The Demon of The North-Chapter 133 - 132. The Truth Behind

"Can you... help me tell Marvessa about it? So she can inform Mara?" Roxanne asked softly.

The spirits began drifting into sight, pale, shimmering silhouettes appearing the moment Vivianne had fallen asleep and her rut had finally ebbed enough for them to approach her without flinching.

Roxanne can always see them clearly, every flutter of their translucent forms sharp to her eyes, but their voices can never reach her, only as faint impressions rather than true sound, a distant resonance she can’t fully grasp. It’s probably the limit of her heritage, her mother’s blood granting her sight but not the depth of communion Vivianne possessed.

The smallest spirit twirled in an eager loop before vanishing in a ripple of light. Moments later, Tempest appeared, the crackling air around him announcing his presence before he lifted a thumb with an exaggerated pose, as though reporting that the little one had already darted off to deliver her message.

"Thanks, Tempest," Roxanne murmured with a tired smile. She reached for the chilled jug beside her, pouring water into a glass and downing it in one long swallow that left her chest rising and falling with slow relief. "Do you think... I can really protect Vivianne and Seraphyne?"

As she sank back onto the sofa, Afrit materialized beside Tempest, his expression wearing that unmistakable smugness he loved to brandish, pointing from himself to her as if boasting that dealing with any threat will be child’s play for beings like them.

"What? Are you saying it’ll be easy for you?" Roxanne raised a brow at him.

Only a soft voice, warm, melodic, and painfully dear, cut gently through the air. "They’re just big, love. All muscle, thick skin, nothing more. And the magic here is far stronger than anything they’ve ever known."

Roxanne’s head snapped toward the bed, heart flipping in her chest. Vivianne is awake, her silver hair spilling over the sheets, her eyes half-lidded but sharp enough to see everything, even her wife’s worry.

"I’m sorry," Roxanne blurted, already moving quickly to her side. "Did I wake you?"

"I was awake when you left the bed," Vivianne murmured, her voice still soft with sleep. "But I decided to wait. It looked urgent." She rose from the bed with unhurried grace, slipped into her robe, and crossed the room to sit beside her wife.

Reaching for the jug, Vivianne refilled it with water drawn through Undine’s blessing. She never allowed Roxanne or herself to drink anything the spirit hadn’t inspected, and now she’s even more meticulous with Seraphyne. Undine’s water was always crisp, cool, and quietly healing.

"Talk to them," Vivianne said gently.

With a subtle motion of her fingers, she extended her hearing to Roxanne, weaving their senses just enough that Roxanne could finally catch the voices of the king spirits with clarity instead of faint impressions. The world shifted until the spirits’ murmurs brushed against Roxanne’s mind like wind passing through crystal.

"They’re strong—far stronger than they were a few centuries ago. Relentless, too. They needed an heir," Tempest said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "The curse wiped out the females in their bloodline. They don’t have second genders like you do, no alphas, omegas, or betas. Just male and female. And now, only the males remain."

"But this continent..." Terranova’s presence unfolded beside him, her power pressing softly against the air. "This land is saturated with pure mana, purer than anywhere else in the world. That’s why the three races born here grew strong. Stronger than anything those creatures have ever faced. Not like that dead continent," she scoffed, "or the half-starved one, where our kind can’t even manifest without the Tree of Life holding the realms together."

Afrit appeared with a flicker of heat, arms crossed and expression smug. "You’re strong. They’re just a bunch of muscleheads with mating instincts so terrible it makes them seem almost intelligent."

Roxanne frowned. "You make them sound like idiots with too many muscles."

"They are," Afrit replied flatly.

"But they managed to drive the living beings in Aerthysia away from their continent," Roxanne argued.

"That’s because the ones in Aerthysia were weak," Undine said, her voice calm and cool, flowing like the river she commanded.

"Should I be relieved, then?" Roxanne asked, still skeptical.

"Twenty miles from our shore is the safest distance for the Aerthysian fleet to moor," Undine continued. "Even if the Calonians set foot on Kaelindor, three days is the absolute limit their bodies can endure before mana poisoning overwhelms them."

"They’re bringing their leader aboard the flagship," Terranova added, materializing with the steady weight of bedrock. "As the emperor of this continent, I suggest you go and meet them—with your empress."

"They think all of you are just a bunch of barbarians," Afrit said with a smirk, clearly provoking on purpose. "You should let them see your mate."

"Oh? Now you’re provoking my wife," Vivianne remarked, narrowing her eyes at him.

Afrit only grinned wider at her. "She loves to show off. Why should we stop her from doing what she does best?"

-

Aerthysian Fleet,

They stared at the figure floating in the sky above their ship, a man so attractive with vast black wings and eyes burning a deep, unnatural red. They thought elves already were the most beautiful creatures in this world, not knowing there would be another creature as stunning as the elves.

His expression is unreadable, carved from stone, yet his presence pressed down on them like a physical weight. Even the wind seemed to twist away from him. The elves had faced beasts, storms, corrupted spirits, and even the horrors of Calonia’s monsters, but never had they encountered one man whose mere arrival unsettled three hundred battle-trained warriors.

"You need to stop and moor here," he said, his flat voice carrying effortlessly over the roar of the sea.

"We must see your ruler," the elven leader answered, already drawing mana into his limbs. His stance shifted into readiness, not aggression, but caution. "We have urgent matters to deliver."

The winged man descended without a flicker of concern, dropping lightly onto the bow. The moment his boots touched the wood, a wave of magic burst outward, rolling over the vessel like a shock tide. Every elf staggered; the ship itself shuddered violently before halting on the spot, as though the sea had suddenly become solid beneath it.

"Moor. Here." His tone never lifted, never hardened. That made it even more terrifying. "Your request has been noted. Our emperor will come to you."

"D-Drop the anchor!" The commander snapped, voice cracking with the force of returning adrenaline. His officers scrambled to follow, the sound of chains and shouted orders breaking the tense silence.

The winged man’s crimson gaze swept across the deck. "How many aboard?"

"Three hundred," the leader replied stiffly.

"We will bring provisions. Do not cross beyond this point. Your bodies cannot withstand the mana density of our continent." He folded his wings slightly, feathers rippling with a faint hum of power. "If you require proof, send a small boat to the shore. You will see what happens."

Before they could question him further, he launched into the sky with frightening speed and flew into another fleet not far from the elves’ ship. The elves stood frozen, gripping their weapons, their pride wrestling with their instinct to obey.

High above the ocean, the winged man veered sharply toward the nearest vessel, the human fleet.

Their ships are larger, built for endurance rather than elegance, and reinforced with steel plating along the hulls. Humans aren’t as magically gifted as elves, but they compensated with invention, strategy, and stubbornness. Even now, their soldiers crowded the deck, pointing upward as he descended.

He landed on the figurehead, wings unfurling wide enough to cast a shadow over half the deck. "You will moor here," he announced.

The human general stepped forward, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Sweat trickled down his brow—not from fear, but from the suffocating pressure the winged man exuded. "We come as allies. We seek audience with your sovereign."

"And you will have it. But you will not set foot on our shores." The man’s gaze swept over the deck and the trembling lantern flames. "Your people will collapse within minutes if exposed to our mana. Anchor here."

The general hesitated, conflict flickering across his features. "How far from land are we?"

"Twenty miles." The winged man pointed toward the faint outline of Kaelindor’s coast. "Beyond this line, your lungs will fail you."

A murmur rippled through the human crew. "I will inform my emperor that you have arrived. She will come with her empress." His red eyes narrowed slightly. "Remain disciplined. If even one of your men attempts to dock, I will personally return you to your continent."

There’s no threat in his voice, just certainty. And the humans know that that single gorgeous flying man isn’t for them to fight. The general swallowed. "Anchor the ship!" he ordered.

Only after the metal chain splashed into the sea did the winged man lift off again. Behind him, two fleets, elves and humans alike, floated in uneasy silence, humbled by a single man and a continent whose power they had deeply underestimated.