Holy Land,
Somewhere in the depths of the Pope's Palace, beneath the many floors of the massive structure, lay a small room painted all in white, with no door or window to be found. The brightness of the white paint seemed to radiate at all times, illuminating everything.
It seemed like a prison, but the man who lived there was more than willing as he awaited the right moment to take action. For him, the isolation was the time to focus and prepare himself for what was to come—no matter to his liking or not, things had to be done.
Thud!
Abruptly, a portion of the white wall moved apart in blocks and created a pathway inside. Through it walked a man in white robes, covered from head to toe, including half of his face. His unusually large golden staff appeared imposing, especially with its emblem of the Solis.
"It has begun," the fiercely robed man said in an authoritative voice. "Don your armor and fulfill your duty as bestowed upon you by the true gods."
"Hah, true gods?" The white and long beard of the elderly man fluttered. Having resided in that room for so long, yet remaining mentally sharp, he stood and donned his clothes. "Where does this all end?"
"When they are satisfied," the white-robed man replied.
"Five thousand years have passed, and they are still not content—Something suggests to me they will never be satisfied," the bearded man said and picked up his own staff adorned with precious orbs and crystals. "Tell me—all those years ago, did you befriend me because you wanted to or because they instructed you to?"
The robed man squeezed his eyes beneath the half-mask. "I am not their slave. I am capable of having personal opinions. My friendship with you was real."
"Of course." A snarky retort escaped the old man's mouth. "With strings attached? Let's be done with this—he will triumph regardless. If you haven't grasped that by now, then I must say your years of wisdom have failed you, my friend."
The white-robed and hooded man followed behind. "Axel, only those prevail whom they permit to prevail."
"Hah, that's why I say that he will. He's not their man, Maur—he never was. Otherwise, he would have perished long ago." Axel replied almost mockingly.
"Everything happens because they will it."
"We'll see, my friend… We'll see."
…
Beastaria,
"Yes… This is I."
Sylvester looked to his side and noticed the floating figure of the black-robed man, who haunted Sol for centuries and punished countless corrupted clergymen—the fearsome and enigmatic Shadow Knight.
Sylvester glanced back at the skeleton and then at the figure. "You? But how? I thought your body was destroyed by the assassins from Beastaria."
"What may appear as truth may be merely an illusion. Sometimes, the purpose of a few actions is to create confusion," Shadow Knight said, his voice echoing. "What's real is true, and what's not real is also true."
Sylvester sighed and removed his helmet to breathe better. "Time for these riddles has long passed, Shadow Knight. Tell me directly why I'm here. Why did Saint Scepter force me to come here before taking the throne?"
"So he's one of them too?" The Shadow Knight mumbled, anger flaring up from within him in the form of a cold aura. "My soul is unable to leave this realm because it remains trapped within this protection circle. My teacher taught me how to make it—it's ancient magic, he said. To this day, none of the beings of Beastaria have been able to enter it."
"So they built a structure over it? To hide the place where they killed you?" Sylvester asked him.
The ghostly form of Shadow Knight floated closer to the skeleton and stared at it intently. His strange shining slits for eyes burned brightly white. "The creatures of Beastaria didn't kill me, Sylvester Maximilian—I was killed by my own—Zarmax Tarring, the Saint Scepter of my time."
Brows furrowed for Sylvester at that colossal revelation. More massive than his parentage, more important than anything else in his life yet. But it made no sense, or perhaps not yet. "W-Why would he? It started the thousand-year war with Beastaria—Billions have perished in this struggle on all sides."
"Unless he consciously chose to start this war," the Shadow Knight replied.
"Napoleon." Sylvester abruptly exclaimed the name. He had suddenly remembered it from the meeting when Gabriel exposed it to them. "The name of the Saint Sceptor during your time was tampered in a few rare history books not easily accessible—Napoleon was added to it."
"Napoleon? Are you familiar with this name?" inquired the Shadow Knight.
'I'm afraid I am, and because I am, I know he's cunning enough to start this massive war, driven by some long-term goal he meticulously plotted on a map,' Sylvester expressed, feeling suffocated in the underground ruins. 'What is the ultimate purpose of all these Saint Scepters and Popes?'
"I don't know him. But many more additions to the names of Popes and Saint Scepters have been made throughout history." Sylvester disclosed, expecting some suggestion from the man since he was also a Pope.
The Shadow Knight seemed hardly astonished and continued to gaze at his own skeleton. "Considering the negligible progress made in society, the continued rise of evil. It can't be anything less than evil."
Sighing, Sylvester sat down on the ground and watched the Shadow Knight interact with his skeleton. A billion questions raced through his mind as he tried to make sense of everything he had heard.
The world had been deceived, masterfully so, it seemed. Now, if the truth were to surface, the Beastaria would have a moral high ground to blame the humans for causing so much death for an unknown scheme. During the peace discussions, the foremost demand would be for substantial reparations from Sol, and currently, Sol could not afford such a burden.
Weary and frustrated, Sylvester's head drooped lower than his shoulders as he brushed his long hair back. He knew he was already treading on a thin line, but now, the peace between the two sides felt more distant than ever.
"Why did you suggest I come here? Just to tell me something I must take to my grave? You could have done that in Sol—What's here that tempts even the Saint Scepter?" Sylvester asked the Shadow Knight, feeling his head going hot with all the things he had to start planning.
The Shadow Knight looked back at Sylvester and, with his flowing robes, gestured for him to draw near. "The reason you're here is not for my revelation, but why I created this protective shield using my remaining life force that night. Saint Scepter Tarring was here that evening, looking at my body slowly bleeding to death—Yet he couldn't get what he desired."
Sylvester approached him, moving closer to the skeleton. "You hid something here?"
"For ages, I've searched to find someone with enough intelligence to make sense of what I possessed—I only found more corruption, more incivility, and madness. Not perfect, but I found a sensible mind in you, one not beholden to the idea that is corrupt. Beyond this point, you shall be fully on your own—there shan't be anyone who will instruct." Shadow Knight's dark robes pointed toward the jaw of the skeleton.
Sylvester raised his hand and opened the skeleton's jaw. It came off entirely as no muscle held it together. It was somewhat uncomfortable to do so in the presence of the same person's ghost, but Sylvester didn't mind.
"A key?" Sylvester noticed a simple, small, golden key with intricate patterns resembling thin strings. But overall, it looked like any other key.
"A key to open the gate that must not be opened." Shadow Knight replied. "I know not what lies on its other side, but Saint Scepter Tarring longed for this—Key to claiming his godhood, he proclaimed on many occasions. A fool's rambling, I considered it, one of his senseless theories and equations."
Sylvester squinted his eyes and thought of something. "Saint Scepter sent me here—Could it be that he wants this key as well? Could it be that all the Popes and Saint Scepters I've found with manipulated names were after this?"
The Shadow Knight was left speechless for a good few minutes by that possibility. "It may explain why the current Saint Scepter sent you here, but I cannot speak for those who came before."
"Can this be a key to a portal to the demon world?" Sylvester asked directly since he was out of wit.
Regrettably, the Shadow Knight had nothing more to offer him. "Likely not, but whatever it is, it leads to great power. For men of Supreme Wizard rank to be interested—it could only mean the next frontier of power for them—a step above the constraints of this universe's laws. But now you stand at the crossroad to make a choice. I considered you sensible——I hope your actions won't be reprehensible. Whatever this key is, keep it safe if you never wish to explore—Be its protector."
Sylvester looked at the key in his hands and tried to think what was the most common thing among all those who possibly wanted to possess it. The answer was very easy to guess—they were all reincarnators like him. So that only led him to one leading question, what did those reincarnators likely desire the most after attaining peak magical power?
Something for which they knowingly waged war with an entire continent for a thousand years, something for which they were ready to die again and again?
Sylvester easily guessed it, and the possibility horrified him.
'A way back home?'
[A/N: Just this one for now. Will try to post the next one soon. Need to go for an eye check-up. Somehow, I feel more comfortable without glasses now—very confusing.]
Thank you for reading. Gifts and GT votes are highly appreciated.
