Libinea's question lingered ominously in the air, like a suspended guillotine blade poised to fall.
Does the Divine Realm hold the answer?
The music came to an abrupt stop.
The clinking of silverware fell silent.
Even Ezmelral paused mid-chew, attuned to the sudden and intense shift in the atmosphere. She swallowed the chicken, bones and all, with an audible gulp and, without a glance, wiped her grease-stained hands—not on a napkin, but on Raiking's immaculate black sleeve.
Raiking eyed the orange grease stain before shifting his attention to the Spirit Sword. With a resigned sigh, he accepted his role as an impromptu napkin and turned his inscrutable gaze back to the throne.
The Divine Emperor remained undisturbed. He showed no sign of surprise.
With calculated composure, he set down his wine cup, his expression one of someone who had anticipated this moment.
Who hadn't foreseen it? Especially with the recent news of the Phoenix Queen allying with Raiking.
The Divine Realm was bound to encounter his fury sooner or later.
"The hunting of the Phoenix Tribe... the harvesting of the Nirvana Pearls... it was a tragedy. A blemish on our history." He surveyed the room, meeting the eyes of his bewildered subjects. "But it was not my decree."
Libinea raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you implying that thousands of your soldiers invaded my mountains without your knowledge? Are you suggesting the Divine Emperor is blind?"
"What I am saying," the Emperor replied, his eyes narrowing slightly, "is that power breeds corruption. One of my most trusted Generals acted on his own greed, deceiving the court to harvest your pearls for his personal gain."
He clapped his hands, the sound reverberating like a thunderclap.
"Bring him out."
The side doors groaned open, accompanied by the sound of chains scraping against the floor, dragged by two Golden Guards leading a figure towards the center of the hall.
"Kneel," one guard commanded, delivering a swift kick to the back of the Fallen General's knees.
Once a towering man, he was now reduced to a skeletal figure wrapped in skin. He wore no armor, only ragged white trousers stained with old blood. Glowing violet runes—seals of suppression—adorned his body.
He collapsed to the floor, coughing up blood, his gaze fixed not on the Emperor, but on the guest table. His eyes locked onto Libinea before the Emperor's voice diverted his attention.
"Lord Raiking, Lady Phoenix," the Emperor announced, gesturing to the prisoner. "I present to you the criminal responsible for your suffering. I have kept him alive in the purgatory dungeon for a thousand years, awaiting the day I could offer him to you."
Libinea rose slowly. She walked away from the table, her heels clicking rhythmically on the stone as she approached the center of the room.
Raiking remained seated. He picked up another grape, leaning an elbow on the table to watch. He knew Libinea didn't need his help. She needed to confront her own ghosts.
Libinea stopped five feet from the kneeling General.
"Unchain him," she ordered.
The guards hesitated, glancing at the Emperor, who remained unmoved by the situation. With no objections from him, they turned their attention back to Libinea.
"I am not seeking an execution. I desire a duel," she declared, directing her closed fan toward the General. "If he triumphs, he earns his freedom. If he fails... his fate will be mine to decide."
The Fallen General's eyes widened. Hope—visceral and desperate—flared in his gaze.
"Free?" he asked.
"Free," Libinea confirmed.
"You foolish bird," he growled, adrenaline coursing through his frail veins. "I will pluck your feathers one by one."
His legs shook as he fought to remain upright. Malnourished, confined, and shattered, he faced not a battle, but an impending slaughter.
Without warning, a cascade of golden light flooded the room.
All eyes turned to the Goddess of Creation, who had swept her hand through the air, channeling a surge of pure, rejuvenating energy into the Fallen General.
The suppression runes shattered. The chains dissolved into dust.
The General's muscles expanded, his skin seamlessly mending itself, as his aura surged back to the pinnacle of the Divine Realm Stage.
"Why?" Ezmelral murmured softly.
Raiking remained silent. He understood the Goddess more intimately than anyone; this was neither her first transgression nor would it be her last.
The Goddess sat back down, her expression unreadable.
She observed Libinea not with malice, but with the detached curiosity of a creator examining a successful experiment.
Equilibrium, she thought.
Her loyalty was to Raiking, yes. But her duty was to the Cosmos. She had been the one to create the Phoenix Tribe. She had designed their pearls to be hunted. Why? Because a species without predators becomes stagnant. Adversity is the mother of evolution.
And looking at Libinea now—a Phoenix who had risen from the ashes of genocide to reach the threshold of Demigod—the Goddess knew her experiment had succeeded. The suffering had forged a masterpiece.
"A duel requires two warriors," the Goddess stated calmly, sipping her tea. "Not a warrior and a corpse... Let us see if your hate is stronger than his greed."
The General roared, his power returning in a torrent of wind that shook the hall. He summoned a spear of holy light, his eyes wild with the promise of freedom.
"I accept your grace, Goddess!"
"Good," Libinea murmured, her eyes igniting with the blue flame of Time. "I prefer my prey when it is full of life."
The General gathered his strength, causing the ground beneath him to fracture. He lunged forward, clutching his spear with renewed determination, aiming directly at Libinea's heart.
To the mortal eye, his speed was a mere blur—a strike that would pierce mountains.
Yet to Libinea, he appeared as immobile as a statue.
She harnessed her magic, releasing a tempest of crimson flames as she commenced her incantation.
"Feathers of Nirvana."
She didn't utter the words aloud. She commanded them with her very being. The tone was solemn, ancient—a decree that bypassed the ears and resonated in the essence of every living soul present.
The universe did not merely hear; it complied.
CRACK.
The ceiling of the Great Hall began to fracture, revealing not the sky but a mesmerizing swirl of mana. From the opening, countless azure feathers descended. These feathers did not just fall like rain; they spiraled purposefully, forming a vast, rotating circle of celestial blades behind the Queen.
The execution had commenced.