Chapter 48: Talking with Wraith King
The amber glow of the setting sun spilled across the academy grounds like molten gold, stretching long shadows from the mana trees and turning the stone paths into rivers of light. The Simulation Exam was over, the colosseum's chaos reduced to echoes in the wind. The air carried that easy, post-battle warmth—grass, sweat, the faint crackle of mana fading from the air. Students milled about in loose groups, some laughing loud, recounting every blow like it was legend, others limping with ice packs or mana salves, swapping stories: "Did you see Claire's aura?" "I thought Christopher was done for!" Simple people watching from home through mana feeds saw heroes. Average students felt the buzz in their bones—this was history.
Lucian Azrael Von Blackstar stood near the dorm courtyard, his black coat still dusted with ash, faint scorch marks tracing the edges from Claire's Celestial Torrent. His ashen-white hair caught the dying light, and his deep black eyes—calm, unreadable—watched the crowd without joining it. The weight of the fight lingered in his shoulders, but his stance was loose, like a man who'd walked through fire and come out unbothered.
Celestia Silveria Van Lumina approached first, her white silk hair shimmering like liquid moonlight, catching the sun in a halo that made her look half-angel, half-goddess. Her uniform was torn at the sleeve, a faint burn on her wrist, but she moved with that quiet grace that turned heads without trying. Christopher Davenson followed, stretching his broad shoulders with a grin wide enough to split his face, bruises blooming purple across his arms, his shirt half-burned away.
"Today was something else, huh?" Christopher barked, laughter rolling out like thunder. "We actually beat the top dogs of Class S! I thought we were dead the second that simulation kicked off—monsters, ruins, Claire going full goddess mode? I was seeing my life flash, man."
Lucian's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "You held your own well enough. Took hits that would've flattened most. And you learned something—that's what matters. Muscle without growth is just noise."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Professor Blackstar," Christopher shot back, waving him off with a dramatic flourish, but his grin didn't fade. "Next time, I'm knocking Claire out cold. She's a monster—turned the whole arena into her playground. But I'll be ready. Gotta punch harder, faster, meaner."
Celestia giggled softly, the sound light, like wind chimes in summer. "Then you'll need to train twice as hard, Christopher. Maybe three times. She won't hold back next time either."
Christopher groaned loud, theatrical, throwing his head back. "Yeah, yeah, Your Highness. Don't tell me you're joining Lucian's boot camp next. What's the plan—morning runs at dawn, sparring till we drop, lectures on 'mana efficiency'?" He mimicked Lucian's dry tone, earning a chuckle from Celestia.
She glanced at Lucian, her gray eyes soft, a familiar smile curling her lips—warm, reaching all the way to her soul. "Maybe I already did," she said quietly, voice teasing but sincere, a faint blush dusting her cheeks.
Lucian turned away, pretending not to notice the color rising in her face, his own expression neutral. 'She's too open with it,' he thought, the weight of her gaze heavy on his back. 'Doesn't she know what that does? Or does she just not care?' He cleared his throat. "Go rest, both of you. You've earned it. Bodies don't heal on pride alone."
Christopher gave a lazy salute, still grinning. "You too, buddy. Don't stay up brooding. See you tomorrow—gonna need you to spot me when I start bench-pressing boulders to beat Claire." He clapped Lucian on the shoulder, hard enough to sting, then sauntered off, humming a victory tune.
Celestia lingered a second longer, her fingers brushing her sleeve where the burn mark sat. "Lucian…" she started, voice softer now, almost hesitant. "Thank you. For believing in us. In me."
He met her eyes briefly, the black deep eyes in his own flickering like light in black. "You did the work, Silvie. I just watched." A pause, then quieter: "You were brilliant."
Her blush deepened, but she smiled—small, real, human. "I'll hold you to that boot camp," she teased, then turned, her silver hair catching the last light as she followed Christopher's path.
Lucian watched them go, the courtyard emptying slow, the sun dipping lower. 'They're good,' he thought, a rare warmth in his chest. 'Too good for what's coming.'
He turned toward the dorms, boots quiet on the stone, the halls growing still as the celebration moved to the dining halls and common rooms. His room was on the third floor, corner unit, window facing the mana forest. He pushed the door open, the familiar scent of old books and faint ozone greeting him. The space was sparse—bed, desk, a single chair, the bracelet on the table pulsing faint black light.
He set his saber against the wall, rolled his shoulders, and muttered, "I'm gonna take a shower first. Don't talk while I'm naked."
{Understood, my lord,} the Wraith King replied in faint English, his tone half-amused, half-resigned, like a butler caught smirking. {I shall avert my non-existent eyes.}
---
The shower ran hot, steam filling the small bathroom, washing away dust, blood, and the lingering heat of battle. Lucian stood under the spray, eyes closed, letting the water drum against his skin. 'Claire's Temporal Breakthrough… Celestia's divine light… Johnathan's roar… all of it, pieces of a game I thought I'd left behind in my second life.' He exhaled slow. 'But it's following me. No—I'm the center now.'
He stepped out, towel around his waist, hair dripping. The mirror showed a man marked by too many fights—scars across his chest, a burn on his shoulder from Claire's spell, eyes older than his face. He pulled on a plain black shirt, loose pants, and sat on the couch, the bracelet's glow casting shadows on the wall.
He stared at it, the pulse steady, ancient, patient. "Alright. Start talking. I want answers. All of them."
The air shimmered. Dark mist coiled from the bracelet, forming the Wraith King's spectral form—tall, cloaked in shadow, eyes glowing faint violet. He knelt immediately, head bowed, voice deep and resonant in Lucian's mind, still in English. {At your command, my lord.}
Lucian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice sharp as a blade. "In the ruins—those carvings. Symbols, letters, Earth's cornball and cringe emoji faces. What the hell are those doing in a ruin from this world? This isn't a simulation glitch. I felt it—real, old, wrong."
The Wraith King's form stilled, his voice solemn, heavy with centuries. {Those carvings are not part of the simulation, my lord. They are exact copies of the original Temple of Convergence. A place older than the gods, older even than the Demon God's first descent. A sanctuary built before time had names.}
Lucian's frown deepened, his fingers drumming on his knee. "Older than the Demon God? Then who the hell built it? Don't give me riddles—names, dates, facts."
{The one known as the Cloaked Man in Black.}
Lucian's eyes narrowed to slits, a chill crawling up his spine. "That bastard again. The one from the void. The one who looked at me like he knew me."
{Indeed, my lord.} The Wraith King's voice trembled—not from fear, but awe. {He is not of this universe. His presence lies beyond the Void, beyond the dominion of gods or demons. He is what we call an Outer Deity—an existence outside the laws of all creation. When he walks, reality itself bends to accommodate him. Stars dim. Time stutters. Even the concept of 'self' wavers in his shadow.}
Lucian leaned back, arms crossed, processing. "So he's not a god. Not a demon. Not even a player in the game. He's… outside it. Then those carvings—?"
{He made them himself.} The Wraith King bowed deeper, his cloak pooling like liquid night. {He said they were a message for his 'Other Half.' A mark that would resonate across every world, every timeline, every fragment of existence. The words, the symbols, the letters—all drawn from fragments of countless realities, including your old world, Earth. The emoji faces? A jest, perhaps. Or a signature. He enjoys the absurdity.}
Lucian's jaw tightened, his voice low. "My 'Other Half,' huh? He said that to my face. Looked me in the eye and called me that like it was a fact, not a threat."
{Yes, my lord.} The Wraith King's spectral eyes glowed brighter. {He called you that. He said this world's fate would rest on the day the 'Other Half' awakens—when the Demon God reborn remembers his true name. When the Primordial One returns to flesh and claims what was lost.}
Lucian's expression hardened, the room growing colder, the air thick with the weight of ancient truth. "So the prophecy was true… the one the Priestess screamed about before in my second life."
{Indeed, my lord.} The Wraith King's voice softened, reverent. {The Priestess of the Demon God Cult foretold it centuries ago—that the Demon God would reincarnate not as a destroyer, but as a savior. The one who would end the War of Gods and Evil Gods, and restore the collapsing balance of creation. She saw you, my lord. In visions. In blood. In fire.}
Lucian stayed silent for a long time, the ticking of the clock on the wall the only sound, steady and indifferent. His fingers curled into fists, then relaxed. "So you're saying… I'm him. The Demon God himself—just reborn in this mortal body. Not a vessel. Not a puppet. Me."
{Yes, my lord.} The Wraith King's form bowed lower, nearly touching the floor. {You are his reincarnation. The soul of the Primordial One reborn in flesh. The very essence of the being who once commanded both gods and devils, who brought the first dawn to the void when all was darkness. Your mana, your arts, your will—they sing with his echo.}
Lucian leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the wood beams casting shadows like bars. "No wonder you obey me. No wonder that bastard called me his other half. No wonder the Hybrid Blade Demonic Arts come so easy—like muscle memory from a life I never lived. Not in this body, anyway."
{Exactly, my lord.} The Wraith King's voice warmed, proud. {To us, your presence feels… familiar. Ancient. Like the calm before creation itself. When you use your Hybrid Blade Demonic Arts, your mana resonates with the same wavelength as the Demon God's essence—half divinity, half abyss. Light and dark in perfect balance. The blade sings because it knows you.}
Lucian muttered, voice dry, "So that's why the Cloaked Man in Black carved those marks. Not as nonsense, but as proof. Proof that he existed beyond worlds. Proof that I exist beyond them."
{Correct.} The Wraith King's spectral eyes glowed faintly, violet light pulsing. {When I first saw him, my lord, the skies tore open. The stars vanished. Reality screamed. Even the Demon God, in all his glory, would have lowered his head before that being. He is the embodiment of the void before time—and you, my lord, are his reflection within existence. His echo in the game of fate.}
Lucian smirked faintly, bitter, tired. "So I'm a Primordial God reborn and the reflection of something even older than creation itself. Wonderful. Just what I needed—another title to carry."
{It is your destiny, my lord.} The Wraith King's voice was steady, unwavering. {But the prophecy is not about destruction—it is about restoration. You are meant to end the chaos that began when the Gods and Evil Gods rebelled against the balance you once created. You are the scale. The fulcrum. The end and the beginning.}
Lucian closed his eyes, exhaling deeply, the sound heavy in the quiet room. "Then it's true… the war's coming again. The one I ended in my second life. The one I thought was over."
{It has already begun, my lord.} The Wraith King's tone darkened, urgent. {The divine realms tremble. The Evil Gods move in the shadows, whispering through cults and dreams. And the Evil Gods Cult—they whisper that the Reincarnated Demon God has finally awakened. They feel your presence, my lord. Like a storm on the horizon.}
Lucian opened his eyes slowly, golden irises glinting faintly red in the dim light, the mark of the abyss stirring. "So they know, huh? Or they suspect. How close are they?"
{Some suspect. But none yet know the truth.} The Wraith King's form straightened slightly, voice firm. {Only I—and now, you—understand the full extent of it. The Cult moves blind, guided by fragments of the Priestess's visions. They seek a destroyer. They do not yet see the savior.}
Lucian stood up, walking to the window, the moonlight spilling across his pale face, turning his skin silver, his eyes glowing faint. "I guess the universe really doesn't want me to rest. Thought I'd get a break after the exam. A week. A day."
{You carry both the burden and the power of the Primordial One, my lord.} The Wraith King's voice softened, loyal, unwavering. {But you are not alone. When the time comes, the loyal shall rally to your call once more. The Wraith Legion will rise at your command. The shadows will answer. The void will kneel.}
Lucian smiled faintly, a tired curve of his lips. "Heh. Then let's just hope it doesn't come too soon. I've had enough wars for several lifetimes. Let me finish this semester first."
{As you wish, my lord.} The Wraith King bowed deeply, his form beginning to fade, mist coiling back into the bracelet.
Lucian stared at it for a while, the faint pulse of dark light steady on the table, like a heartbeat from another age. He muttered under his breath, voice low, "The Demon God, huh? Guess I really did become the monster and the savior all in one. Hero to some. Devil to others. Just another day."
He sighed, closing his eyes, the weight of worlds settling on his shoulders. "If fate wants to start another war… then fine. This time, I'll finish it my way. No gods. No cults. No prophecies. Just me."
Outside, thunder rumbled faintly in the distance—low, rolling, like the heavens themselves acknowledged the rebirth of their greatest enemy… and their only hope.