Monarchs.
The black dragon merely opened its mouth.
Aelyra saw dark light gather between the creature’s fangs.
It was not ordinary fire.
It was not ordinary ice.
It was an impossible mixture, energy white at the edges and black at the center, spinning like a dead star inside a storm.
The castle’s barriers shattered before it even fired.
Not from impact.
From fear.
The ancient runes went out one after another, unable to maintain form before that pressure. The mages responsible for the defensive towers fainted at their posts, and the support crystals cracked like cheap glass.
Aelyra watched everything with wide eyes.
"That is not Strax..."
Albedo smiled.
"It is."
"No."
The denial came instinctively.
Because her mind refused to accept that the man who had humiliated her in the Imperial Palace was the same thing now covering the sky with a body large enough to swallow her castle.
Lithara jumped down from the table and walked to the window, cleaning her fingers as if the crushed head had left some inconvenient dirt.
"It is. He was simply being polite before."
Aelyra laughed once.
Short.
Desperate.
"Polite?"
Albedo pulled her by the nape and forced her to look at the sky again.
"The master let you live."
The black dragon drew closer and closer.
Around it, the other dragons continued advancing, spreading across the sky like an escort of calamities. They were not ordinary soldiers. They were not mounts. They were not tamed beasts. Each one carried awareness, power, and hostility directed at Aelyra’s castle.
"And you touched his daughter," Albedo completed.
Aelyra closed her mouth.
For the first time since giving the kidnapping order, she understood the true scale of her mistake.
Not the political scale.
Not the military scale.
The physical scale.
The size of the thing coming for her.
...
Far away, in the Heavenly Capital, the Heavenly Emperor was sitting in his private office when the letter arrived.
The hall was spacious, quiet, and illuminated by large panels of golden light filtering the glow of evening. Unlike the throne room, where everything was designed to intimidate visitors, this office had a more restrained atmosphere. Ancient maps covered one wall, reports from different provinces were organized on side tables, and magical seals floated discreetly around the room to prevent espionage.
Derick was the one who brought the letter.
He entered silently, crossed the long carpet, and handed the envelope to the Emperor with an expression that already indicated trouble.
"It came from Asgard."
The Emperor raised his eyes.
"From Strax?"
"Yes."
The envelope was sealed with compressed draconic mana. It was not a beautiful seal. It did not try to be diplomatic. It was a mark of pressure, as if the paper itself had been forced to obey before being sent.
The Emperor broke the seal.
He read.
The silence that followed was long.
Derick remained motionless, waiting.
The Emperor read it again.
Then he lowered the letter onto the desk with an almost tired slowness.
"That idiot..."
Derick closed his eyes for an instant.
"Aelyra?"
"Who else would it be?"
The Emperor ran a hand over his face, something rare enough for Derick to understand the situation was worse than it seemed.
"What did she do?"
The Emperor picked up the letter again and read one of the lines, though not aloud. His expression grew darker with every second.
"She ordered the kidnapping of a child under Strax’s protection."
Derick went still.
Then breathed deeply.
"That is worse than I expected."
"No. That is exactly the kind of stupidity someone commits after being humiliated and thinking revenge is strategy."
The Emperor stood and walked to the office window, looking down at the capital below. For years, he had dealt with ambitious, proud, dangerous, and difficult Monarchs. There were ways to control egos. Ways to redirect rivalries. Ways to prevent small personal wars from becoming continental crises.
But dragons were different.
Dragons did not respond to etiquette in the same way.
They were not intimidated by titles.
They did not ask permission to retaliate.
And Strax, specifically, had already shown that he possessed enough strength, allies, and willingness to turn any political mistake into a historical event.
"Why irritate a fucking dragon..." the Emperor murmured.
Derick approached a few steps.
"Does the letter say what he intends to do?"
The Emperor let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Not exactly."
"Then is there room for mediation?"
The Emperor looked at him.
"He wrote that I lost a Monarch."
Derick fell silent.
The answer was enough.
The Emperor returned his gaze to the window.
In the distance, the bells of the capital began to ring, not for celebration, but for cabinet mobilization. He already knew messengers, advisers, and generals would soon be running through the corridors demanding decisions, permissions, and orders.
But at that moment, the truth was simple.
Aelyra had created a problem no one might be able to stop.
The Emperor closed his eyes for an instant.
"Prepare a delegation."
Derick raised an eyebrow.
"To stop Strax?"
"Do not be ridiculous."
"Then for what?"
The Emperor carefully folded the letter.
"To try to save whatever is left."
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