The shadows cast by the colonnades spread beneath the two men's feet. The chill of the stone ground seeped through the soles of their boots, though it was far less intense than the burning sensation caused when his soul rubbed against this body.
William couldn't help but frown — the pain in his soul indicated that his 'time' was running out. Whatever needed to be done, it must be swift and decisive...
At this moment, with the shell of Ares on the outside, he maintained the arrogant stance belonging to the War God, walking at the forefront. Lucius Malfoy trailed half a step behind with deference, his voice suppressed to ensure their conversation wouldn't be carried away by the mountain winds to other ears.
"Container..."
William repeated, his golden eyes glancing back at Malfoy. "Specifically, what does it refer to? What are they planning to do with Riddle?"
"The specific purpose, given my current, uh, status... I can't fully access it, my lord."
Malfoy carefully chose his words, his hand slightly curled within his sleeve, trying to keep his tone as steady as possible. "I've only overheard snippets of conversations. It seems they're interested in certain 'qualities' of the Dark Lord's, no, Voldemort's fragmented soul. One reason might be the frequency and distortion in the way he split his soul."
Pausing to gauge William's reaction, and seeing only a stoic face, Malfoy continued, "These reasons have enabled Voldemort's Soul Artifact to acquire a certain ability, allowing him to serve as some sort of 'vessel' or 'channel'. They call it a 'container', implying it can be used to 'steal' something they desire but can't safely contact."
Malfoy's words confirmed most of William's suspicions.
The Secret Vault—Voldemort's soul fragments' peculiar nature is inextricably linked to that highly unstable magical spiritual energy amalgam formed by Ancient Magic and a complex mix of emotions.
Yet, after some prior research by an unnamed Mr. Grindelwald, it's hard to say if these people's plans are still viable.
After all, Grindelwald almost transformed that power into a sort of 'marvelous tool'.
Remembering the research results Grindelwald had presented to him and Dumbledore the previous night, William felt a sense of hope.
"So, Voldemort... where is that guy now? What's his condition?"
William continued to probe the key question. Though there were all these 'freshly minted' villains, he still had a special fondness for the noseless creature.
"Hufflepuff's Golden Cup is placed 'between the forge', monitored by the fire god Hephaestus."
Malfoy continued, "After the 'Divine Envoy' Hermes disappeared, oh right, I secretly overheard that Hermes seemed to have reached some sort of collaboration with Voldemort to deal with you. But fortunately, it seems it fell apart due to Hermes's disappearance before they could proceed. Before that, Voldemort had the basic freedom..."
Helbo, huh? In his lifetime, he probably won't be back—
"And now?"
"Imprisoned within the Soul Artifact, without any power—"
"So what's your status now?"
William asked, a bit curious. After all, Malfoy had originally infiltrated as a 'Death Eater'. Now that his backing, 'Voldemort', had completely lost power, yet he was still wandering around this palace as if nothing had happened—quite perplexing, indeed, as the guy didn't have any special status.
"Low-level Divine Servant, sir... they are very short on people."
"Short on people?"
William's eyes shifted slightly, his steps unchanged, his gaze sweeping over the distant empty corridor. "What do you mean? How many people do they have? In this Divine Hall, how many 'Gods' like the War God 'Ares' or Hermes are there?"
Upon hearing this, Malfoy moved a bit closer, his voice even softer. "Not as many as you'd imagine, my lord. From my observations over the past two months, not many have successfully awakened from a long slumber with a clear will. In this Olympus Divine Hall, only a few are active—the only one I'm familiar with is the fire god."
"As for the others,"
Malfoy continued, "more resemble the guards we saw earlier, and some 'puppet' maidens. Many ancient existences reportedly chose not to wake, or over the long span of time, even those statues have completely vanished. Not all... uh... 'Gods' desire to see today's sun."
William nodded, internally noting this discrepancy from his previous estimates, though it made more sense—nearly a thousand years is enough to obliterate most matters, even those who fancied themselves as gods. The enemy's numbers were fewer than anticipated, but those climbing out of their 'graves' were undoubtedly more troublesome adversaries.
He couldn't tell if this was good news or bad news...
However, just as William prepared to inquire about some more details, a set of steady, clear, but somewhat abrupt footsteps echoed from beyond the archway ahead of them.
William smelled a stench of decay—
In the next moment, a tall woman gracefully stepped out from the shadow of the colonnades, stopping precisely at an angle ahead of their path.
The woman was clad in a simple creamy white short-robe, its folds flowing with a sculptural grace, perfectly accentuating the sweeping curves of her body. Her golden hair was intricately braided and coiled at the back of her head, dazzling like sunshine remolded from molten gold.
Her face was beautiful by any standard, indisputably so—yet upon seeing her, William couldn't help but twitch his nose.
The woman was saturated with a pervasive scent of rot. Clearly, this method of 'immortality' wasn't as...
Perfect as Helbo had claimed.
"I hope you've nearly finished dealing with your 'personal affairs'."
The woman's voice was pleasant, though laden with implications beyond the surface meaning. "I wonder, what sort of business would cause you such interest in this 'servant' I require, to the extent you'd personally 'escort' him here? War God?"
Clearly, this encounter was no coincidence, and her identity was almost obvious. William's thoughts turned, the repulsion between his soul and body seemed slightly exacerbated by this sudden pressure. Drawing upon all his focus, he manipulated Ares' facial muscles into an expression befitting his nature, one mixed with evident impatience and arrogance.
"None of your damn business?"