Chapter 404: Threads Of Fate
(Planet Ixtal, Inside Soron’s Castle, Vice Sect Leader Charles’s POV)
Monarch Charles was performing his usual duties on the frontline at planet Juxta, when suddenly he received an unusual summon from Soron to come visit him on Ixtal.
This summon was unusual because this was the first time in seven years that Soron had asked Charles to come see him, and that too in the middle of an active war.
The two sat in the castle’s living room, with Soron violently coughing every two minutes, as if he were mortal suffering from a pretty severe case of the common cold.
*Cough*
*Cough*
"That’s the fourth time you have coughed in the last five minutes.... Are you sure you’re holding fine?" Charles asked with an eyebrow raised, as Soron smiled across at him.
"What does it matter what I say? Regardless of whether I say I’m fine or not, the condition of my body is not going to improve or deteriorate. I am what I am, and I’m alive for now," Soron replied, as instead of giving Charles a straight answer, he spoke in his usual riddles.
*Sigh*
Sighing deeply, Charles shook his head from side to side.
Nothing seemed to have changed in the last seven years since the two of them sat together right here in this living room and had their big quarrel about the future of the Cult.
Since that day, neither had sought the other out to talk about reconciliation, until today when Soron suddenly called for him.
"You know.... You might get away with saying all this mysterious shit to the Elders, but I’m not a fucking politician," Charles said, as he put his feet on the tea set table in front of him and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket.
"I’m a crude man.... And I don’t care about the fact that you’re three hundred million years old, or that you’re a God.
You will talk to me in simple words, or else I’m going to blow you smoke kisses for every question you ask me," Charles said, as he lit up his cigarette and took a deep drag, before blowing the smoke straight at Soron’s face, who coughed again because of it.
*Cough*
*Cough*
In the entirety of the Cult, Charles was probably the only one who did not treat Soron like a divine being, prostrating himself in front of him at every opportunity, as he was the only one who treated Soron as an equal and a friend, which was something Soron greatly appreciated.
"I’m not fine, Charles, I’m dying. I think I’ll become incapable of producing God Tier strength in about fifty years and Semi-Divine strength in about one hundred and fifty years.
After that I’ll be no stronger than a Monarch and will succumb rapidly to my injuries in twenty to thirty more.
All things considered, I’ll say I have less than two hundred years to live, which can dramatically decrease to under 100 if I’m ever involved in a big fight, meaning that it’s very likely that you will succeed me as the Cult’s next sect master," Soron admitted candidly, as he coughed violently some more.
"Currently, I’m forced to live as a mortal, because circulating even a bit of mana hastens the rate at which my body deteriorates, which is why I am forced to suffer this coughing like I am.
It’s been years since I last circulated mana.
I walk everywhere in the house.
Bathe using my hands,
And even tend to the plants using my hands.
I’m doing everything I can to extend my lifespan, but truth be told, I have maybe one big fight left in me, maybe two.
But if I’m forced to fight at my full strength again, it will probably be the last time I fight at the God Tier," Soron said, as Charles nodded his head and flicked some ash off his cigarette.
"Well, you’ve lived a long life, I wouldn’t mind burying you now," Charles responded, as Soron burst out laughing at his words.
If it were anyone else but Charles, they would probably be deeply affected by this piece of news, but Charles was made of sterner stuff than the others.
He was a man’s man, who could keep his real worries hidden and joke even when the situation was tough.
"So.... Why have you called me here today? I hope it’s not just to rant about your old age...." Charles asked at last, as Soron smiled and pointed towards the sky.
"The clouds of fate have started to thicken over planet Vorthas for the past two days. I can notice the change even from here.
The arrival of the new Dragon Candidate has caused quite the stir...." Soron began, as Charles raised his eyebrow in confusion.
"The new Dragon Candidate, he’s been marked by an ancient God for ’Theft.’
On both his hands he carries the mark of Zhanrok, which makes the clouds of fate always hover above his head...." Soron explained, as Charles took a deep inhale of his cigarette and blew it straight at Soron’s face to show that he did not understand a thing he was saying.
Rolling his eyes, Soron changed the tangent of his explanation as he said, "Basically, the new Dragon Candidate that the First Elder is grooming, I want you to go pay a visit to him. If possible, I want you to take him under your fold immediately, and keep him as close to you as possible..."
"I want you to become his master" Soron commanded, as Charles became visibly agitated by this request.
"You know damn well I’m no babysitter," he protested, however, this time it was Soron who raised his hand in anger.
"Either have the patience to understand the reason behind my command when I try to explain it to you..... Or accept it blindly.
You can pick only one," Soron said in a stern tone, as Charles shook his head in dismay.
"Alright, tell me why I MUST take this boy under my fold...." he said, as Soron controlled his anger and restarted his explanation yet again.
"You need to take him under your fold because, while the modern Gods won’t take the mark on his arm seriously, if he ever comes across Gods like my brother Kaelith, the deceiver Mauriss, or the berserker Helmuth, those guys will never let him live in peace if they come to know that he has been in contact with Zhanrok.
Him having that mark is like having a wanted sign plastered across his neck, and my visions tell me that the only way he survives an encounter with those three is if he is trained by you.
That boy is special, Charles. The threads of fate weave their pattern around him.
I haven’t seen fate swirl around someone quite like this since my father...." Soron explained, as Charles stared at him with a blank expression on his face.
For a while he said nothing, soaking in the implications of Soron’s words, before eventually opening his mouth to say what he truly believed.
"If he’s so special then why don’t you train him yourself?" Charles asked, as Soron stood up from his seat and slid off the robes from his shoulders to show Charles the husked and weakened form of his body.
"What did I tell you at the start, Charles? I’m living like a mortal now.
Look at me.
Do you think I can handle a disciple in this condition?" he asked rhetorically, as Charles took one good look at his body before quickly looking away, as he grit his teeth in anger.
"I’m not a teacher. I don’t have the patience to babysit spoiled brats, I need to command actual armies on the front lines and keep the Cult’s borders safe" he growled, only for Soron to flare his aura ever so slightly, collapsing the chair beneath Charles and pinning him to the floor, immobile.
"Then you’ll have to become one, Charles. I’m telling you, this boy is special!
He’ll either raise the Cult to new heights or bring about its downfall.
But one thing’s for sure... he won’t be ordinary.
The threads of fate around him are unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
And if I can see it, so can my brother," Soron warned, finally releasing his pressure and allowing Charles to sit back up again.
He had never seen Soron being so adamant about anything in his life, and hence the Monarch reluctantly nodded, having finally accepted his assigned mission.
"I’ll do as you instruct, Sect Master" he said, as Soron finally nodded in approval and dismissed him with a casual wave of his hands.