Chapter 245: Aestrea Against The World (XXII)
The moment he uttered those words, the air around them changed instantly.
Mana began to gather around Aestrea fast.
It swirled like smoke around his fingers, then spun faster, forming a thick cyclone that wrapped around his body.
The pressure in the hall dropped.
The wind from the mana spiral whipped at his coat and hair, tossing strands into the air as if the very air had been pulled under his control.
Then, his eyes flared open, and the lunar mark etched deep in his pupils suddenly glowed.
A bright, glowing white.
So bright, it made the shadows around him look even darker.
A pale silver light poured from his body like a rising moon.
“Fucking hell… Dammit!”
And he didn’t hesitate.
He rushed forward, his robes fluttering violently behind him, and stopped in front of his wife, holding both arms out wide.
Then, with a loud and clear voice:
『 ✯ Divine Wood Series ✯: Cocoon Defense! (✯ 9th-level Spell ✯) 』
The ground beneath them split open.
From the stone tiles below, thick golden roots exploded upward with a deep, heavy thud.
They twisted tightly around the Emperor and his wife like a living wall. Sigils etched themselves along the bark in glowing green patterns, layer after layer pulsing with divine power.
One root after another slammed into place with loud, echoing thuds.
Each root gleamed with a golden glow, pulsing softly like the heartbeat of the forest itself.
But it still wasn’t enough.
A loud sound suddenly echoed through the hall.
And it didn’t come from the floor.
The pressure around Aestrea had spiked.
The mana cyclone around him had grown massive, expanding with each breath he took.
The air had turned sharp and cold.
So cold, in fact, that every breath he exhaled came out in thick clouds of white steam.
“Fssshhh… fssh… haaah…”
Aestrea didn’t move at all, just continued absorbing more and more mana
And soon, the entire castle around him began to creak.
The enchanted windows, made from materials reinforced with magic, shook violently under the pressure.
The first one shattered, shards flying outward like snow.
His hair blew wildly in all directions now, caught in the swirling wind.
He lifted his hand higher, letting the mana gather around his palm, dense and glowing with icy energy.
And as it reached the perfect amount, when the cyclone stopped growing, holding itself like a waiting storm….
He let out a cold breath.
That breath was cold enough to chill bones.
Then, his lips moved.
『 ✯ Winter Series ✯: Snowglass Burial! (✯ 8th-level Spell ✯) 』
At once, a white mist burst out from beneath his feet, crawling along the ground like living frost.
It swept through the room.
Everything it touched froze.
The floor turned crystal-blue under a thin sheet of sharp ice. The walls crackled as frost lines carved their way upward.
The pillars began to groan as ice encased them. Even the very air seemed to slow down.
Then, from above, sharp spears of snowglass began forming in midair.
There were at least… a few thousand; they spun slowly at first, hovering above Aestrea’s head like a crown made of death.
They were fired, all of them in an instant.
Like rain made from knives, they shot toward the golden cocoon, aiming to bury the Emperor and his wife beneath a storm of frozen blades.
Some of the spears hit the root walls and exploded in showers of ice.
Others pierced straight through the outer layer and kept going, burying themselves deep into the defenses.
Inside the cocoon, the golden bark trembled.
Sigils flared, dimmed, then flared again.
More spears kept coming.
The room started shaking as dust fell from the ceiling, and frost slowly coated everything on its way…
And Aestrea… just stood there, his eyes glowing, his lips slightly parted as he watched them get buried by the storm of frost spears.
Like death in human form.
A tiny fracture ran down the middle, a gentle hiss as mana began leaking out from the roots.
One rune flickered, then another, until the entire protective shell started to dim, sigils unraveling like torn threads under pressure they were never meant to bear.
But that wasn’t everything.
As the mana fused in a single point…
A harsh, splintering sound rang out as golden bark split straight down the center. Fragments of the divine wood scattered across the icy floor like broken glass, glowing briefly before dimming to ash.
The wind in the chamber stilled, holding its breath.
And from within the broken shell, shrouded in a thin mist of frost and steam… the Empress emerged.
Her footsteps were silent, but each step carried a strange pressure that caused the air to drop slightly.
Her robes trailed behind her, damp and heavy with condensation, sticking slightly to her legs as she moved forward, barefoot now, her shoes lost inside the shattered cocoon.
Her pale skin was kissed by the cold.
Fine cuts traced down her arms and across her cheek. Blood welled slowly, trickling like red threads over porcelain.
And there, in the center of her forehead…
A glowing, perfect lunar mark.
And Aestrea’s eyes widened completely.
Not in fear or shock, but in a complete and terrifying rage. His lips twitched slighly, and his fists clenched slightly at his sides.
And if that wasn’t enough, the pressure coming from his eyes increased even more than before.
“…How dare you use a Moon Mark before me?”
His voice came as cold as one can be, and then, as her glowing eyes met his, just for a heartbeat, the world changed.
A presence, thick and ancient, suddenly filled the room like a flood.
The air warped as it became heavier, denser.
The flickering torches along the walls burned lower, smaller, as if bowing their flames in fear.
The Empress froze in place mid-step.
Her mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, but no words came.
Then, slowly… unwillingly… inevitably…
Her right knee hit the floor first. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by NoveIꜰire.net
The sound echoed in the chamber like a heartbeat.
Her left knee followed a second later, her body swaying forward as her hands reached out, shaking, desperate, to catch herself.
But the pressure didn’t stop.
She collapsed further, her hands slapping against the freezing floor, fingers splayed wide.
Her hair spilled across her shoulders, messy and wet with frost.
Her lips parted again, this time in a gasp, and her back arched downward, spine straining under a weight that wasn’t physical, but spiritual.
Her skin paled, the color draining from her cheeks.
And still, Aestrea had not moved.
He only looked at her.
His eyes glowing with quiet fury.
That was all it took.
The Emperor’s voice ripped through the moment, loud and cracked with desperation.
He appeared in a blur of green light, moving faster than his own shadow, landing just a few steps behind Aestrea with a loud, urgent stomp.
His eyes were wide with panic, fear swimming beneath the surface as he stared at his wife, folded and helpless on the ground.
“She has nothing to do with this! Leave her out of it!”
But Aestrea turned his head slightly.
Only slightly… a slow tilt, as if considering whether the man was even worth acknowledging.
And then, he raised his palm.
The pressure intensified again in an instant.
The Empress gasped, loudly this time, as her entire upper body was slammed downward.
Her chest was compressed against the floor, her forehead pressed flat against the ice. Her breath caught, and her shoulders twitched violently.
She whimpered softly.
It was barely a sound.
Her fingers scraped against the floor, nails chipping slightly as they dragged across the surface.
Her legs shifted behind her, instinctively trying to push her back up, but the weight on her was relentless.
Couldn’t lift her head.
Couldn’t even breathe without trembling.
Aestrea leaned down slightly, not out of kindness, but something closer to judgment.
Just enough to watch her body fold in half under his will.
A thin fracture spidered across the tile beneath her, the sheer pressure pushing even the divine ice to breaking point.
Frost bloomed around her knees like jagged flowers.
And the mark on her forehead…
It flickered… and then dimmed.
The Emperor screamed once again.
He tried to conjure a spell, but as he did…
The pressure increased once again, and right now, he could understand that the pressure came from the difference between their statues under the moon.
So, he unfortunately, couldn’t do anything about it.
There was only one thing he could…
The Emperor’s voice faltered now.
There was no more anger in his voice.
Only a breathless, trembling whisper.
The only thing left for him to do was… beg.
His legs gave out as he dropped to his knees.
He stared at his wife, still kneeling, unable to rise, fingers twitching against the floor, and then looked back at Aestrea.
There was no pride left in him now.
Just raw, and completely ‘elven’ desperation.
“…please,” he said again, his throat dry.
His eyes were beginning to gloss.
He swallowed, but his voice still cracked.
“I beg you… please stop…”
He lowered his head and didn’t look up again.
The pressure in the air lessened.
The Empress gasped, clutching her chest in desperation. The Elven Emperor quickly approached her and started healing her.
Unfortunately, his healing magic couldn’t do anything.
Because what she suffered from was none other than Soul Damage.
A small tap reached their ears, and they sharply turned to the source of the sound, just to see Aestrea slowly sitting down on his throne.
He stretched his legs as if he owned the place, and placing his fist against his cheek, he muttered in a lazy tone.
A glowing white smoke seeped out of his lunar eyes.