Chapter 575: The Prince’s Game (1)
"Aegon Valerion... how in the hell did you get here?!"
Blattier advanced warily with Platini beside him, toward the prince who had appeared from nowhere.
"That’s a fair question... but you don’t need the answer," Aegon said, turning his head toward the great tree rising behind him.
"What matters is that I’m here—at the very place you hid from the entire world. Joseph Blattier... I knew you were hiding plenty, and you haven’t disappointed me."
The hall they now stood in lay beneath the sacred tree, overlooking the spring where Saint Uriel lay. Aegon had already taken it all in.
The prince was still admiring the place when Platini flashed in front of him without warning, driving a full-force punch.
Platini’s blow sent Aegon flying, detonating the surroundings... The bishop had aimed to finish the prince in one strike—and he had landed the hit—yet the outcome was not what he wanted.
Platini stared, startled, at the sword marks across the arm he’d punched with, while Aegon laughed from afar.
"That was close."
Out of the drifting dust, Aegon stepped forth with a sword in his right hand, dark serpents of lightning crawling over it. In his left he held a strange staff, radiating a golden glow that had shielded him at the last instant.
"That’s... the Dawn Guard..."
One of the ancient weapons lost since its previous bearer’s death—apparently now in Aegon’s possession.
"Kill him, Platini. We can’t allow anyone who’s seen this place to leave alive," Blattier slurred, swaying pitifully. His state was wretched after the fight with Frey Starlight; staying conscious at all was a struggle.
Platini had also lost to Snow, but he was in much better shape.
"Blattier, to be honest... I always thought more of you. I took you for a worthy foe—you hid your trump cards carefully and managed to deceive millions with this counterfeit religion you lead."
"But look at you now. Everything you built over all these years is crumbling before your eyes. Your trump cards, your mighty weapons you relied on to crush your enemies—none of it matters in front of real power. There are monsters in this world against whom plans and strategies are useless; only power equal to or greater than theirs can overcome them."
Aegon strode forward without fear toward the battered bishops.
"That’s why you lost to Frey Starlight. He’s the kind of monster whose strength can’t be measured by human standards. In other words, ordinary schemes won’t work on him. You’ve lost completely, Blattier—and it’s honestly pathetic."
Blattier’s face twisted.
"I’ve lost? And who decides my defeat or victory—you, Aegon Valerion?"
He bared both forearms; the blood sigils carved into his flesh shone a deep crimson.
"Frey Starlight is pinned between two War Angels right now, and I’ll be done with my preparations by the time Snow Lionheart gets here. As for you—"
Pointing at Aegon, Blattier smiled, a terrible grin.
"You won’t live to see tomorrow. We can end you here and now."
As Blattier spoke, a fourth figure entered the hall.
A man in his forties, robed in white, black-haired—different from the other bishops.
Ramiel Calistes, the last and youngest of the three bishops.
"Looks like I arrived just in time," Calistes said, fixing Aegon with a stare as a fierce green aura flooded his body.
Like the others, he’d benefited from sacrificial power, his strength greatly enhanced—and unlike them, he hadn’t fought yet, so he was still at full capacity.
The battle had become three against one, and the prince stood alone.
"You spoke arrogantly, prince—daring to judge me from your paltry level. You spoke of power and plans... but you have little of the first, and that fabled cunning of yours has led you here alone like a fool. Perhaps you thought we couldn’t fight after losing to your companions, that you could land an easy finishing blow."
"If that was your grand plan, then you’re the pathetic one here, prince."
Eyes bloodshot, Blattier pushed himself forward.
’It’s fine. We can win this’ ... he told himself, glancing from the prince to the golden tree behind him.
The War Angels were fighting Frey; Snow was pinned and wouldn’t arrive in time.
All three bishops were present against Aegon—they would defeat him easily—and then there would be many ways to end the battle.
’We still have the Saint—and the tree’s remaining power.’
There were still plenty of chances; defeat was nowhere near certain.
"Let’s finish him quickly. We’ve wasted enough time," Blattier said firmly, taking point, Platini at his side, Calistes behind him.
Three fighters pushed to near—or equal to—the SS+ tier...
against Aegon. The prince had no chance to win.
And yet, in answer to Blattier’s earlier words, Aegon simply nodded with a smile.
"You’re right, Blattier—we’ve wasted too much time. It’s time to end this tired little play."
Though completely surrounded, Aegon kept walking toward Blattier.
"Humans are opportunistic creatures—simple and complicated at once. Among them you’ll find those twisted to the core, beyond any sense... others live only for their own interests and ambitions. Some fight for family, for faith, for country... the concepts vary, but they share much in common."
"All of them are just aims and creeds people use to justify what they do ..
waging war in the name of faith, killing others as ’heretics who deserve death’...
in the name of country, under the pretext of defending it from foreign invaders...
in the name of family, under the pretext of protecting them...
or for something far simpler—for yourself, for your own selfishness."
"In the end, everyone stains their hands with blood for different reasons, but blood has only one color. And when the tale is over... we’re all the same kind of killers, fighting for our own interests." Aegon kept talking, ignoring his current predicament entirely, making Blattier narrow his eyes at him.
"What in hell are you babbling about?"
"Ah—Forgive me." Aegon chuckled lightly, one hand settling on his hip as he pointed at Blattier with the other.
"What I’m trying to tell you, dear Blattier, is that humans are selective creatures who live for their own interests. Which is precisely why it’s not strange for them to switch sides... when they’re offered a better deal."
Aegon’s words rang slowly in Blattier’s ears with a peculiar lilt the bishop did not understand at all.
For at that exact moment, Blattier heard something break ..
the wet crunch and spill of something viscous onto the floor.
His vision bled red, and the prince’s smile stretched wider and wider, until Aegon’s face in that instant looked positively demonic—a sadistic grin the likes of which Blattier had never seen, the grin of a twisted soul who savored moments like this.
Blattier lowered his head by degrees... and at the same time, Platini turned toward him in shock.
Both of them stared at the bloody hand protruding through Blattier’s back—jutting out of his chest.
He didn’t comprehend what had happened at first. Seconds later, he finally understood: he had been betrayed from behind—stabbed in the back by his own ally.
"Sorry, Blattier. Nothing personal—the prince simply made the better offer." From behind Blattier, Calistes spoke with a broad smile—just as Platini lunged at him.
"Calistes!!! What have you done?!"
Platini attacked immediately—but too late. That split-second of shock had dulled his senses, and Calistes exploited it, lifting his free hand toward Platini and unleashing a massive cannon of sacred aura.
The beam swallowed Platini whole, driving him through wall after wall before detonating amid distant rubble.
Unlike Blattier and Platini, Calistes was at full strength—and thus held the absolute advantage.
He’d been precise, too—his hand had punched straight through Blattier’s heart.
Blattier tried to muster something .. anything—but Calistes made his next move instantly, severing Blattier’s left arm, the one carved all over with blood-runes.
Then, in a clean motion, he yanked his hand free of Blattier’s back, snatched up the severed arm, and returned to Aegon’s side.
His work was surgical. Blattier toppled, unable even to form words; blood filled his throat.