"The First Emperor's Inheritance?" Hearing those words, a razor-thin smile curled the corner of Illidan's lips. "I am well aware of the news."
Eric opened his mouth to press the issue, but a tall Daemon looming beside him raised a heavy hand to silence him. "Eric, step back. There are grand matters moving in the shadows beyond your understanding; do not speak out of turn."
Eric felt no anger at the dismissal; instead, a flicker of sharp, suppressed excitement sparked in his eyes. So even Illidan has already... Eric thought, a secret amusement settling into his heart. If that is truly the case, then whatever hope this so-called Emperor harbored, he has no chance at all.
Inside the vessel's primary cabin, the air grew thick with a suffocating, almost electric tension as the final showdown approached. Nervous murmurs rippled through the gathering, yet Sebastian remained completely unbothered by the pressure. Sunk comfortably into a plush leather sofa, he casually swirled a glass of clear, chilled drink, taking in the scene with quiet detachment.
"What do you make of this showdown between the Devil's Son and the Emperor's Son?" Otwin, who was on the closest terms with him, leaned over and asked in a low voice. Before Sebastian could even answer, Otwin pressed on, his eyes darting toward the viewport. "I heard a lot of the big shots out in the star fields are betting heavily on the Emperor. If he actually wins..."
Otwin trailed off, but the unspoken weight of his words hung in the air. The gaze of the entire Endless Star Territory had converged on this single battlefield. Should Anthelme claim victory, his name would reverberate through the cosmos, sweeping up the reverence of countless worlds and completely eclipsing the younger generation, including Sebastian, the rising star universally acknowledged as the most terrifying prodigy the galaxy had ever seen.
"If Anthelme can pull off a victory, that would be ideal," Sebastian remarked with a faint, unbothered smile. Fame and grand standing meant little to him, but in the grander scope of the war, his stance remained absolute.
"Anthelme certainly holds a formidable hand," Sergey interjected, ambling over to join their circle with a knowing look. "I cannot claim to know the exact ceiling of Anthelme's power, but I am intimately familiar with the temperament of the current Emperor. He is a man cautious to the point of outright conservatism. Unless he is absolute in his conviction that his son possesses a guaranteed victory, he would never permit him to take such a monumental risk."
"Indeed, his foundation is terrifyingly deep," Jörn added from the side, his expression grave as he offered a subtle warning. "The ancient inheritance of the First Emperor, paired with his own extraordinary innate talent... when those two forces compound, the result is anything but ordinary. It remains to be seen how Illidan intends to break such a defense."
A duel of this magnitude was no crude, chaotic brawl; it required formal agreements and explicit terms. There were no petty taunts or empty threats traded this time, only a cold, meticulously structured exchange.
"A straightforward clash of forces feels somewhat bland, don't you think? Why not make things interesting with a wager?" Following a brief confirmation of the duel's parameters, a young man clad in the formal dark uniform of the Giant Eagle Faction spoke up, acting as the primary representative for the Emperor's side.
"A wager?" The surrounding crowd shifted in surprise.
A bet had never been part of the initial framework, and even Volkmar's brows knit together in a sharp, defensive frown. Yet after a moment's reflection, everyone realized this was almost certainly a direct mandate from the Emperor himself. Even Eric, standing as the opposing spokesman, allowed a flash of genuine astonishment to cross his features. They actually have the audacity to raise the stakes?
"And what, precisely, are you proposing to bet?" Eric asked, his tone cool and challenging.
"Since the grand prize we contest is the Origin Planet itself, let us stake the very Origin Planet beneath our feet," the young man declared, his confidence radiating like a physical force.
"Are you truly certain about that?" Eric countered, a mocking glint in his eye.
A ripple of uneasy whispers swept through the onlookers, many frowning at the sheer audacity of the proposal. Even if Anthelme held a clear tactical advantage, gambling an entire Origin Planet was dangerously reckless.
"No. Change the bet," Volkmar interjected sternly, shutting down the proposal before it could take root. "That is unacceptable."
"Very well," the young man conceded smoothly, as if he had anticipated the rejection all along. "Then let us settle on Origin Crystals instead. The loser shall forfeit 10,000 Low-Level Origin Crystals. How about it?"
Ten thousand?! Once again, the cabin fell into a shocked hush. The sheer magnitude of such a sum was breathtaking, enough to fund an entire military campaign or buy out small planetary lords.
"Agreed," Eric replied, a dark, satisfaction-filled smile spreading across his lips. "Just ensure you do not regret it when the dust settles."
"It is you who will be doing the regretting," the young man shot back, his composure unshakeable.
With the stakes bound, the final countdown began. The designated arena stretched across the desolate, ruined expanse directly before the fortress gates. Time trickled away second by second until the appointed hour struck, prompting both factions to deploy their initial vanguard onto the field.
From Illidan's side, a colossal entity constructed of jagged, molten rock lumbered out from the dark mist, each thunderous footstep shaking the bedrock.
"Giants?!" Seeing those towering humanoid behemoths march into the open light, several onlookers gasped in alarm.
Within the Endless Star Territory, the Giant Clan was an ancient and renowned lineage. While these creatures shared a similar physical blueprint, any seasoned commander could tell the difference at a glance. Standard Giants maintained a relatively human-like aesthetic despite their size, whereas these monstrosities possessed an appearance that was utterly nightmare-inducing.
"Do not confuse them with common Giants," Volkmar explained grimly to those standing nearby. "This is one of the most terrifying High-Level Daemons birthed from the deep Warp, a Balrog."
"A Balrog?" Sebastian murmured, hearing the term for the first time.
"The Balrog represents the absolute peak of destruction among High-Level Daemons, and cultivating even one requires staggering resources," Volkmar continued, his eyes fixed on the lumbering behemoths. "They are infinitely harder to nurture than even a Golden Dragon, which makes their numbers exceptionally rare. Look closely at their hide; that is not mere fire cloaking their bodies. That is living, pressurized magma flowing through their skin."
Across the massive, obsidian frames of the Balrogs, fiery crimson channels pulsated with blinding heat. It was not mere flame that burned along their flesh, but liquid earth continuously oozing from their hides, dripping onto the terrain below and melting the very ground into a bubbling wasteland of slag as they advanced.