Chapter 120: The Evil-Cult Meet (3)
Once the Second Elder concluded his speech and sat back down, discussions broke out amongst all the Elders present once again, as they debated the merits and demerits of his plan.
Low voices filled the chamber, whispers of agreement mixing with murmurs of concern.
Some Elders nodded in approval, while others leaned back in contemplation, weighing the potential gain against the inevitable consequences.
Then—one voice rose above the rest.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The Fourth Elder's gloved fingers drummed against the obsidian table as he leaned forward slightly.
"This is a mistake," he said at last, his voice calm, yet carrying the weight of firm conviction, as all eyes turned to him.
"The kidnapping plan is bold, but it is a risk we cannot afford to take—not yet."
He exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the icy air.
"The Righteous Alliance is already watching us closely. If we pull off an operation of this scale, the backlash will be immediate and devastating."
His gaze swept over the chamber, lingering on the masked figures of his fellow Elders.
"They will not let this slide. They will hunt us down, break apart our networks, and purge us from every shadow we've hidden in. Even if we succeed in taking the boy, what then?"
He gestured toward the First Elder.
"The First Elder has already warned us—the Universal Government will never allow the Black Serpents to make the exchange. If they will not negotiate, then what is the purpose of this mission?"
A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber.
"It is a good plan—but we are simply not strong enough to handle the backlash from it. This is not the time to take such risks, we need to consolidate our positions more before taking such drastic steps." The Fourth Elder sat back, his piece spoken.
For a moment, the chamber was still.
Then—
Bang!
The Ninth Elder slammed his fist onto the table, his voice laced with frustration.
"We will never be strong enough!" he snapped, his words reverberating through the frozen chamber.
Several Elders turned toward him as he straightened his posture, his tone sharpening with intensity.
"In life, some things are best left to chance. If we wait for the perfect moment, we will be waiting forever."
He leaned forward, his masked face tilting slightly as he directed his argument toward the Fourth Elder.
"You say the backlash will be strong? Good. Then we should start preparing for it now. Instead of retreating and cancelling this plan like cowards, we should begin fortifying our strongholds, securing new bases, expanding our influence, and preparing for war.
Because one day, war will come to us anyway—whether we start it or not."
A heavy silence followed.
Some Elders shifted uncomfortably, while others nodded, considering his words.
The Ninth Elder continued.
"Our previous Dragon is dead. Our movements have been stagnant. The Righteous Alliance has been pushing us further into hiding, forcing us to retreat again and again. If we do nothing, if we remain passive, we will eventually wither away into irrelevance.
But this?" He gestured toward the Second Elder. "This is a statement. A message to the universe that we are not dead—that we are not afraid to take bold steps forward."
His gaze hardened.
"If we are to fall, then let us fall while roaring, not while crawling into the dirt."
A murmur of approval followed his speech.
The tension thickened as both arguments weighed heavy in the minds of the Elders.
Then—
Clap. Clap.
The First Elder clapped his palms, gathering everyone's attention.
"Enough."
His voice was calm, yet it held the finality of command.
"We will settle this the way we always have, by putting it to a vote." He declared, as the air grew thick with anticipation.
"Twelve Elders sit at this table," the First Elder continued. "A simple majority will decide.
Those in favor of proceeding with the Second Elder's plan—raise your hands."
A beat of silence—then, slowly, hands rose.
The Second Elder.
The Ninth Elder.
The Eighth.
The Tenth.
The Sixth.
And finally—the Eleventh.
Six hands.
Then, after a long pause—the Seventh Elder slowly lifted his hand, tipping the balance.
Seven votes in favor.
The First Elder exhaled quietly.
"Those against?"
The Fourth Elder was the first to raise his hand.
Followed by the Third.
The Fifth.
The Twelfth.
And, after a moment of hesitation—the First Elder himself for Five votes against the proposal.
"Seven to Five, the decision has been made" The First Elder's voice carried no emotion.
"The kidnapping will proceed as the second elder suggested—" He concluded, as the elders in favor began banging their fists against the table in elation.
—-----------
(A couple hours later, after the conclusion of this year's meeting)
The echoes of the chamber still lingered in his mind as the Twelfth Elder ascended the winding path through the ice-forged labyrinth with a heavy heart.
The decision had been made.
The kidnapping would proceed as planned.
But even as he moved away from the meeting, his thoughts drifted elsewhere—to what was not discussed.
No one spoke of the next Dragon.
Not once.
Not a single voice in that chamber had mentioned raising a new heir to the legacy they had long sworn to protect.
Not one Elder had brought up potential candidates.
Hell, no-one had even entertained the possibility of someone new taking the mantle.
And that was the true tragedy.
They had given up.
They had all given up.
"Noah..."
The Twelfth Elder exhaled slowly, his breath turning to frost in the frigid air.
"Your death has left a heavier scar on this organization than you could have ever imagined."
The Evil Cult had suffered countless setbacks over the centuries. They had lost battles before. They had lost men before.
But never had they lost belief.
Yet when Noah fell—belief died with him.
The strongest Dragon they had nurtured in over two hundred years—A true genius warrior that was just one step away from reaching 'Monarch' level strength at the young age of 39.
However, the Guild Master of the Black Serpents killed him before he reached that dream, and with his death, the belief of the Evil Cult also shattered.
The same Elders who once spoke of destiny and fate while Noah was still alive, now only whispered of survival and desperation.
The grand vision of raising the next Timeless Assassin was no longer their priority.
It was a lost dream, as instead of creating their own fate, they were now planning to lash out at those who had crushed them.
And the Twelfth Elder hated it.
He hated that this was what they had become.
He hated that they had forsaken the vision that once united them.
And most of all—
He hated that he was starting to see the reason behind their desperation.
*Sigh—*
The twelfth elder let out a deep sigh, as he approached the exit of the ice labyrinth, behind which was the white abyss of FrostBurn's surface.
A blizzard howled beyond it, carrying with it the whispers of a dying cult, as upon approaching the exit, the Twelfth Elder could not help but pause at the threshold.
"Would things really be this bad... if only Noah was still alive?" He wondered out-loud, as his gloved palms curled into a tight fist, his jaw tightening in anger.
However, after a few seconds of wondering what could have been, The Twelfth Elder finally stepped into the open, as he knew that wasting time on wondering what could have been was utterly pointless.
(Rodova Military Academy – The Physical Training Class)
The early morning air was crisp, but it did little to keep Leo from noticing Professor Marvin's piercing gaze drilling into him.
As he stretched, shaking off the lingering haze of sleep, he couldn't help but feel like today's session was going to be a nightmare.
He, Su Yang, and Mu Shen already trained under a regimen far more brutal than the rest of the class, but for some reason, Marvin still didn't look remotely impressed this particular morning.
"Boys, the way Marvin's looking at us today, I'm definitely not getting any good vibes.
He's already got us carrying 80-kilo vests while the rest of the class barely manages 40.
But I think he's ready to bump us up to 100 today—" Mu Shen said, as he shifted uneasily.