Chapter 63: An Unexpected Visitor

Sakavi, who was asleep, was suddenly awakened by a violent disturbance in magical energy. Since the last time he was blocked at the gate by harpies in Cardowen, Sakavi had prepared thoroughly for such an event, ensuring he would have enough room to maneuver if it happened again.

Sakavi had installed detection devices throughout the entire duchy; any magical disturbance above the legendary tier would be detected, no matter how deeply hidden. The mage tower defense system sold to him by Aruzi, though vastly overpriced, delivered absolutely no reduction in effectiveness—so long as he remained in the tower’s central command room, even a demigod could not break in.

This time, a demigod had truly come—so at least the goblinoid sorcerer stationed at the mage tower reported to Sakavi. Sakavi trusted no one but the dragon-blooded goblinoids to guard the tower and its four defense towers, fearing one day his subordinates might be turned against him.

“You, the elf ahead, you have entered the Agrik defense system’s engagement range. Stop immediately and state your identity and purpose, or I will attack!”

He stood like an ancient silver birch—tall and still. His skin, like moonlit white jade, was smooth and cold. His silver-white hair shimmered like liquid mithril, bound by a simple mithril circlet, a few strands falling to frame his pointed ears and sharply defined cheeks.

Most breathtaking were his eyes. Like two ancient purple lakes holding timeless wisdom, his pupils seemed to harbor miniature stars being born and dying. When gazing into those eyes, Sakavi felt boundless compassion, yet also an overwhelming solemnity spanning countless centuries.

He wore a pure white bishop’s robe, its fabric not of earthly silk, but woven from fibers of the Moonlight Sacred Tree and threads of mithril, emitting a soft glow in darkness. The hem and cuffs were embroidered with the finest gold thread, inscribed with ancient elven runes depicting celestial paths and patterns of the Eternal Forest.

Over his shoulders hung a sacred sash symbolizing the unity of sun and moon—one side embroidered with golden sun totems, the other outlined in silver crescent motifs. On his chest hung a holy symbol: a sunstone carved into the shape of a blooming flower, absorbing sunlight by day and emitting a warm glow at night to dispel darkness and evil.

In his hand he held no heavy staff, but a branch from the first sprout of the World Tree, atop which floated a slowly rotating moonstone, surrounded by several tiny, satellite-like shards of crystal.

Even Sakavi, who believed himself well-versed in judging people, could not help but marvel at his beauty—his appearance surpassed even Verna’s. Yet what moved him more was the effortless grace and composure spanning millennia; every gesture was precise, unhurried, imbued with ancient rhythm.

“Young black dragon, won’t you invite me in for a visit? I am, after all, a guest who has come from afar.”

“Your Grace the Elf, I apologize, but I wish to have no dealings with anyone of unknown origin. State your purpose and your organization.”

“I understand your distrust. Over long ages, many of my brethren—the so-called ‘Radiant Sect’—have turned ‘Holy Light’ into a flame that burns all who oppose them. They see all who are not of their fold as shadows to be purified.”

“But I come today not in the name of the Radiant Sect. My emblem is the ‘Eye of Dawn,’ symbolizing insight and awakening, not the judgment of the blazing sun. I belong to another branch of the Holy Church, known as the ‘Guiders,’ or more plainly, the ‘Dawn Sect.’”

“For us, Holy Light is a force of guidance and healing—a lighthouse illuminating the path for the lost—not a sun that burns all to ash. We seek understanding and coexistence, not the eradication of all who hold different beliefs.”

“I am Alamil of Dawnlight. I have come to mediate the conflict between your side and the Radiant Sect. Might Your Grace grant me this opportunity?”

“I welcome all friends with goodwill, and fear no enemy with ill intent. Your brethren kidnapped my subordinate without cause. Do you have any explanation for this?”

“Ah, ‘kidnapping’… such a heavy and one-sided word, Your Grace. Allow me to offer a perspective more aligned with the Law of Cause and Effect. Do you still recall, thirty-nine years ago, on the road to Karnasen, an innocent young priestess chased down and killed by a wicked black dragon?”

His tone was calm, as if recounting a distant historical fact unrelated to him—but each word was like a precise dagger. As he spoke, Alamil gently raised his hand; a soft light appeared in his palm, within which faint human figures and a monstrous dragon’s shadow flickered.

His smile now carried a hint of almost cruel rationality.

“So perhaps the real question is not ‘why did we take them,’ but whether both sides intend to let this cycle of vengeance—begun in blood, destined to end in blood—continue, or whether we might seize this chance to explore a lasting solution? I have come to offer you the latter.”

“Elf, if you’ve come only to dredge up old grievances, then I can only say I will answer for what I have done—but not now.”

“Sakavi, I remember you once claimed you only sought to climb higher. If I’m not mistaken, you took the priestess’s soul hoping one day to reconcile with the Radiant Sect? That was a decent choice—but today, I have a better proposal.”

“Elf, you’ve piqued my interest. Can your goodwill truly persuade the Radiant Sect? I doubt that’s realistic.”

“No, something more compelling: what if I told you I could persuade them to release your kin? How does that sound?”

“That’s impossible to refuse. What do you want from me in return?”

“Bishop Ignatius, Your Grace, didn’t you check who you were capturing? He is one of ours from the Dawn Sect. Precisely because of that, we still have room to maneuver—if you release him, I can persuade my brethren to release yours.”

“I don’t think you can convince those madmen. If you truly mean well, show me something tangible in exchange—I might consider it.”

The faint smile on Alamil’s face suddenly deepened into something concrete. He did not continue with words, but did something unexpected. Slowly raising his right hand, he spread his fingers gracefully in the air, as if plucking invisible strings. The air around him rippled like water, and for an instant, the boundary of a non-material realm woven of gentle holy light flickered into view.

“Words are pale, Your Grace. Sincerity must be proven by action.”

As he spoke, a figure was gently “pushed” from the glow—it was Grap, long unseen. He appeared unharmed, even more composed than before his capture; his cloudy eyes held no fear, only an unusual clarity. He stood respectfully beside Alamil, even bowing slightly toward the stunned black dragon.

“Is this sincerity enough? Before coming here, I had already persuaded the Radiant Sect.”

The aged Grap, as if to confirm his words, spoke in a hoarse voice, uttering words that shook Sakavi to his core: “Master, he is not truly your enemy. The matter of Noaetel was a trap from the beginning.”

“Very well, Sakavi, we can revisit old memories another day. When will you release my people?”

After Grap entered the defense tower, Sakavi immediately ordered the entire iron coffin sent over. Dealing with a demigod demanded extreme caution. Until he was certain Grap posed no threat, Sakavi would never let him near himself—nor would he allow him outside his control, lest he be captured again and Sakavi suffer a great loss.

“Sakavi, you’ve killed many of my paladins. That comes at a price. My mediation today requires equivalent compensation.”

“You may take anything from my wealth—I have it all, take whatever you wish.”

“Forgive me, but your wealth is not wealth to me, nor does it contain what I seek. I want you to kill someone for me.”

“Not interested. I won’t take on such an excessively risky task. Choose something else.”

“You have no choice. I have used illusion magic to make your kin sign a contract. You may not know that, at higher levels, a dragon’s kin can still be leveraged—though not as effectively as the original.”

“Choose another! I may not be able to kill him—is there a safer task?”

“Your efficiency in killing is well known. You have no right to refuse. Goodbye!”

He gave Sakavi, still stunned and uncertain, a slight nod—identical in arc to the one he’d given upon arrival—as if the entire negotiation, which had shattered all of Sakavi’s expectations, had merely been an ordinary afternoon greeting.

His steps remained unhurried, as if strolling through the corridors of his own temple. But with the first step, a soft, pure aura rippled around him. With the second, his form began to grow translucent, as if his flesh and blood were gradually dissolving into pure light and shadow.

With the third step, his figure had become little more than a hazy glowing outline. At that moment, the space where he had stood rippled like water disturbed by a stone, sending out shimmering ripples of starlight.

No incantation. No array. No scroll or artifact used. His departure was itself a natural phenomenon—like morning mist dissolving in sunlight, like starlight fading at dawn.