(Planet Batuk, Leo's POV)
The line went dead, leaving Leo staring at the faint glow of the crystal in his palm, his reflection warped across its surface, his pulse thundering in his ears as if the world itself had stopped moving.
The silence that followed was heavier than any battlefield roar, heavier than the clash of armies or the crack of steel, for it pressed against him until it hurt to breathe.
Charles's words replayed, every syllable a hammer striking the same place inside his ribs.
'Two hundred thousand ships.'
'Five Monarchs. One Demi-God.'
'No Soron.'
Each fragment gnawed at him, twisting his insides tighter, until the only thing he could hear was that single request — 'I appoint you as vice-sectmaster now. Activate the Ghost Protocol.'
He clenched his fist around the crystal, the edges biting into his palm, as the weight of responsibility sank in, raw and immovable.
He was in-charge of the Cult now.
He had to now ensure the security of its billions upon billions of citizens.
'I can't believe this is really happening.... It's like my vision is coming to reality,' Leo thought, as in his mind's eye, he saw it again.
The vision that played when he consumed the paranoia potion for the first time— The endless sky full of enemy ships, bombing Juxta to ashes.
The ground split open with fire. The sky drowned in smoke. And the countless nameless bodies burnt alive, their lives extinguished, their stories untold.
Back then, he had hoped it was only a nightmare, some cruel trick of his own weary mind. But now it felt like a prophecy, one that was inching closer to fulfillment with every passing minute.
"Juxta may fall," Charles had never said it outloud. However, Leo knew that's what he meant. For without Soron, it was next to impossible for him to handle an enemy entourage of this size.
"Damn you, fate... not yet. Not like this." He said, as he pressed the crystal against his forehead, whispering words no one would hear.
But even as he cursed, the images of fire and graves lingered, etching themselves deeper, as though destiny itself had reached out and imprinted them in his mind.
"I can't slow down now.... From here onwards, every second is precious. I need to quickly come up with an evacuation plan, and make priorities for whom to evacuate and what cargo for them to carry." Leo mused, as despite the immense weight on his shoulders, he refused to buckle in the Cult's hour of need.
---
(Meanwhile, Planet Juxta, Charles's POV)
*Alarms Blaring*
*Footsteps Rushing*
After disconnecting the call with Leo, Charles calmly walked over to Dumpy's training arena, where he found the tiny frog peeping out of the door in confusion.
"What's going on smoking man? Why is everyone running around so frantically? Are we going to be under attack once again?" Dumpy asked, as Charles chuckled and squatted beside him, his eyes heavier than usual, as he let out a deep sigh.
"Yes, kiddo, we're gonna be under attack in about 11 hours and 40 minutes from now." He replied, as Dumpy folded his arms and nodded with a quiet confidence.
"Well, tell your men not to worry, for Lord Dumpy is here. I'll just save their weak buttocks like last time and kill all our mongrel opponents. In any case, puny humans are no match for my brilliance!" Dumpy said, as Charles let out a soft chuckle, before retrieving the newly forged blade from his inventory.
"Here, kiddo, I repaired it as promised." He said, as Dumpy took the reforged blade in his palms, drawing it slowly from the scabbard, as he inspected the edge with a practiced eye.
"Mmmm, looks okay" He said, as he compared its weight to his non-damaged blade and nodded in satisfaction when both felt perfectly equal, the balance flawless and the sharpness worthy of a warrior like him.
"Not bad! With my blade back, I can kill twice as many Mongrel opponents! Hahaha! Let them come, I'll show them why I'm called the terror of tadpoles!" Dumpy said, as Charles lowered his gaze before shaking his head from side to side.
"No— This time, you won't be on the battlefield." Charles denied, as Dumpy blinked in confusion, his round eyes widening as he tilted his head from side to side.
"Eh? What do you mean? I'm a warrior, not a bystander. You can't tell Lord Dumpy to sit out while puny humans fight and die. I'll cut the opponents down myself if I must!" He protested, as Charles laughed mirthlessly, even though his heart felt hollow.
"Here, take this—" He instructed, as reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a sealed envelope, the wax stamped with the Cult's Vice Sect Master insignia, that he pressed gently into Dumpy's tiny hands.
"You're not sitting out. You're guarding something more important than any battle. There's a cargo ship leaving in a few hours, carrying treasures Juxta cannot afford to lose. This letter will be on board too and I want you to protect that ship with everything you've got... and deliver this letter to a God named Soron when you meet him." Charles instructed, as Dumpy's mouth fell open.
"Guard a cargo ship? But that's boring! I'm a warrior, not a glorified babysitter!" He protested again, as Charles forced a laugh yet again, but this time as Dumpy looked up at him, he couldn't help but freeze in shock.
The monarch's eyes glistened faintly, not with tears that fell, but with the kind of weight that only comes when a man has already made peace with his death.
As for the first time, Dumpy was taken aback, his small chest tightening with a strange unease, as his voice softened into an innocent whisper.
"Are you... okay?"
He asked, as Charles placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, his voice low and honest as he replied—
"No... no I'm not. But if you do this favor for me, perhaps I will be."
(More chapters in Buyers club for TMT)