Earth's Greatest Magus

Chapter 2834: Let Her Go!

Minutes before the ceremony reached its peak, unease had already begun to coil beneath the Astiel like a hidden storm.

"That Jinkan is here to cause trouble," Prince Denard muttered under his breath, his eyes tracking the Amarhikk delegation across the terraces. "Keep your eyes on them."

The guards bowed subtly and melted back into the crowd, their senses spread wide.

Denard then turned to the woman beside him.

Klea stood straight, her expression composed, yet there was an absence behind her eyes that unsettled him.

"You’ve been quiet," he said, studying her carefully. "What did she say to you?"

Klea’s lips parted slowly, and when she answered, her voice came soft and uneven, as if she were waking from a long dream. "She said... someone has returned... Emery... Who is he?"

For the briefest moment, the prince’s composure fractured.

He did not answer her.

Instead, he turned sharply toward a nearby attendant. "Where is Caelthar?"

The guard hesitated only a fraction of a second. "Your Highness, Lord Caelthar remains within the inner compound. He is still occupied with the pagoda artifact."

That should have been reassuring.

It wasn’t.

A tightness gripped Denard’s chest, a premonition he could not shake. He looked back at Klea, whose gaze had drifted again, unfocused.

"To hell with the ceremony," he muttered, decision flashing through him. "We’re leaving. Now."

He reached for her arm—

—and was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

The Storm Lord stood behind him, regal robes flowing, expression calm but iron-hard beneath the surface. Thunder murmured faintly in the air around him like a warning.

"That," the elder said evenly, "is not the conduct of a crown prince."

"Second Elder... something is wrong," Denard insisted in a low voice. "We can postpone—"

"You will not embarrass the clan," The elder replied, his tone brooking no argument.

The decision was made instantly, and the event was ordered to expedite; the wedding would go before the main ceremony.

Moments later, the ceremonial music swelled across Eclipse Island, layered instruments weaving celestial harmonies as the sky shimmered with prismatic auroras.

"The auspicious hour has arrived!" the Astiel ruler proclaimed.

The procession began.

And at that moment, close by, disaster struck.

Within the inner compound, a servant waiting outside Caelthar’s chamber heard a dull thud. When he entered, he found the Astiel genius collapsed on the floor, eyes open, body intact—but empty.

Soulless.

Dead.

At the same time, the great pagoda artifact trembled violently, frost spreading across its surface like veins of cracking ice.

####

Back on the stage—

Klea swayed.

Her hand flew to her chest, breath hitching as if something had just torn through the depths of her being.

"E... Emery..."

The name slipped past her lips in a trembling whisper, yet in that vast, spell-amplified arena, it carried with impossible clarity.

Her head lifted.

Her eyes—once dull and distant—searched the crowd with raw, aching urgency.

"Where... where is he...?"

A wave of confusion rolled through the audience.

Beside her, Denard’s expression stiffened for the briefest fraction of a second before he reacted.

His hand closed around her arm, not tenderly, but firmly—possessively.

"My apologies," he announced smoothly, forcing a laugh that rang hollow. "She is unwell.. we shall.."

"Let her go!!"

The voice struck like a thrown blade.

A figure descended onto the stage. Astiel guards reacted instantly, weapons half-drawn—

—then froze when they recognized the insignia on the figure’s chest.

The crest of the Amarhikk of the Nephilim main family.

Eeshoo stood straight, eyes blazing with open disgust.

"Release her!" he said, each word precise and cold.

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the nearest guests. Heads turned.

Denard’s composure cracked for only a heartbeat, irritation flashing across his face before he forcibly smoothed it away. His gaze slid past Eeshoo and swept the crowd, landing briefly on Jinkan, who stood among the dignitaries with an unreadable expression. Seeing that she did not make a move, he drew in a slow breath and let his courtly mask settle back into place.

"Well now... If it isn’t the famed genius... grand magus Eeshoo. Your reputation truly precedes you." His smile thinned. "I have also heard a rather unfortunate rumor regarding the... cancellation of your engagements."

He turned slightly, addressing the wider assembly with an elegant sweep of his sleeve. "Tell me, is that the reason for this outburst? Things did not go your way, and now you seek to ruin mine?"

"This is not about me," Eeshoo shot back, anger tightening his voice.

Denard’s eyes cooled. He shifted his attention toward the honored seats where his father stood beside the Grand Overseer. Something darker stirred beneath his princely calm.

"No, this isn’t... but... perhaps," Denard said pointedly, "this concerns the clan you represent. You may wish to consider whether this public display brings to those you serve."

Eeshoo’s expression hardened. Spiritual energy surged into his raised palm, the air around him distorting as a spell formation began to take shape.

Before it could manifest—

<Stand down>

The Grand Overseer’s mental command fell like a mountain.

Eeshoo’s jaw clenched. The spell trembled.

Around them, the atmosphere grew suffocating. Guests whispered, judging eyes shifted between the Amarhikks and the Astiels. What had been a celebration now teetered on the edge of political disaster.

Recognizing the danger of letting the moment stretch further, Denard turned back to the crowd with a regretful smile that did not reach his eyes.

"My apologies for the disturbance," he announced. "I will excuse us briefly so my bride may recover."

His hand tightened around Klea’s wrist as he stepped away from the ceremonial center, attempting to guide—no, drag—her off the stage.

But she did not follow.

Her body trembled, one hand pressed to her temple as if fighting through a storm inside her mind. When she lifted her head again, the haze in her eyes had thinned, replaced by a painful, emerging clarity.

"Take... your hand off me," she said, her voice strained but unmistakably her own.

Denard froze.

Panic surged through Denard. The soul engraving inside Klea was layered, reinforced, and personally overseen by the Winter Lord herself. There was no possibility that a mere magus could shake it off through willpower alone.

Which meant only one thing.

Something had gone terribly wrong with the third elder.

As if to confirm his fear, a hurried mental transmission pierced his thoughts—fragmented, chaotic, filled with alarm.

Caelthar was dead.

Denard’s mask of composure shattered.

He seized Klea’s arm again,

She shoved him back.

"Get away from me!"

Gasps erupted across the celebration grounds.

Denard’s eyes burned with fury. If she spoke freely, if she revealed even a fraction of the truth, the consequences would be catastrophic for the Astiel.

His domain began to unfold, invisible force coiling toward her—

But Eeshoo stepped between them without hesitation.

"You dare use force now?"

Denard’s eyes blazed. He gave a sharp signal.

Several elite guards lunged forward—

—but arcs of lightning snapped across the stage.

Atlas appeared at Klea’s other side, chains of condensed lightning lashing out and locking around the advancing guards, halting them mid-step as electricity crawled over their armor.

"You’ve really decided to ruin this day, haven’t you?!" Denard roared.

The air split with four simultaneous spatial distortions.

The Astiel Four Guardians materialized around the stage, each radiating the crushing presence of a Two-Cosmos Grand Magus. Their arrival alone forced nearby guests to retreat, pressure rolling outward like a physical wave.

Eeshoo summoned his spirit weapons in response, spectral constructs forming behind him in layered formations, ready to clash.

All around the plaza, dignitaries withdrew, barriers flickering into place as they prepared for the fallout of a battle between top-tier powers.

Then—

"Stop this."

Jinkan’s voice was not loud, yet it carried across the battlefield like a blade laid across a throat.

Her presence forced both sides to hesitate.

"There is no need for a fight," she continued, gaze sharp as it moved between Denard and Eeshoo. "We will allow the Alliance to investigate."

Eeshoo did not lower his guard. "As long as she stays with us."

Denard’s face twisted. "Huh!! What right do you have?! She is my bride!"

And then—

Klea moved.

She stepped forward between them, swaying slightly but standing on her own.

Her eyes were clear now.

"No..." she said, voice trembling but resolute. "I was never your bride."

Her gaze locked onto Denard with raw hatred.

"All is lies!"

However, before she could clarify, her body convulsed.

....

A violent tremor ran through her frame, and dark blood spilled from her lips, staining the ceremonial silver of her gown. She collapsed forward, barely conscious, and Jinkan lunged to catch her before she hit the ground. Klea’s body trembled in her arms as if gripped by an invisible torment.

Jinkan’s head snapped up, her gaze locking onto Denard with accusation.

"What did you do to her?!"

Denard’s expression hardened, though a flash of unease passed through his eyes. "I told you—she is unwell..."

Around them, the crowd erupted into noise. Nobles stepped back, and factions whispered urgently.

But then—

Someone looked up.

The sky above Eclipse Island was darkening.

Clouds spiraled unnaturally fast, swallowing the stars as wind began to howl across the floating venue.

"Is it the eclipse? Has the Aeterna Gratia started already?"

"No... it’s too soon..."

"Then what is that...?"

The clouds churned into a massive vortex, lightning flashing within them—not natural lightning, but thick, blinding arcs that carried an ancient, oppressive aura every grand magus present could recognize.

A hush fell over the crowds.

"That’s... tribulation lightning."

"Someone... is breaking through."