The Requiem Of An Empress 31 1St Tuor: Belatucadros

A moment ago, the Emperor uttered the enchantment to transfer one of the gates from the terminal to his study. For the reason that it would take them quite the time to travel down the dungeon. In addition to that, save for the gates, any enchantments that had the purpose of teleporting or displacing an individual was voided within the vicinity of the Seraphiel Castle.

During the window when the Emperor was casting his spell, the cuboidal prison throbbed akin to a beating heart. It was a sign that it's thwarting the efforts of the monarch's mana to create chaos.

Currently, the inside of the cube was clouded with a coal-black smoke, preventing the Rounds from sighting their ruler. Withal, they remained unmoving on their feet as they waited for the turmoil to mitigate on its own.

Meanwhile, while enshrouded by the dusty fog, the Emperor ceased his mana manoeuvre, enabling his prison to finally focus on absorbing the outstanding remnants of his mana exhaust.

Nevertheless, the s.h.i.+eld is not the sole thing that's ingesting the negative impacts, being that the monarch was in a similar state. The thick veins that bulged on his neck, crawling up to his face, confirmed the severity of the pain that his body was receiving.

A short while elapsed until the cube eventually accomplished its task. It slowly dispersed while its fragments floated in the air, similar to golden glitters being swept up by a gentle breeze. The instant that it faded into nothingness, the sound of nature that the spell robbed when it was cast duly reverberated within the four walls of the study.

Once the Rounds were able to sight the figure of the Emperor, they shuddered in their thoughts, knowing the excruciating agony of merely a brief exposure to the ambience when he manipulates the force permeating the universe.

It was a sensation of every inch of the body being forcibly smothered by a robust pressure, raising the temperature inside all vessels to cause the blood to boil. Muscles would feel like they're overly strained as they tightly constrict the bones. The head will be in a misery of repeatedly bearing the blow of a plank made out of osmium, yet never losing consciousness. However, it should be noted that these are the effects of a meagre fracture of a second vulnerability.

The knights covet to heal their Emperor who showed no indication that he's in torment, his countenance still aloof as it could be. Even so, no healing spell would alleviate this type of damage.

"Take prudence. Do not expect that an ent.i.ty related to the one in Ikdes would come and save us from our peril. This is our battle, and we will prevail no matter how many of the odds are against us.", the Emperor declared, reinstating the confidence of the Rounds, in the act of entering the gate.

The Emperor was attired in a fitted dark-grey trousers barely reaching his ankles, accompanied by a brown leather belt hanging on the waist; it was topped with a tucked-in white dress s.h.i.+rt that had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hugging his lean upper body; the footwear was a simple black oxford shoes.

The visuals portrayed on his well-sculptured face were the almond-shaped eyes, containing enigmatic irises with the immiscible colours of a fresh crimson and glistening gold, under his straight eyebrows; the pointed high-bridged nose and thin lips further increased the allure of his masculinity; the final touch was his flowing silvery ashen hair parted on one side, hardly grazing his ears.

Although lightly clothed, but with striking features that wooed women and envied by men, the knights regarded the Emperor, simply standing at the height of 195 centimetres, to be n.o.bler than the knights donned in their armours whilst howling a battle cry.

"We will execute judgment to those who'll dare disparage our peace.", the Emperor voiced his intentions as his physique was swallowed by a blinding flash, leaving the knights on their own accord.

Thereupon, his party followed suit.

Unbeknownst to them, there is an oblivion awaiting their arrival.

______________________________________________

"Ah! We were too late!"

"The Emperor has left the Castle!"

"How do we tell this to the Empress?!"

"No! We should not! She will certainly rush outside to take care of it!"

"Oh no! That's right!"

"What do we do?!"

The twins, who were shouting while grasping each other's shoulders, happen to not notice the presence of the Empress, standing by the door to the kitchen, watching this episode of theirs.

"What seems to be the matter, Lady Tara and Lady Sura?"

The familiarity of this lamprophony, a sotto voce voice resembling the ideal harmony of the Angels, gentle and pure, escalated the unsettling feeling within the two maids. The handmaidens laggardly turned their heads and was met with probing eburnean eyes.

"Y- Your Highness! We didn't see you there, haha.", Tara sheepishly said, laughing to hide her bafflement, yet it came off awkward.

"Why didn't you call for us, Your Highness? We could've a.s.sisted you.", Sura smiled as she spoke to the Empress, also trying hard to cover her mind's disorientation.

The Empress simply tilted her head to the side, wondering why the siblings were a.s.saying to dismiss her inoffensive query. The twins perceived the perplexity in her gaze, so they nudged one another with their elbows to start their confession.

"Your highness, you see, uh-"

"We will take responsibility!"

"Yes! We are to blame!"

"That's right!"

Still confused, the Empress simply nodded her head, urging them to talk.

"The Emperor already left Atharia, Your Highness, yet we haven't informed him of your news!", the siblings said in unison as they threw themselves on the floor, genuflecting with all their might.

All of a sudden, fright registered in the glints of the eyes of the Empress. The thing was, there were two reasons for her trepidation.

Incontestably, the first one was with regard to the handmaidens' failure to deliver the message the Empress wanted the Emperor to become aware of. However, her second concern was deeply connected to the initial.

The Empress stared at the direction where the main door was located, clutching the hem of her chiffon nightgown with trembling hands.

'The Demon n.o.ble's life core that I've been sensing since the start of the dier- it's here.'

______________________________________________

It's the 8th-hour of the dier, the 2nd Noven, and the Siero was barely peaking in the horizon. The capital of Grathel fief was thriving with the activities of the citizens going about their routines.

Upon their advent in an inconspicuous cottage planted north of the fief's capital, the Emperor, the Prime Minister, and the Rounds were promptly teleported to an open area near the conterminous of Grathel fief and Suma fief.

Mikhail immediately abandoned the circle to investigate the affairs at the border gate. In the interim, the company stood a kilometre away of the edge of the barrier.

"What an astounding mirage.", the Emperor uttered as he gazed at the magical barricade with eyes devoid of mirth.

A scenery of normalcy, one that won't exhibit that a state of anarchy has descended, could be seen through the inconspicuous barrier. Although, that would only be true if the observer wasn't as powerful as the individuals presently inspecting the invisible dome.

"I badly want to gouge those eyes out." - Israfel gritted his teeth as his appet.i.te to fight flared up.

"Your Majesty, can we g-"

Marquiss Morholt was interrupted by a knight, screaming on top of his lungs.

"What the fu*k is this?!"

Shortly succeeding his landing on their stop, Jibrail fell on his knees, banging his head on the uneven ground in the process. He trembled ever so violently that his limbs were not able to support his weight while blood began to drip down from every orifice on his head.

The members of the party were all fl.u.s.tered at the accident. Still, they had an inkling as to what induced it.

Sarakiel knelt beside his enfeebled comrade to cast a spell that will ease Sagramore's suffering. The Duke hovered his hands above the patient's head prior to articulating the incantation.

"Mens Sana in Corpore Sano"

The faintest of light enveloped Jibrail's body, making his muscles relax and ceasing the discharge of blood. His breathing languorously became steady.

Once he felt better, the knight inhaled and exhaled a few times. Subsequently, Sagramore raised his head to offer his reasons.

"Your Majesty, I apologize for my presumptuousness, but we need to make haste. An odious mixture of stench is coming from inside that barrier. It was foul to a degree worse than ancient excrement. The most remarkable out of them is the smell of blood, though not of humans."

Jibrail stood up, his countenance displaying a horrible grimace.

"It's the blood of the elves and the beastmen. It's the smell of death."