Chapter 88: Oracle

“Your control is stronger than I imagined.”

Freya looked at him.

“What do you want to say?”

Serar put away his smile.

“The Theocrat sent another message yesterday.”

His voice lowered.

“The Seal of the Evil God is loosening.”

Freya’s fingers paused slightly.

Serar continued.

“It’s faster than anticipated.”

He looked at Freya.

Those deep blue eyes held not a trace of jest.

“Freya, we need to prepare.”

Silence.

The wind blew across the training ground, sweeping up a few fallen leaves.

Freya stood there, motionless.

Lyra stood by her side, her crimson eyes warily fixed on Serar.

A long time passed.

Freya spoke.

“What kind of preparation?”

Serar looked at her.

“Find the Bearer of the Holy Sword.”

He paused.

“And—protect you.”

On the way back to the dormitory, Lyra was unusually quiet.

She walked beside Freya, glancing up at her from time to time.

Hesitating to speak.

Finally, as they reached the dormitory building, she couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Boss.”

“Hm.”

“That Evil God…”

She hesitated.

“Is he… very powerful?”

Freya stopped walking.

She looked at Lyra.

Looked into those crimson eyes filled with worry.

She was silent for a moment.

Then she reached out and gently ruffled that fluffy head.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Lyra blinked.

“I’m here.”

Lyra froze.

Then she grinned, her eyes curving into crescent moons.

“Yeah!”

She hugged Freya’s arm tightly.

“With the boss here, I’m not afraid of anything!”

—

In the distance, in the shadow of the classroom building, Irina withdrew her gaze.

Her expression was grim.

She had seen everything just now.

The way that white-haired girl hugged Freya’s arm, the way Freya didn’t push her away, and the natural, impenetrable intimacy between them.

Her fingers slowly tightened.

Digging into her palms.

But she didn’t move.

She was just waiting.

Waiting for an opportunity.

In the dormitory, Lyra lay on her futon, flipping through the Monster Bestiary.

When she turned to a certain page, she suddenly stopped.

“Boss.”

“Hm.”

“This…”

Her voice sounded strange.

Freya turned her head.

Lyra was pointing at an illustration on the page—

It was the Snowfield Wolf King, with silver-white fur and crimson eyes, standing atop a cliff under the moonlight.

“Its eyes—”

Lyra hesitated.

“They’re the same as mine.”

Freya looked at her.

Looked at those crimson eyes.

She was silent for a long time.

Then she nodded.

“Yeah.”

Lyra looked up.

“Boss, do I… have some connection to it?”

Freya didn’t answer.

She just walked over and knelt beside her.

Reached out and gently ruffled her head.

“No matter who you are—”

She said.

“You’re the one I bought.”

Lyra was stunned.

Then she smiled.

Her eyes curved into crescent moons.

“Yeah!”

Outside the window, the night grew deeper.

In the distance, something stirred in the darkness.

But at least for now, in this small room, it was warm and peaceful.

The temple at night was solemn and majestic.

The towering dome vanished into the darkness, with only the magical flames around the altar burning quietly, enveloping the entire space in an indigo-blue glow.

The walls were carved with ancient myths and legends—

The scene of the Light Goddess Tifeiluna wielding the Holy Sword, clashing with the Evil God Sailesi in the void, remained clear even after a thousand years.

Emperor Cyrus Caste stood below the altar, his golden hair reflecting a dull light in the firelight, his crimson eyes fixed intently on the center of the altar.

Beside him, Vanessa wore a dark gown, her posture elegant yet tense, her blue eyes—identical to Ross’s—churning with complex emotions.

In the center of the altar, the Theocrat was performing a divination.

He was an elderly man, dressed in pure white robes, with hair and beard as white as snow, his face so gaunt it seemed as if it might scatter with the wind.

But his eyes—

Those eyes shone brightly in the firelight, as if containing a light not of this era.

He knelt in the center of the Magic Array, hands raised high, chanting under his breath.

The prayers were ancient and obscure, like echoes from a far, faraway place, reverberating through the empty temple.

“…Great Light Goddess, your faithful servant prays for your will with a devout heart…”

“…The shadow of the Evil God stirs, darkness shall once again envelop the land…”

“…Please bestow your Oracle, guide your people…”

Cyrus’s fingers tightened slightly.

He watched the Magic Array, watching the light gradually brighten within it.

At first, the light was weak, mere flickering sparks wandering among the ancient runes.

Then, it grew brighter.

And brighter.

Finally—

A golden pillar of light descended from the dome, falling directly into the center of the Magic Array.

The light was pure and intense, illuminating the entire temple as bright as day.

The Theocrat’s body trembled violently, as if bearing immense pressure.

The words from his mouth grew faster and more urgent, finally transforming into a high-pitched chant—

The light faded.

In the center of the Magic Array, several lines of Ancient Magic Language hovered silently in the air, emitting a faint golden glow.

The characters were ancient and mysterious, each stroke seeming to contain boundless power.

Cyrus stepped forward quickly.

“What does the Oracle say?”

His voice was low and urgent.

The Theocrat slowly lowered his raised hands, turned, and prostrated himself on the ground.

His voice was hoarse and trembling.

“Your Majesty…”

“The Evil God is about to descend once more.”

Cyrus’s body stiffened violently.

“What did you say?”

His voice rose, filled with disbelief and shock.

The Theocrat remained prostrate, not daring to look up.

“It’s true, Your Majesty. I dare not lie.”

His voice echoed through the empty temple.

“The earlier agitation of the Holy Sword was an omen.

The Goddess has bestowed the Oracle—only when the messenger of light activates the Holy Sword can the Evil God be suppressed once more.”

Silence.

A deathly silence.

Cyrus stood there, a storm raging in his crimson eyes.

Vanessa’s expression also changed.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but found she couldn’t utter a word.

The descent of the Evil God.

Those four words—what they represented, she understood better than anyone.

It was destruction.

It was catastrophe.

It was—

The end of the entire continent.

“Dismissed.”

The Emperor’s voice suddenly rang out, low and weary.

The Theocrat prostrated in salute and slowly retreated from the temple.

The great hall was left with only the Emperor and the Queen.

Returning to the imperial palace, Cyrus walked straight to the throne and sat down heavily.

He rubbed his temples, his majestic face now filled with weariness and irritation.

Vanessa stood to the side, cautiously observing his expression.

After a long while.

She spoke softly.

“Your Majesty…”

Cyrus did not look up.

But that didn’t mean he was some clueless fool.

“Tell Ross to quickly sort out his relationship with Freya.

That brat, what on earth is he thinking all day long!”

Vanessa’s body stiffened slightly.

“…Your Majesty?”

The Emperor suddenly looked up, his crimson eyes burning with anger.

“Don’t think I don’t know!”

He slammed his palm on the armrest of the throne, the sound exploding in the empty hall.

“He’s getting close to that commoner named Irina at school!

Vanessa, you think I truly know nothing?”

The Queen’s expression changed. She hurriedly knelt, not letting Cyrus see her face.

She opened her mouth, wanting to explain, but was silenced by the Emperor’s gaze.

“The fine son you raised!”

The Emperor’s voice was filled with suppressed fury.

“Who is Freya?

The only daughter of House Dale!

The heir to the Northern Frontier’s military power!

Now the Oracle has descended, the Evil God is about to revive. What we need is strength, support, allies who can stabilize the situation!”

He stood up and strode to stand before the Queen.

“Not to mention that Mana Heart Crystal in her chest!”

Those crimson eyes stared directly at her.

“And your son, at a time like this, is cozying up to a commoner woman of unknown origin?”

The Queen’s fingers slowly tightened.

“Your Majesty, Irina, she…”

“She what?”

The Emperor cut her off.

“Can she bring the Northern Frontier’s military power, or the support of House Dale?

Can she help Ross stabilize the situation, or stand up when the Evil God descends?”

The Queen fell silent.

The Emperor looked at her and let out a cold laugh.

“You think I don’t know what you’re planning?

You want Ross to marry Freya, but you don’t want him to rely too much on House Dale, so you tacitly allow his interactions with that commoner—

This way, you gain House Dale’s influence without letting Freya occupy too much weight in Ross’s heart.”

His voice grew colder.

“But you miscalculated one thing.”

The Queen looked up.

The Emperor looked at her, his crimson eyes churning with complex emotions.

“Freya is not someone you can scheme against.”

He turned and walked back to the throne.

“Keep Ross away from that commoner.

Focus all efforts on winning Freya over.”

His voice came from the front, low and authoritative.

“That is an order.”

Vanessa stood where she was, motionless.

A long time passed.

She gave a slight bow.

“…Yes.”

Leaving the imperial palace, Vanessa stood in the corridor, gazing at the distant night sky.

The moonlight fell coldly, stretching her shadow long.

Her face no longer held the earlier fear and obedience.

Only a heavy, profound contemplation.

“Irina…”

She whispered the name softly.

That girl was indeed a piece she had placed on the board.

A piece to counterbalance Freya.

But now, the Emperor’s command had disrupted her plan.

She needed to rethink.

Re-strategize.

Under the moonlight, her figure gradually disappeared into the depths of the corridor.

Meanwhile, in the dormitory at the Central Magic Academy.

Lyra was sleeping soundly.

Freya sat at the desk, gazing at the night sky outside the window.

She didn’t know what had happened in the temple.

But she knew something was brewing.

The night wind blew, carrying the chill of late autumn.

She closed her book, got up, walked to the window, and gently closed it.

She glanced back at Lyra, fast asleep on the futon.

That sleeping face wore a faint smile.

Freya watched for a while.

Then she returned to her bed and lay down.

Closed her eyes.

Tomorrow would be another new day.