Chapter 132: The Alliance Meeting

Slack skin, a face mapped with wrinkles, small eyes hidden deep within their folds—the old man before him could not have looked more ordinary.

Yet, Duke Goldsworthy did not allow himself a moment of complacency. As the ruler of Hermetica, he understood the danger posed by this seemingly frail elder better than anyone.

A martial arts instructor at the Academy of the Glorious.
The uncle of the current head of the Onions family.
A traveler who once challenged the Deepest Night.
And, above all… the Patriarch of the Hermetica branch of the Order.

None of these identities could be underestimated. As a martial arts instructor qualified to mentor the next generation, his personal combat prowess had been acknowledged by the vast majority long before he ever left Hermetica. After challenging the Deepest Night and returning alive to the city that raised him, his strength was beyond question. The illustrious surname "Onions" ensured the invisible influence of this elder, who had embraced the Order, within the inner circles of the Glorious in Hermetica. As for his final, crowning identity, it naturally carried a weight of its own.

It was the weight of power.

The Patriarch, who shepherds all living beings on behalf of the Lord.

As the name implies, he was the supreme leader of the Hermetica Order, ranking just below a select few at the Order’s headquarters and holding a status equal to that of the Cardinals qualified to partake in the Holy Communion. He was a figure of undeniable, tangible authority.

If a third party were to witness their meeting—even though they sat in a dilapidated house filled with cobwebs and dust, even though they occupied two rotting wooden chairs, and even though the only thing between them was a plain, unremarkable square wooden table—this scene would be worthy of being recorded in the annals of history as a momentous tableau… had the history of Hermetica not been nearing its end right here.

There is no exaggeration in this; the sheer weight carried by these two men was enough to command the attention of anyone.

On one side was the uncrowned king of the Glorious of Hermetica. After the awakening of the Great Old One, when the descendants of the Glorious faced a life-or-death decision, the Council—which represented the interests of all Hermetica and saw attendance from every major family—had become powerless to restrain this city lord, who possessed such unique charisma and immense prestige. On the other side was the long-missing Patriarch of the Hermetica Order. Three—no, now two—Grand Sword-Bearers reported directly to him, and he commanded three hundred battle-hardened Sword-Bearers. While perhaps lacking the numbers and heritage of the Glorious, they stood as the other pole of Hermetica’s order, a direct counterweight to the Glorious.

Their meeting, however informal, was enough to leave a profound mark on history.

It symbolized the union of Hermetica’s Sword-Bearers and the Glorious; it symbolized the consolidation of the order-aligned forces of Hermetica.

But compared to such heavy significance, their conversation was far from solemn, perhaps even a bit casual. Duke Goldsworthy, the Lord of Hermetica, rested his hands on the table, his dark pupils showing little fluctuation as he spoke the name of the old man before him—a name that perhaps no longer held much importance to him.

"Brandon Onions."

To this, the old man’s expression remained as calm as a frozen lake in winter: "Welcome."

"Should I thank you for your hospitality?" Duke Goldsworthy scanned the room, his gaze finally settling back on the elder. "I must say, before coming here, I never expected that the infamous libertine of the Onions family would become a true ascetic after converting to the Order. I wonder, can the Deepest Night truly change a person from the core, or does the doctrine of the Order possess some genuine magic to beguile the soul?"

"Perhaps a bit of both," the Patriarch of the Hermetica Order replied with unexpected candor, noncommittal regarding the derogatory description of his doctrine. "Once one determines the cruel nature of this world, who could not yearn for the Promised Land flowing with milk and honey?"

He paused, his dark golden pupils, which flowed like molten lava, resting on the Glorious man before him.

"But that should be irrelevant to you… Duke Goldsworthy."

"I have no intention of delving into your past. Whatever you discovered in the Deepest Night, whatever you gained within the Order—it is none of my concern." The silver-haired Glorious interlaced his fingers and rested his chin upon his knuckles, his black eyes appearing to flicker with a flame reflected from the fire crystals. "The reason I came to find you is the Great Old One set to awaken beneath Hermetica. I need you. I need the power of the Order."

"The City of Gold." Brandon’s expression did not change; he merely pointed toward the floating city hanging high in the sky. "With that in place, you are already in an impregnable position. The seal beneath Hermetica has not been broken. Even if you have lost the suppression of the Spark, the Glorious should have the capital and the confidence to face any enemy with the 'Unbreakable Triple City' of ancient myth."

"But that does not include the Great Old One," Duke shook his head. "The Triple City is a defensive system designed for external enemies. Its influence on that Lord of R'lyeh who slumbers here can only be described as negligible. The moment the Spark was extinguished, you must have dreamed of it too—the amorphous existence that should never have existed in this world. Just as the city of R'lyeh will eventually sink into the depths of the profound, unknowable ocean, Hermetica is fated to fall into a dreamscape forever dominated by madness and delirium."

The Glorious who had returned to the Lord’s embrace fell silent.

"The previous erosion was not the end of everything," Duke Goldsworthy added, by way of explanation. "With the awakening of that Ancient God flowing from the Great Source of Chaos, His bizarre and hallucinatory dreamscape will extend like tentacles, swallowing the entirety of Hermetica, and indeed the entire Triple City, along with it."

The Patriarch of the Order raised an eyebrow: "If that is the case, why not leave through the City of Gold? Even if constrained by the interconnected nature of the Triple City, at least you could use the City of Gold for a temporary relocation. After all, that is the very reason the floating city exists."

"Theoretically, yes," the Lord of Hermetica sighed low. "But the technology to operate this ancient city—which exists only in the reflection of history—has long been held exclusively by the priestly class. It is a great pity that the Temple of Hephaestus became history the moment the Spark was extinguished."

"So, the defensive system of the Triple City is nothing but a facade." This absurd conclusion drew a look of astonishment from the typically composed Patriarch, though he quickly smoothed away the anomaly on his face. "In that case, the purpose of your visit is quite clear."

"Indeed. To seek cooperation."

Duke had no intention of hiding it, for there was no need. Although the Glorious and the Order held divergent views on many issues and were often at odds due to conflicting interests, they had always stood on the same side. In the eternal holy war between Order and Chaos, they were natural allies.

"It sounds as if I have no reason to refuse." The old man tapped the wooden table with his knuckle, seemingly thinking very seriously about the feasibility of this partnership. Yet, in the end, he unexpectedly changed the subject. "But before answering your question, I have one I would like to ask you."

"Please, go ahead."

"How do you intend to handle the survivors in the Lower District?" The Patriarch of the Order looked at him, studying him with those dark golden eyes that burned like flowing lava. "After the extinction of the Spark, they must be the last of Hermetica’s refugees."

"I am afraid I must disappoint you. I have no intention of taking the weight of their lives upon my shoulders, nor do I intend to become their savior." The Lord of Hermetica met the elder’s gaze without flinching, his words devoid of warmth. "There has never been a savior in this world, nor is one needed. The fate of the world has always rested in the hands of each and every one of us. Note—in the hands of *everyone*."

"An unexpected answer," the Patriarch of the Order admitted, making no effort to hide his curiosity. "But you still haven't answered me: how do you intend to handle them? By leaving them to their own devices?"

"Of course not," Duke Goldsworthy said, his tone calm. "I am the Lord of Hermetica."

Simple words, yet containing an extraordinary strength of character.

It was commitment; it was responsibility.

Facing this "grand statement" that didn't sound like one, Brandon Onions chose silence—not because he was lost for words, but simply because he chose to be an audience member, returning the stage to the protagonist.

"I will give them a chance—a chance to struggle for survival. Power-driven armor, firearms, swords, and a relatively safe location." The silver-haired Glorious lowered his eyelids slightly, his long lashes veiling his black eyes. "But that is all. They must seize the opportunity for survival themselves. Whether keeping up with the charge or facing the demons that break into their midst, they can only rely on themselves in the end."

"That sounds somewhat cruel," the Patriarch of the Order remarked.

"But in this world," Duke Goldsworthy shook his head, "who lives without cruelty?"

"True."

With the old man’s nod, the two reached a consensus.

Next… it was time to discuss the specific terms of cooperation. Had it not been for the pressing threat of the Great Old One, this would undoubtedly have been a protracted tug-of-war. But at this moment, neither side had the time to worry about minor gains or losses. They began to clash over the most fundamental issues, including command, and… to the very end, they failed to reach a solution that satisfied both parties.

Because—

Before that could happen, the two giants who respectively commanded the Glorious and the Sword-Bearers of Hermetica changed expressions almost simultaneously.

Then, they rose.

—R'lyeh, the city in the water, emerging from the center of the vortex; the Silver City among the Triple City.

—Breach!