The air in the room turned frigid, sending chills crawling over the skin of everyone present.
Paragon Raizel’s brows twitched, a faint crease forming as he absorbed the sensation. It was eerily similar to what he had felt moments ago, right before Bairan stepped out. But unlike then, this presence was not as imposing—no, it was something far more sinister.
He remained still, waiting in dark anticipation.
Behind Northern, dark flames pooled and began to rise, writhing like living shadows. They twisted and swirled, birthing figures from the void flames. Seconds crawled by, stretching unnaturally long, and then—they appeared.
Several figures stood behind Northern, their presence looming, their forms coalescing from the darkish-purple fire.
A deathly silence swallowed the room. Their breaths trembled, their eyes widened, and an unspoken terror slithered into their hearts.
Each of them saw different things.
Not just creatures, but entities—anomalies that defied sense, almost as if existence itself bending to their shape. And then, absurdly, among them stood a goat.
It was, unmistakably, a goat.
None of them knew what a goat was. To them, it was an aberration—a sick joke standing in eerie contrast to the other quiddities surrounding Northern.
“How… how is this even possible?”
Ascendant Zion’s innocent face had gone deathly pale, his disbelief warping into sheer horror.
Sage Mack was scarcely better. His face had turned white, yet he remained silent, painstakingly absorbing what lay before him. His shoulders trembled, quaking intermittently as he struggled to muster enough Endurance to withstand the crushing weight these strange beings exerted on the air itself.
Northern stood motionless for a moment, then spoke.
“Of course… I won’t send all of them with you. I’ll pick the ones that will be most helpful.”
His words were met with absolute silence—not the silence of apathy, but of complete, paralyzing dread.
They weren’t ignoring what he said.
They were simply too consumed by the sheer, appalling reality of what he had wrought.
And worse—he spoke as if it were nothing.
Paragon Raizel, who had maintained a deadpan expression up until now, simply stared.
And blinked.
Then stared.
Then blinked again…
And again…
Several times over, until Northern’s voice finally broke the suffocating tension.
Raizel inhaled deeply, sighing as he ran a hand over his face, washing away the numb disbelief.
Then, without a word, he stepped back to his seat.
From within his robe, he pulled out a pipe and a strange sparker. He flicked it once, a faint crackle igniting at its tip. He was about to light the pot of his pipe when his hands stilled.
His eyes turned distant.
For a fleeting moment, something emotional flickered in his gaze.
Then, with an exhale, he put the pipe and sparker away.
‘I don’t want her to nag again…’
He let out a slow breath, shifting his focus back to Northern. His eyes, previously dull and drained, now held a faint glimmer of life.
A small smile appeared on his lips, kind and charismatic.
His red hair swayed in the soft, unnatural wind that whispered through the room.
And for the first time since Northern unleashed the abyss, the room felt like it was breathing again.
“Forgive me for asking, Ral. I thought you could create clones? What exactly are these things?”
Northern exhaled, his gaze unreadable. With a simple gesture, the void flames surged, swallowing the summoned entities whole before vanishing into nothingness. Then, he spoke.
“It’s difficult to explain, really. But let’s say… they are vessels… manifestations of the souls of monsters I’ve killed. Made possible by an enigmatic presence that resides within my soul. Of course, having a clone talent has played a crucial role in shaping them.”
Paragon Raizel grinned in disbelief.
“To be honest, I don’t fully understand a damn thing you just said… but I have a general idea. And I’m not about to poke any further. However—” he let out a chuckle, shaking his head, “I am so glad that someone as horrific and resourceful as you is not my enemy.”
Northern remained impassive, considering the words before offering a measured response.
“There’s no telling what will happen.”
The Paragon’s chuckle turned into a full laugh.
“Talk about a sadistic human. What? You planning to make an enemy out of me and turn your life into a living hell?”
Northern frowned, confused.
“Didn’t you just say you were glad I wasn’t your enemy?”
Raizel’s smirk widened.
“I don’t see how that implies that I wouldn’t crush your shitty soul if you dared.”
Northern went silent, swallowing his words.
‘Paragons… are damn cocky.’
He’d love to knock one off their high horse sometime—preferably before he became a Paragon himself.
Meanwhile, Raizel stood and turned toward the window, leaning against it as he gazed over the battered city. His crimson hair caught in the subtle wind, his expression distant, somber.
After a long pause, he turned back, his voice regaining its usual commanding weight.
“What we will be doing now is this…”
His sharp gaze settled on Ascendant Zion and Sage Mack.
“The two of you will be leading every Drifter, from Masters upward, to Verulania. During that journey, I expect you to prioritize safety—no rash decisions. As you’ve seen, Ral here will be sending some ‘help’ along the way.”
He smirked, nodding assertively before adding,
“And make sure you don’t die. Or if you do die, I’ll drag your souls back and kill you myself.”
Ascendant Zion beat his chest with a fierce grin.
“I have survived this long, sir. Death wouldn’t dare!”
“Better!”
At that moment, Ilitis stepped forward and bowed toward Northern.
“My liege, if possible, I would like to travel to Verulania with them. There’s a task I need to complete there.”
Northern had no reason to refuse him—especially now, after realizing how valuable the shopkeeper was to human society.
He suddenly felt reluctant to accept Ilitis’ obeisance.
“…It’s fine. Do whatever suits you.”
Paragon Raizel glanced at Northern, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Ral and I will be heading over to Fhugal.”
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