THE VILLAIN'S POV

Chapter 925: The Truth Foreseen (1)

Frey expected an outburst.

Instead...

Agaroth quietly lay back upon the ground.

He stretched both arms outward as far as they could reach.

His crimson eyes stared into the endless heavens above.

A sky filled with countless stars.

Yet despite its immeasurable vastness...

He saw it as nothing more than a ceiling.

A ceiling that merely happened to be a little higher than the rest.

One that could eventually be reached.

"Tell me something..."

He spoke without turning to look at Frey.

Frey remained standing nearby.

He had not moved an inch.

His eyes stayed fixed upon Agaroth’s defeated figure lying on the ground.

"You Writers..."

"Do you truly believe yourselves to stand so far above every other living being?"

"Has your arrogance reached the point where you think you possess the absolute right to decide the fate of others?"

He asked.

Then...

He laughed.

Frey remained silent.

"All it took was a single prophecy."

"That was enough for the First Writer herself to come here and pass judgment upon me."

Agaroth laughed again.

A bitter laugh.

"By what right?"

"Because I was created by your hands?"

"Because I am beneath you?"

The anger in his voice continued to grow.

"No, Agaroth..."

"No."

Frey finally answered.

For the first time...

Uncertainty and confusion were unmistakably visible upon his face.

"Even if it hadn’t been you... even if it had been another Writer... or even me... the Council has always treated the Oracle’s prophecies as absolute truth."

"There are no exceptions."

The Oracle was the Writers’ greatest weapon.

Her prophecies had saved them from countless disasters, allowing them to avoid calamities before they ever came to pass.

Every vision she witnessed was flawless.

She had never once been wrong.

Because of that, the Oracle was kept within the deepest chamber of the Council, under constant protection.

Three Writers were assigned to guard her at all times.

One was always a former First Writer, while the remaining two were chosen from among the five strongest active Writers.

"In other words..."

Frey lowered his voice.

"Even if it hadn’t been you, Clea would have acted exactly the same way."

That was what he had wanted Agaroth to understand.

Instead...

Agaroth only laughed harder.

"So the same thing would’ve happened if someone else had been standing in my place?"

He slowly rose to his feet.

"Please don’t toy with me."

"If that’s true... then why is it happening to me?"

"Why would the great Oracle... Lea... choose to seal me of all people?!"

"I... don’t know."

Frey answered honestly.

Agaroth let out a long sigh.

"So you don’t know."

Silence followed.

He stood motionless, sinking into deep thought.

His powers had been sealed.

The path before him had become infinitely more difficult.

He hadn’t merely returned to the beginning.

He had been pushed even further back, stripped of the greatest abilities he possessed.

Even so...

Agaroth had not surrendered.

Frey realized that much immediately.

Otherwise...

He would have chosen death instead of allowing his power to be sealed.

"There has to be another way."

Frey finally broke the silence.

"We’ll find a different method."

"Would you... leave me alone for a while?"

Agaroth interrupted him without looking his way.

"My mind is a complete mess right now."

"I... I need some time."

Not once did he raise his eyes toward Frey.

Frey understood.

He simply gave a quiet nod before turning away.

"I’ll come back soon."

Those were the final words he left behind.

No reply ever came.

Frey departed from the Land of Survival, leaving Agaroth alone.

...

That very night, Frey returned to the Aether World and made his way toward the Grand Council.

He had not come to fulfill his duties as a Writer.

Nor had he come to attend one of the countless war councils being held.

His purpose was to meet a single person.

"I wish to see the Oracle."

That was all he said to the Council’s guards.

The request immediately caused them to exchange hesitant glances.

Ordinarily, no one was permitted to meet the Oracle.

Only a select few possessed that privilege.

Given Frey’s current rank, he technically lacked the authority to see her.

Yet everyone also knew who he was.

The son of the First Writer.

One of the most important Writers alive.

In the end, an exception was made.

He was allowed to pass on the condition that at least two of the Oracle’s guards accompanied him.

The Council was an entire world unto itself.

A colossal cosmic labyrinth stretching through countless directions and pathways, created long ago through the combined efforts of numerous powerful Writers.

Its impossibly intricate structure had transformed it into an impregnable fortress.

The perfect place to protect treasures that could never be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.

The Oracle was the greatest example.

To reach her, Frey had to venture deep into the labyrinth itself, relying entirely on the route shown to him by the guards.

Anyone less capable would have become hopelessly lost.

Eventually...

Frey arrived.

He found himself standing before the place where the Oracle had been kept.

At the entrance sat an elderly man before an enormous gate.

His hair was completely gray, yet he hardly looked old.

His dark eyes vaguely resembled Clea’s.

His features radiated wisdom and intelligence.

He wore an elegant black leather suit, meticulously tailored to fit his body.

The moment Frey arrived, the man noticed him.

"Well now..."

He slowly raised his head.

"Isn’t this the famous son of the First Writer?"

A faint smile appeared on Frey’s face.

"Famous?"

He chuckled softly.

"It seems news doesn’t reach you anymore."

"My rank—and my reputation—have both fallen quite a bit..."

"Masdor."

Masdor.

The First Writer who had ruled before Clea.

His name carried far greater fame than Frey’s ever had.

"You’ll have to forgive me."

Masdor sighed.

"I’ve long since stopped noticing the passage of time after your mother stationed me here."

Then he looked at Frey with curiosity.

"So..."

"What brings you here today?"

"Did you miss the Oracle?"

Frey nodded.

"I’d like to see her, if you’ll allow it."

While speaking to Masdor, Frey had already noticed the other two Writers nearby.

They were observing him from a distance.

Masdor alone made no effort to conceal himself.

Nor did he display even the slightest hostility.

Without another word, he opened the massive gate.

"You may enter."

"But don’t take too long."

"The Oracle must prepare for her next prophecy."

Frey nodded in understanding.

The Oracle’s prophecies were always accurate.

But each one demanded an enormous amount of time and effort from her.

Once she entered a state of foresight, no one was permitted to disturb her.

Not even Clea herself.

Fortunately, Frey had chosen his timing well.

Lea had only recently delivered a prophecy, making it unlikely that another would begin so soon.

As the gate slowly opened, Frey stepped forward and passed Masdor.

Just as he walked by, however, the former First Writer spoke once more.