Chapter 400
The fact that the inhabitants of the Land of the Gods were his own flesh and blood—children of Xavier and Myra who seized cosmic authority immediately after the tragic suicide of their parents—only added an immeasurable layer of complexity and danger.
This was not merely entering enemy territory.
This was stepping into a family home that had become painfully alien, unbearably arrogant, and overwhelmingly powerful, where his status as the "reincarnation of their father" could be seen as an insult, a threat, or simply an amusing piece in a game waiting to be crushed.
For Ilux, the logic of facing such a situation was simple.
Without Divine Authority, he was nothing more than an insect trying to comprehend and challenge giants who might not even acknowledge his existence.
Xavier's proposal, with all the promises of benefit it carried, sounded to him like an invitation to jump into the mouth of a lion while hoping to pry its teeth apart from the inside.
'Silence does not mean doubt. Silence is simply another form of certainty.'
After that lengthy explanation—born not only from emotion but also grounded in logic and an understanding of the terrifying hierarchy of power—the atmosphere inside Ilux's room sank once again into total silence.
The room, already dim since the clock had passed eleven fourteen on a thick, heavy night, seemed to grow darker in spirit.
Only the silhouettes of furniture and a pale beam of moonlight stood witness.
There was no sound.
Neither from outside nor from within.
Ilux chose to remain silent.
This was not the silence of confusion or overwhelm, but a deliberate one—an active closing of the inner conversation.
He had stated his objections and laid out the reasons he believed to be irrefutable.
Now it was Xavier's turn to respond—or more likely, to swallow the bitter pill that his "fantastic" plan had been rejected.
His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling of the room.
That stare was empty and full at the same time.
Empty because he intentionally cleared his mind of hope or anticipation.
Full because behind it, he was waiting.
Waiting for Xavier's reaction.
"A… I…"
Fhooooh!
"Be… be… because of that…"
Fiuhh!
"I… wa… wa… want… your… pre… sence. You… are… the… one… I… trust…"
Haaah!
"You… are… al… so… the… one… who… has… been… with… me… throu… gh… your… re… in… car… na… tion… in… this… world. Is… is… it… so… hard… to… say… yes… to… that?"
'I understand him.'
The silence finally broke—not with anger or threats, but with a voice that sounded very different from usual.
Xavier's voice appeared, yet this time without its usual authority or certainty.
He sounded as though he were trying to piece his thoughts together from the wreckage of panic and desperation.
Every letter, every word, seemed painfully chosen and spoken with maximum effort, producing sentences that were broken and halting.
The rhythm of his speech, which normally flowed like a deep river, now stumbled awkwardly, like someone trying to speak a language that had nearly been forgotten.
Yet behind those broken fragments and the difficulty of forming words, Ilux could grasp the essence of what he was trying to say.
It was not that he failed to understand.
In fact, the core message was painfully clear—perhaps even sharper because it was delivered with such fragility.
Xavier was expressing a very fundamental, very human plea that went beyond all discussions of logic, danger, or power.
He was saying, in all his vulnerability, that this was precisely why he wanted Ilux's presence.
Not as a tool.
Not as a weapon.
But as the only entity he trusted—the one who had accompanied him throughout the chaotic journey of his reincarnation in this strange world.
The question Xavier asked at the end of that fractured chain of words was not a challenge or manipulation.
It was an almost innocent question, filled with exhaustion and restrained hope.
"Is it really so difficult to agree?"
He was asking whether it was truly so hard to acknowledge that simple truth.
That they belonged to one another, needed one another, bound together by a fate that could no longer be avoided.
"I know your intentions are pure, Xavier. There is no deception behind your words. But precisely because of that, I am tired. Tired of theories, of possibilities, of the layered scenarios you construct as if logic could be forced to submit through sheer conviction."
Deep in his heart, Ilux understood that Xavier's intention this time was sincere—a genuine request for help without hidden agendas or tricks.
Yet his exhaustion had already reached its peak.
It was not merely exhaustion from this night, but from the entire cascade of words, theories, memories, and philosophical burdens Xavier had poured onto his shoulders from the beginning.
Before giving any response, Ilux took a dramatic pause.
He drew in a long breath—very long—for a full ten seconds.
The air entered slowly, filling lungs that felt tight under the weight of the conversation, and then he released it gradually, as if trying to expel every word that had just crowded his thoughts.
After the final breath dissolved into the cold air of the room, Ilux finally spoke.
His voice within his mind was flat and toneless, yet it carried a sharp sting.
He did not immediately answer the request nor discuss the logic of survival.
Instead, he hurled a comment that struck directly at Xavier's emotional core.
He declared—and mocked with biting sarcasm—that Xavier at this moment was experiencing childish love.
'What I see now is not the Heroism of Humanity. Not King Xavier XVII, whom poets across the multiverse praise as a great king—noble, bringer of peace, creator of prosperity for the universes he left behind.'
Fhaaah!
'What stands before me is merely someone who has fallen into childish love. Nervous, panicked, and willing to sacrifice his own reason for the sake of a single name—Erietta.'
To Ilux, the contrast laid before him was so sharp that it felt almost embarrassing.
The traits Xavier displayed now—panic, pleading, fear that drove him to beg in a nearly desperate manner—stood far apart, even in total opposition, to the image and authority of the Heroism of Humanity that had long been glorified.
That image was of King Xavier XVII, a figure whom poets in every corner of the multiverse described as a great and noble king, filled with wisdom, a creator of peace and prosperity across the universes he had once ruled.
His name had been carved into history as a pillar of unwavering strength.
Yet what Ilux saw now was merely a shadow of that king.
A soul shaken by a single piece of news—even if that news carried the threat of death for someone he loved.
The distance between the legend who created peace for countless worlds and the individual now almost hysterical over a single life felt like a chasm that could never be reconciled.
To Ilux, it was a regression—almost a betrayal of that very grandeur.
"Take back those words, Ilux!!"
Hhhh!
"If you still value the consequences of every word you release, then repeat your statement right now. Or prepare yourself to face the consequences."
Xavier's reaction came swiftly and violently, like an explosion that had been suppressed for too long.
All the fragility and sincerity he had just shown vanished instantly, replaced by a boiling surge of emotion.
He was furious, his emotions overflowing into a thick storm of anger, and beneath it lay a deep resentment because Ilux's mockery had struck the deepest and most humiliating wound.
With an intensity that was almost physical, Xavier roared within Ilux's consciousness.
His voice was no longer broken—it was a command filled with threats, burning with overflowing rage.
To be continued…