A collective gasp echoed as all were shocked by those words, but it was Serilda, the Blade of Frost, who broke the silence.
Her dark blue hair framed her face, and her piercing purple eyes narrowed as she spoke.
She was a woman best known for her cold logic, the kind of commander who would kill a comrade possessed by a demon rather than try to free him from it.
She was quite similar to Arkanos in that regard and was the last knight anyone thought would lose her position.
Guess the young emperor did not fancy her.
She was one of the few knights present to have single-handedly killed at least three mythical-class creatures during the Shadow of Eden war.
She was a level 360, 7-star knight.
"That's an arc fallen. A creature like that isn't just powerful—it's catastrophic. Arc fallen angels are the right hands of gods. Or at least, they were."
The room seemed to grow colder, a sense of dread settling over the table. Serilda spoke again.
"They are beings cast down from the heavens not because they were weak, but because they were too dangerous to keep. In some cases, even the gods themselves feared the risks of destroying them outright. So instead, they banished them, leaving them to roam the mortal planes, untethered and vengeful. Arc fallen are stronger than some lesser gods, capable of leveling cities and wiping out armies. And their very presence can twist reality, driving mortals to madness... That would explain why those men slaughtered themselves."
She paused, her fingers drumming on the hilt of her blade as she glanced at each of her peers.
"In terms of strength, an arc fallen is comparable to an 11-star demigod-ranked knight, if not stronger. They wield divine powers warped by their fall, and their minds… their minds are said to be as alien as the abyss itself. Facing one is no small task—it's a death sentence."
"No mortal can face them... unless they possess a blessing or a divine Arms."
Divine Arms were artifacts created by the god of Forge, Tharon, often given to heroes of the past to slay malevolent lesser gods that threatened the balance of the mortal plane.
Jareth's teeth clenched audibly, his jaw tightening as he absorbed her words. His gaze turned back to Herald, burning with fury.
"So," Jareth said, with sarcasm, "what exactly is your grand plan, Herald? I'd love to hear how you plan to deal with an arc fallen. Enlighten us."
His hand pressed firmly against the table, the veins in his arm bulging as he tried to suppress his frustration.
The room fell silent again, everyone now looking to Herald, awaiting his answer with a touch of skepticism and desperation.
Herald's sly smile widened as he leaned forward, his fingers interlocking in front of him. "I'm more than willing to enlighten you all—provided, of course, you're prepared to make a Soul Oath."
The words were like a poisoned blade to the neck.
Serilda's eyes narrowed, "What?"
Before she could ask further, another voice spoke.
"Herald Ebonriver."
Malrik's pueple mana rose slightly in his seat, he had dark purple eyes and jet-black hair.
His black armor gleamed faintly with the purple enchantment runes drawn into its dark steel, and the unmistakable aura of death clung to him—a man who had taken more lives than most could count.
Known as Malrik the Shadowbreaker, he was a Level 460 9-star knight and a mage of the fourth circle... An achievement that labeled him a genius across the continent.
A battle mage as most would say, an almost heretical combination that allowed him to seamlessly wield a blade while casting destructive spells.
During the Shadow of Eden war, Malrik had single-handedly held off an entire enemy battalion, obliterating their ranks with both sword and sorcery. He was a legend in his own right—a man feared and respected in equal measure.
"You'd do well not to push your luck," Malrik said, his voice dangersly low.
"In the past, I would have personally beheaded you for even attempting such a demand. Make no mistake, Herald—none of us are loyal to you. This relationship is purely transactional."
His eyes swept the room briefly before fixing back on Herald.
"Perhaps it isn't the same for the others here, but that is exactly what it is for me."
The room was silent, save for the faint hum of Malrik's mana, which seemed to thrum in the air like an unspoken warning. All eyes were on Herald now, waiting to see how he would respond to the challenge.
Herald's grin didn't leave his face as he leaned back in his chair, hands spread in mock surrender.
"Ease your nerves, it's nothing as drastic as demanding your loyalty."
"All I ask is a simple pledge. One that ensures you won't let greed control you after I reveal my methods. I want your word that you won't become... curious about the things I have in my possession—or worse, begin scheming against me."
The room remained silent, the nobles and commanders exchanging cautious glances. It was Jareth who finally broke the silence.
"As long as it doesn't pose any danger to us," he said, sounding calm, though his narrowed eyes gave away his lingering distrust.
Herald chuckled, his foxlike smile returning. "Of course. The last thing I'd ever want is to offend my esteemed partners before I achieve my goals. That would be... counterproductive, don't you think?"
Slowly, the tense air eased, and one by one, the gathered figures nodded reluctantly. With that, they each placed a hand over their hearts.
Their chests began to glow with a faint blue hue as they intoned, their voices seemed to vibrated the fabric of reality around them.
"I take this Soul Oath on the terms agreed upon. If I am break this oath, my essence shall be obliterated, and my soul shall cease to exist."
The glow faded, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. For a moment, no one spoke.
Herald's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he clasped his hands together, the faintest loom of triumph on his face.
"Well," he said smoothly, "now that we've taken care of that... let's get to the matter at hand, shall we?"