Chapter 154: Chapter 153. Who Are You People?
Roxanne hovered just above the two Aerthysian fleets, her shadow passing over the decks, waiting, watching. One by one, people emerged from the ships—sailors, soldiers, and civilians—faces lifted skyward in confusion and awe as they took in the sight of her demon wings spread wide against the sky. Murmurs rippled through the fleets, fear mixing with fragile hope.
As they watched the horizon, the distant silhouettes of ships cutting across the sea came into clearer view. The banners were unmistakable, Aerthysian sails fleeing in disarray, pursued relentlessly by massive Calonian vessels.
Even from this distance, the difference in scale was horrifying. The Calonian ships loomed larger and heavier, built for conquest rather than travel. The faces of the Aerthysians aboard the ships under them drained of color. Fear spread like wildfire.
A sudden blur of motion drew Roxanne’s attention.
Alariel, leader of the elves, leapt gracefully from the deck of her ship, hovering in the air as if the wind itself had chosen to hold her aloft. Her silver hair streamed behind her, eyes sharp and ancient as they fixed on Roxanne, then drifted past her.
Ashkareth. The moment Alariel sensed him, her breath caught. A dark, crushing power radiated from the horned figure nearby, vast and oppressive, almost rivaling the might of the emperor she saw in front of her. It’s a destruction given form, raw and unapologetic.
Then she realized something else. The same terrifying presence echoed within Roxanne, the emperor herself. Her gaze snapped back to the crimson-eyed emperor, understanding flickering across her expression.
"He’s my father," Roxanne said calmly, as if answering a question Alariel hadn’t dared to voice. "The Demon Lord."
Ashkareth’s lips curled into a faint sneer as his eyes turned toward the elf. "And who might you be?" he asked, his voice heavy with disdain and ancient pride.
Roxanne shifted slightly between them, her tone smooth but firm. "She is Alariel, leader of the elves of Aerthysia." Then she inclined her head toward the horned demon beside her. "And this is Ashkareth—my father, the Grand Duke of Elvaris."
No hands were offered. No formal greetings were exchanged. They merely nodded, an acknowledgment filled with caution and unspoken tension, before returning their attention to the approaching danger beyond the horizon.
For millennia, elves had believed demons to be their natural opposite. Where elven power was nurturing, bound to growth and preservation, demon power was said to exist solely for ruin and annihilation. It was a belief carved into their histories, their teachings, and their very blood.
Alariel held that belief still, unaware that the demons of Kaelindor aren’t what her ancestors had feared. She was unaware that the demons in Kaeliondor are Afrit’s beloved race.
"Oh," Ashkareth muttered, squinting as he focused on the distant chase. "Shall we call Leonhart?" He tilted his head slightly, then frowned. "And how exactly can you see that far?"
"My wife shared her spirit’s senses with me," Roxanne replied calmly, eyes never leaving the horizon. Her crimson gaze is sharp and unwavering. "I can see it clearly. Eight Calonian ships. Thousands of orcs."
Her jaw tightened. "Vivianne already informed Mara. Leonhart will rush here the moment he hears."
Ashkareth clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. "That man and his endless wars."
"Who is Leonhart?" Alariel asked, her voice betraying both confusion and fear.
She hovered slightly behind Roxanne now, instinctively aware of her place. The oppressive presence of the two alphas before her, the demon lord and his daughter, pressed down on her senses. And now they spoke of another warrior, casually, as if monsters of that caliber were commonplace here.
"There’s another lunatic like these two on this continent?" she muttered under her breath, dread creeping into her tone. "Just how strong are the people of Kaelindor...?"
"A musclehead," Roxanne replied flatly, not bothering to glance back. "You’ll see him soon enough, Queen. He flies on a gryphon."
Alariel stiffened. "A gryphon?" Her voice rose despite herself, disbelief flashing across her delicate features. "That’s a myth, something from old tales and children’s stories."
Ashkareth turned slowly, staring at her as if she had just admitted to believing the sky was painted each morning. "Gryphons are everywhere," he said bluntly. "They simply refuse to answer anyone who isn’t of beastman blood or lineage."
He narrowed his eyes, studying her more closely, and then his gaze settled on her pointed ears. "Oh," he said, realization dawning. "You’re from the other continent. The one sustained by the Tree of Life."
Alariel nodded stiffly. "That explains it," Ashkareth continued. "Different myths. Different truths."
He turned back toward the sea just as another distant boom rolled across the horizon, faint but unmistakable. The Calonian ships were closing in fast. The wind shifted, carrying with it the echo of war.
Not long after, Red flew low over the water; he hovered close to the Aerthysian ships. He gestured firmly toward the western horizon, his voice carrying through magic rather than sound, instructing the captains to steer their ships toward the island roughly three miles west, following the curve of the shore.
"Move and dock there. That land is safe for you all. The emperor grants that land for you to stay."
Red’s voice carried effortlessly across the sea, deep and commanding, layered with demonic resonance that brooked no argument. Behind him hovered another battalion of mixed-blood demon knights, wings spread wide, their silhouettes dark against the bright sky.
Below, ships carrying those elite Borgia knights who couldn’t fly cut through the water at full speed, oars and sails working in unison as they raced to stay close to their emperor, already preparing for the possibility of war.
On the Aerthysian decks, people froze. Eyes turned toward Alariel. Fear, hope, exhaustion, and disbelief warred across their faces. These people had fled one continent only to be hunted across the sea, their lives reduced to drifting wood and prayer.
Now an emperor, one not their own, had spoken, offering land and safety. Alariel met their gazes, feeling the weight of centuries settle on her shoulders. She inhaled slowly, steadying herself, then nodded once.
That’s all it took. Relief broke like a wave. Orders were relayed quickly. Sails shifted. The massive vessels began to turn, slow but obedient, guided by a power they dared not question.
-
The vessels drew closer, their silhouettes cutting through the haze of sea mist. Roxanne said nothing at first, holding her position in the air, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
She knew exactly where the invisible boundary lay, the line where Kaelindor’s mana thinned and then vanished entirely. Vivianne’s shared senses traced it clearly in her mind, a faint but unmistakable divide etched into the world itself.
"Let them come to us," Roxanne said at last, her voice calm but firm. "We can’t move past that line. They can."
She lifted her hand, and a thin line of fire ignited in the air before them, hovering just above the waves. It was small, controlled, but unmistakable—a marker, a warning, a boundary drawn by imperial will. "Beyond this," she continued, "our land’s mana won’t reach. Our bodies will feel heavier. Slower. We’ll be on even footing with them there." She rolled her eyes faintly. "Not that I’m afraid—but they’re nearly two thousand. We’re barely a thousand at best."
Ashkareth let out a low chuckle, a sharp smirk curling his lips. "Since when did you become this soft?"
"Oh, shut up, Father," Roxanne shot back without looking at him.
Before the exchange could continue, a sudden shift rippled through the air. Cool, weightless pressure enveloped them all, like being submerged in clear, flowing water. A translucent barrier formed around their ranks, shimmering faintly with gentle light.
Alariel startled, eyes widening as she instinctively drew back. "What is this?" she asked, her voice tight with alarm.
"Undine’s protection," Roxanne replied evenly. "My wife’s power. She’s the bearer of the Spirit Kings."
The elf queen swallowed. For the Aerthysians, even witnessing a single spirit manifest was a sacred, near-mythic event. To see protection woven by a Spirit King and extended so effortlessly to hundreds of warriors is terrifying. Reverent. It explained, suddenly and vividly, how the empress had destroyed an entire Calonian elite ship without hesitation before.
Then the sky darkened. Shadows swept across the sea as hundreds of beastman warriors descended from above, riding gryphons whose wings beat like rolling thunder.
They filled the air in disciplined arcs, forming ranks above the demons and Borgia elite knights. As one, the gryphons dipped their heads toward Roxanne in acknowledgment, recognizing her strength without question.
"Where are those damn rats?" Leonhart called out as he flew lower beside Roxanne, finishing his formal bow to Roxanne with a grin still on his face.
"Closer than you think," Roxanne replied. "Don’t cross the fire line. We fight them here."
Leonhart didn’t ask for clarification, as Roxanne trusted him to do as she said. "Aye aye, Your Highness," he said cheerfully. "Form up!"
The battlefield organized itself in moments. Beastmen surged to the front, muscles coiled, claws and weapons ready. Behind them, the Borgia elite knights took position, armor gleaming faintly under the barrier’s light.
The demon forces fell back slightly, forming a rear line of magical support, hands already glowing with magic. Those who were more with the offense power stood forward. Those who were in defensive power waited behind, supporting.
Roxanne remained at the center, with Ashkareth and Leonhart flanking her like twin pillars of destruction. "They’re about two thousand orcs," Roxanne said, eyes narrowed as she tracked the approaching ships.
"We’re around two hundred," she added calmly. "Give or take."
Leonhart’s grin widened. "Then ten each," he said lightly. "Easy."
Alariel stared at him in disbelief, fear breaking through her composure. "Easy?" she echoed. "Those orcs are resistant to magic—their hides are thick, their bodies built for war!"
Leonhart turned slowly to look at her, brows knitting together as if he’d just noticed her presence. "Who’s she?" he asked bluntly.
