The Divine Emperor represented the pinnacle of mortal achievement. Standing at the brink of the Demigod Realm, he was just a step away from the Godhood Realm, where beings like Raiking and the Goddess of Creation existed.
Yet, the Divine Emperor was not alone. One by one, four figures appeared on the battlefield: the northern Divine General, followed by the western, eastern, and finally, the southern Divine General. They refrained from drawing their weapons, knowing that such arrogance would lead to death. Instead, they positioned themselves at a distance, encircling Raiking and Ezmelral, awaiting further instructions.
Their wait was short-lived. From the divine city, a pillar of flames erupted. When the blazing column reached the height of the Divine Emperor, a burst of fire engulfed the sky, staggering the Generals. As the smoke cleared, they beheld the only one who could wield fire magic to such an extent: Libinea. In her phoenix form, she glared at the Divine Emperor.
"Who dares to obstruct the Guild Master's path?" she demanded, her voice laced with regal disdain.
The Divine Emperor maintained a calm facade, but within his golden armor, his soul quivered. He recalled the Phoenix Queen from a millennium ago—a desperate creature he could have crushed with a thought.
How? he marveled. How has she reached true Divinity in just a millennium? She's on the verge of the Demigod stage.
"We have no hostile intentions," the Divine Emperor declared.
He was sincere. As one of the first mortals born after the creation of the blue star, he had witnessed the countless times Raiking and the Goddess's disputes nearly tore the cosmos apart. He lacked the power to stop them then, and he lacks the power now. Thus, he seized this opportunity to maintain his dignity amidst the wreckage Raiking had caused in the divine city.
"Then state your purpose," Libinea commanded.
"I intend to personally accompany the God of Death to a feast," the Emperor declared, his voice resonating throughout the city. With a sweeping gesture toward the plaza below, he continued, "I wish to express my gratitude. Your earlier 'display' has provided my subjects a rare chance to strengthen themselves and heal old wounds. Though it was a severe lesson, it was indeed a valuable one."
The crowd began to murmur in response to his statement.
"Even after the turmoil caused by the God of Death, the Divine Emperor is willing to forgive it for our benefit," a lightning magic cultivator commented.
"He truly is magnanimous!" added a water magic cultivator.
They weren't alone in their sentiments; more and more voices joined in praising the Divine Emperor. While the cultivators grew increasingly pleased with the chorus, Libinea remained unimpressed, remembering the injustices her people had endured.
Flickers of azure flames began to engulf Libinea's wings as her emotions grew more volatile. Just as she was about to unleash her wrath, a voice cut through her storm.
"We will accept your request."
It was Raiking.
He didn't glance at the Generals or the crowd. He fixed his gaze on the Emperor, his eyes promising consequences.
When Libinea sensed his intent, the azure flames around her began to dissipate. She looked at him, surprised. She knew Raiking longed to leave this place, to retreat to the quiet of the mountain and the safety of the child.
He is staying, she realized, her heart tightening. He hates this. He hates the politics. But he knows I need this.
He was willing to endure the Emperor's pompous banquet for one reason: so that the justice she had sought for a thousand years would finally have an answer.
With Raiking's agreement spoken, the standoff ended.
The space around the group warped. The Emperor, eager to move the potential disaster away from the public eye, initiated a mass teleportation.
They rematerialized at the Grand Entrance of the Sacred Palace.
The procession was dictated by protocol, but heavy with tension. The Divine Emperor walked first, claiming his territorial right. Behind him, Raiking and the Goddess of Creation walked side-by-side—a Creator and a Destroyer, divorced by time and tragedy, yet bound by the new life they had engineered.
Behind them trailed Ezmelral and Libinea, followed by the nervous Divine Generals and the high-ranking officials of the city.
As they navigated the labyrinthine corridors toward the Throne Room, the silence between the two Gods became suffocating.
"Are you still angry with me?" the Goddess asked, her voice barely a whisper against the marble floors.
Raiking didn't answer immediately. He looked at his hands. There was no blood on them now, yet the memories of the planets he had turned to ash were fresh in his mind. He had judged Maryal for her fragility, and he had judged the Goddess for her manipulation, but in the end, he was the one who had walked away.
"Who am I to judge?" he replied, his gaze fixed forward.
"I am sorry," she said.
"Sometimes... sorry is not enough."
Was he saying that to her, or to himself? He wasn't sure. Yet, regardless of the target, the truth remained: forgiveness required time, and right now, there was none.
They had arrived at the massive golden doors of the Lunar Hall.
They ascended the final marble steps and entered the Throne Hall.
The room was a masterpiece of celestial architecture, but the seating arrangement was a battlefield of etiquette. To the left sat the rows of low tables for the representatives of the Divine Realm—Elders, Generals, and Sect Leaders, all sitting with rigid, statuesque posture.
To the right was the diplomatic guest area.
The Divine Emperor took his place on the elevated throne in the center. He raised a golden chalice, his smile practiced and politically perfect.
"I thank you all for attending," the Emperor announced, his voice booming. "Let this feast bridge the gap between our realms."
Everyone raised their glasses in unison, except for Ezmelral. Since she had chosen to sit on a cushion directly at Raiking's hip rather than in her own seat, she eyed his wine cup with predatory intent. She reached for it.
Raiking, without looking down, casually slid the cup three inches to the left. Ezmelral grabbed air.
She narrowed her eyes and lunged again. Raiking lifted the cup.
The sight of a legendary Spirit Weapon bickering with the God of Death like a toddler was far too disrespectful for the solemn atmosphere. Several of the more rigid Elders scowled, their eyebrows twitching in irritation.
Of course, they could not voice their anger publicly. They could only bite their tongues and bear the unsightly scene until, at last, the main service doors opened.
A wave of exotic aromas flooded the room as a legion of maids entered, carrying platters of Spirit Beast meat, celestial fruits, and glowing broths.
They placed a massive roasted bird in front of Raiking's table.
"I hope you will enjoy—" the Emperor began.
CRUNCH. SMACK. GULP.
Before the Emperor could finish his sentence, Ezmelral was already holding a drumstick in each hand. A loud, furious munching sound echoed through the silent hall as she demolished the poultry with a ferocity usually reserved for demons.
"Ugh..." Libinea groaned, massaging her temples as she watched Ezmelral's cheeks puff out like a hamster. "Can you be more... ladylike?"
"Hmmph?" Ezmelral grunted, swallowing a bone whole. "Wha you shay? You wan sum?"
She shoved a half-eaten, saliva-covered drumstick into Libinea's face.
"..."
If the Elders were angry before, they were now on the verge of suffering Qi deviation from sheer indignation.
All eyes fell onto the Goddess, who was sitting at the head of the guest table, calmly sipping her stardust tea. She was the only one with the authority to discipline Raiking's subordinates, yet her silence was deafening. She simply stared into her cup, refusing to make eye contact with the disaster unfolding across from her.
There is no hope, the Elders despaired.
However, the chaos of the meal was merely the calm before the storm.
Libinea ignored the drumstick waving in her face. She ignored the food entirely. She picked up her fan, the snap of it opening cutting through the sound of Ezmelral's chewing.
She turned her burning gaze toward the Emperor.
"Does the Divine Realm still not have an answer," Libinea asked, her voice clear and cold, "for the Pearl Incident that took place a thousand years ago?"