Chapter 420: Verdict
(The next day, Ixtal, on the front steps of Soron’s Castle)
When the First and Second Elder arrived at the doorstep of Soron’s secluded castle on Ixtal, they did not dare lift a hand to knock, nor raise their voices to call for him, as both men were certain without needing confirmation that the great God had already sensed their presence the moment they approached, and that he would come to greet them only when he deemed the time appropriate, never a moment earlier.
And so they waited.
Not for minutes, but for hours, standing in complete silence before the grand doors of the old stone castle, each man lost in the weight of what he had come to say, though for very different reasons.
The First Elder stood with furrowed brow and clenched jaw, carrying the simmering fury of betrayal beneath his skin, while the Second Elder shifted uncomfortably every few seconds, wiping at his palms and adjusting the edges of his robe, the nervousness clearly visible in his every action.
Only when the sun had dipped low into the horizon, after the two elders had waited outside the doorstep for nearly half a day, did the grand door finally creak open.
*CREAK*
Both men dropped to their knees at once, bowing low in reverence as they greeted the figure before them.
"We greet Lord Soron, Sect Master of the Cult of Ascension and protector of our way of life," they intoned in perfect unison.
Soron looked down at them with impassive eyes, offering no warmth in his expression.
"Hmmm," he murmured, releasing just a fraction of his aura.
That sliver alone was enough to make the two elders tremble, their foreheads dampening with sweat as they remained kneeling beneath the crushing weight of his presence.
He looked entirely different today compared to the frail image he had presented when meeting Charles just days ago.
Gone was the hunched frame and the modest attire. In its place stood a man draped in ceremonial robes of gold and deep crimson, his back straight, his shoulders broad, and his eyes gleaming with an energy that spoke of both age and authority.
His black hair was slicked back neatly, his gaze sharp and commanding, while powerful muscles pressed against the embroidered sleeves of his robes.
Even in silence, his presence alone forced the elders to remain bowed, not by choice but by instinct.
He looked not like a scholar nor a sage, but like a war god returning to claim his seat.
And only once he had let them feel his pressure long enough, did he turn without a word and began walking deeper into the castle.
*Step*
*Step*
The two elders followed in solemn silence, their steps echoing faintly through the vast hallway.
Yet to their surprise, Soron did not lead them to the modest living room where such discussions were usually held.
Instead, he guided them toward the heart of the castle, toward the high-domed throne room, where stained glass filtered sunlight into slivers of red and violet.
There, he climbed the steps and took his seat upon the elevated throne, resting one leg over the other and leaning slightly forward, his eyes cold and indifferent as they settled upon the two men before him.
"Speak," Soron commanded, his tone devoid of patience or warmth, as it was the Second Elder who stepped forward first, clearly hoping to ease into the subject with pleasantries.
"You look well, my Lord—"
He began, however, Soron raised his hand in protest immediately, as he refused to indulge in pleasantries today.
"My time is precious, Second Elder. Cut straight to the chase." Soron said coldly, as the Second Elder swallowed hard, his voice hitching for just a moment before he bowed his head and obeyed.
"My Lord... we come before you today because the Council has reached a deadlock. A tie that cannot be broken."
He hesitated, but continued.
"There are two candidates for the title of Dragon. Leo Skyshard and Aegon Veyr. The Council has split down the middle, with six elders voting for each, and while usually we would resolve such issues amongst ourselves, by discussing some more and reaching a consensus, we are unable to do so anymore.....
As immediately after the vote ended, the First Elder dissolved the Council, forcing us to come to you as per protocol."
"Now, as for why the First Elder decided to dissolve the Council, please allow me to tell you my side of the story, because it will come off as far more inexcusable if someone else says it first.
So I humbly request you to let me finish....." The Second Elder requested, as Soron continued to stare at him with a blank expression.
"Myself and the Fourth Elder... have indeed committed a transgression. One we cannot defend."
He paused again, not to think, but to breathe.
"We taught Aegon Veyr forbidden techniques. Techniques that should only be passed down to the next Dragon.
We did it without council approval and without your knowledge. But it was done not out of rebellion or ambition, but out of desperation, at a time when there was no other viable candidate for the post of Dragon.
Back then, we believed Veyr would inevitably be the one to be chosen as the Dragon, and our only intention was to shield him from the limelight and start his training early."
"But the First Elder and his supporters believe our actions cannot be pardoned, and due to that disagreement, the Council is now suspended. We cannot proceed. We cannot vote. We cannot decide."
As the Second Elder finished his admission, Soron’s eyes turned slowly toward the First Elder, who straightened his spine and spoke without flattery, his tone unwavering and clipped with restrained frustration.
"The Council, as it stands, is unworthy of continued operation."
He spoke the words not with malice, but with the calm assurance of a man who had witnessed rot take root in sacred soil.
"The faction led by the Fourth Elder has too much dirt on each other. Their alliances are not based on ideology, but on mutual blackmail, on cover-ups, on favors exchanged behind closed doors.
I will not claim to be a saint myself, nor deny playing politics when necessary. But I have always placed the Cult’s wellbeing above personal ambition, but these Elders do not.
And as such, regardless of who you ultimately name Dragon, the six men who voted for Veyr today must not be allowed to remain councilmen after this."
He finished without embellishment, letting his statement hang in the stillness of the throne room.
*Huff–*
Soron leaned back, folding his hands loosely in his lap as he took in both arguments, exhaling a deep breath through his nose, and allowing the silence to stretch just long enough to unsettle them.
"Very well," he said finally, his voice low and deliberate, each word dropping like stone into still water.
"I have made my decision."
He let his gaze alternate between the First and Second Elder before continuing.
"There will be a public combat match. Aegon Veyr versus Leo Skyshard. Two months from now. The winner shall be named Dragon."
The room did not stir, but both elders stiffened.
"However," Soron continued, "since there is a tier disparity between the two, the match cannot be held under equal terms. So here is what we will do."
"If Leo Skyshard wins, he will be named Dragon without question. If he loses, he shall be groomed under my direct guidance and raised to become the next Vice Sect Master."
"If Veyr wins, he too shall be named Dragon. But if he loses..."
Soron’s eyes now locked onto the Second Elder with an intensity that stole the breath from the room.
"Then every elder who voted for him today shall resign from their position and permanently abdicate their seats on the Council. You placed your trust in his talent, so if he proves to be insufficient, you will also fall with it."
The Second Elder’s lips parted in disbelief, but no sound emerged. He stood frozen, stunned by the irrevocable terms laid before him.
There would be no further negotiation.
The Sect Master had spoken.