Chapter 402
Xavier mercilessly peeled apart every memory of those battles.
The death of a teammate who fell during the ambush mission was no longer seen as a tragic risk of war, but as concrete proof of Ilux's absent mind—a moment of negligence that cost a life.
When an enemy sword nearly pierced his skull at the Dark Legion's headquarters, it was no longer an act of courage that almost demanded a heavy price, but the result of pitiful recklessness in judging the situation.
Even the confrontation with Hashri, where Ilux had accidentally strengthened the antithesis of his opponent's power, was twisted into a high-level strategic blunder—a form of carelessness that threatened not only himself but also disrupted the balance of power itself.
Every word became a sledgehammer forging Ilux's self-image into that of a reckless man, a harbinger of disaster whose routine was haunted by calamities of his own making.
Xavier insisted that these were not separate strands of misfortune.
They were a pattern.
A curse attached to Ilux's choices, reflexes, and combat instincts—flaws Xavier believed had existed from the very beginning.
By connecting those points of failure, Xavier constructed a narrative prison inside Ilux's mind, attempting to convince him that he was, at his core, a coward disguised as a brave man, a guide who led others astray, and that every step he took would always be followed by the shadow of negligence demanding a debt of blood.
'You speak as if you stand upon perfection, when all I see is a coward trembling behind the shadow of his own name.'
Shaaah!
'You accuse me of recklessness, yet you forget one thing. I am the one who steps onto the battlefield, the one who bears the consequences. And you? Hiding behind memories, moving your tongue and calling it wisdom.'
Hiiiih!!
'A childish hero's soul. That is what you are now. A great king in poetry, a panicking child in reality. And do not lecture me about responsibility.
As a father to your children—the ones who became the Gods—you failed. You left behind a legacy of blood, fear, and sacrificial altars. And you still dare to lecture me about mistakes?'
Shooooh!!
'Do you know what disgusts me the most? Beneath all those titles, you are nothing more than the descendant of a mass murderer's great-grandfather—and you are still naive enough to call yourself a hero.'
Ilux was no longer silent.
The anger he had long kept sealed behind his cold composure finally boiled over, transforming him from an easy target into an equally ferocious counterattacker.
Every sharp accusation Xavier hurled was not merely deflected with defensive logic, but returned with counterstrikes aimed directly at the core of the legend's identity.
For every insult about his fragile childhood, Ilux brought up Xavier's failure as a father.
For every accusation of negligence on the battlefield, Ilux mocked the childish panic of a hero who trembled over a single name.
Ilux's defense turned into a brutal offensive.
He was no longer arguing about the dangers of the Land of the Gods or the viability of any plan.
Now he directed all his verbal ammunition toward dismantling Xavier's image from within.
Each time he managed to deflect or reverse an accusation, he immediately launched another attack—more personal, more humiliating.
Xavier was labeled a coward hiding behind the authority of his past, a grand soul who proved to be easily swayed by childish emotions.
The title was not thrown as empty profanity, but as a sharp diagnosis born from long observation during their forced coexistence.
Yet the most piercing blow—the one that froze the entire atmosphere of their shared consciousness—came when Ilux exposed the lineage Xavier would most likely wish forgotten.
With a tone laced with resentment and bitter triumph, Ilux referred to the Hero King as the descendant of a mass-murdering great-grandfather.
It was an attack not only upon Xavier himself but upon his entire legacy and legitimacy.
It was an attempt to stain the very source of his pride, suggesting that the blood flowing through his lineage might carry the seeds of violence and cruelty, thereby undermining his claim as a bringer of peace and prosperity.
"If you cannot endure every word I speak, then do not stand before me demanding tolerance. Bring the coffin instead. Place it here, if every word of mine is truly that unbearable to you."
Fhuuuh!
"And if you still intend to force me to submit, then step over my corpse. Because aside from that, you will gain nothing from me."
The room became a silent witness to an unbearable storm.
Ilux's bed, which had previously maintained its shape despite the turmoil of the elements, was now completely in disarray.
The sheets and blankets were torn and twisted by forces that came not from physical hands but from uncontrolled psychic waves.
The bedframe groaned like a creature in pain, while pillows were flung into the corners of the room as if kicked by invisible rage.
This chaos invading the physical world was the final proof that the battle within consciousness had overflowed, no longer able to remain contained within the boundaries of the mind alone.
At the peak of his frustration, when the boiling emotion sought the most dramatic escape, Ilux's body moved.
From a lying position, he suddenly turned, his body tense like an arrow ready to launch.
His right arm shot forward, his index finger pointing sharply toward an empty corner of the room—a space filled only with shadows and dust.
The gesture carried theatrical intensity, a symbol of despair and courage fused into one.
In the darkest depth of his heart, an ultimatum formed—harsher than any shout before it.
That ultimatum was a total rejection wrapped in the metaphor of death.
Ilux was no longer merely refusing Xavier's request.
He was challenging the legend to accept every bitter truth that had been spoken—or face the final consequence.
If Xavier insisted, refusing to hear and acknowledge each of those sharp criticisms, then there would be no middle ground left.
Let Xavier bring the coffin.
Let him prepare the funeral ceremony for the host of this body.
And afterward, if he still wished his will to be fulfilled, let him attempt to step over Ilux's corpse if he could.
It was a declaration that Ilux would rather choose a final physical death than submit and live as a puppet within a plan he rejected with every fiber of his being.
"Very well. I accept your challenge."
Fhuaaah!
"If I win, your consciousness will disappear. Not partially. Not temporarily. Your body, your mind, your will—everything will become mine."
Fhiiiih!
"Ilux Rediona will cease to exist. And the one who will stand completely afterward… will be me, Xavier XVII."
The agreement fell not in diplomatic silence but in a thunderclap of burning emotion.
Xavier's acceptance was neither calm nor measured, but born from the same volcanic anger and frustration that fueled Ilux's defiance.
There was a bitter note of victory within his psychic resonance, as though he had finally found a gap through which to force his will after everything had descended into chaos.
Yet this agreement was not surrender.
It was the raising of the stakes.
Xavier did not merely accept Ilux's challenge.
He surpassed it.
With cruel precision, he added an additional clause—a condition that transformed the wager from a declaration of principle into a war for existence itself.
The condition was clear, explicit, and terrifying.
If he won in this inevitable conflict, it would not only be Ilux's obedience that he would gain.
He would take everything.
Ilux's unique consciousness, the memories of his childhood in the orphanage, all his fears, courage, and frustrations—would be extinguished or imprisoned forever.
To be continued…