UNMEI: Pantheon's Game-Chapter 100: Secrets

Dune stepped forward, his body tense. The room was suffocatingly silent, the weight of the eight figures seated before him pressing down harder than the thick air. He forced himself to keep his gaze steady, to walk with confidence, even as his mind raced.

Then, A crushing force slammed into him from nowhere.

His body buckled instantly, his knees hitting the cold stone floor before he could react. His arms trembled under the sudden weight pressing him down, and before he could catch himself, crack... his face struck the ground. A sharp sting spread across his nose, the taste of iron filling his mouth.

"Kneel, commoner bastard."

The voice was sharp, dripping with arrogance.

Dune clenched his jaw, his breathing uneven as he tried to lift his head. His entire body felt like it was being crushed beneath a mountain, the sheer weight of the Neba pressing against him unbearable. He could feel it, Yellow Neba... an overwhelming force grinding him into the floor.

James stood above him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, his hand casually raised as he poured more pressure onto Dune.

Several of the seated figures remained silent, observing. Damion shifted in his chair, his eyes narrowing in clear disappointment.

King Aramir, however, remained still, his expression unreadable. Then, with calm authority, he raised his hand.

"Enough."

The moment the word left his lips, the crushing force vanished. Dune gasped as the weight lifted, his limbs feeling unbearably light in contrast.

But Aramir wasn't finished. His cold gaze flickered toward James.

"Leave."

The room fell into silence.

James hesitated, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "Father?" His voice was uncertain.

Aramir didn't answer, he only looked at him. A single glance. A cold chill passed through the room.

James stiffened. His hands curled into fists, his jaw tightening, but he didn't dare defy his father's silent command. With a scowl, he turned on his heel and started toward the exit.

Dune exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers, feeling the sting of his bruised body. Then, just as James passed him, he shifted his foot.

It was subtle. Not a kick, not even a trip, just a slight movement, just enough to catch James off guard.

James stumbled. For a split second, his balance wavered, his polished boots skidding against the stone. He caught himself quickly, but not before his pride took the hit.

A low, dangerous growl rumbled in his throat. His golden eyes flashed, glowing with unrestrained anger. The air around him vibrated, his Yellow Neba sparking to life.

"Leave."

Aramir's voice, colder this time. Sharper.

James clenched his jaw, his breathing harsh as he struggled to contain his rage. His teeth ground together, his fingers twitching at his sides. But in the end, he obeyed.

With one last furious glare at Dune, he stormed out of the chamber, his presence disappearing beyond the heavy doors.

Dune didn't smirk. Didn't celebrate. He simply wiped the blood from his nose, stood straight, and met the eyes of the council once more.

A quiet chuckle broke the tension.

"He arrived yesterday and already has tons of enemies." The voice belonged to Magma, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement as he leaned back in his chair.

Then, Ramires spoke, his voice firm and authoritative. "Demonstrate your Neba ability. Tell us where you found it, how you achieved it, and more."

Dune sighed. What was there to hide? If they already knew the truth, then there was no point in holding back.

"I found my ability in the Gods' Trial." His voice was steady, unwavering. "I am one of the gods' chosen, blessed, and my ability is called Nebastep."

Magma's eyes widened in shock, his usual confidence flickering for a brief moment. King Aramir sighed as he threw a glance toward Magma. Even Damion, who had remained composed throughout, raised an eyebrow.

Dune's chest tightened. He had expected a response, but this? He wasn't sure what to make of it.

Before he could continue, the heavy doors to the chamber creaked open.

Someone walked in, yawning.

"Ahh... sorry, I'm late."

The air shifted. Dune's gaze snapped to the newcomer.

"You are late, Cel," King Aramir said, his voice carrying a rare edge of familiarity.

"Yeah? No shi— mhm... i just said i was late."

Dune's breath caught in his throat. Cel? The self-proclaimed strongest? His mind flashed back to Cadogan's words. Was this the man he was talking about?

Cel was... strange.

He was tall, with black hair that barely reached his shoulders, slightly shorter than Dune's own. His golden eyes shone like they held something otherworldly. His outfit made him look out of place, like he had wandered in from another world entirely.

Black pants. A slightly open black t-shirt. A long jacket that draped to his knees. A single cross earring hanging from his left ear.

And somehow, despite the heavy atmosphere in the room, he walked like he owned the place.

"Sorry, Mr. King. It won't happen again." Cel's voice was casual, as if he was talking to a friend rather than the ruler of the kingdom.

Then, suddenly hiss golden eyes locked onto Dune. "Oho? A Zeten?"

Dune stiffened. "What?" How did he figure that out with just one look?

Cel tilted his head, sniffing the air slightly before a smirk curled on his lips.

"This scent... Gods?" His tone was teasing, playful, but his eyes gleamed with something deeper.

"You saw god's didn't you?"

Dune's stomach twisted. What is this guy talking about?

Cel sighed as he walked toward his seat.

"Those scared cats who won't come down because they're too afraid of me..." He ran a hand through his hair lazily, golden eyes sharp with amusement. "Such a shame. I can't even fight them."

The entire room tensed. Dune felt his heartbeat in his ears. Cel... wanted to fight the gods? And more importantly, why was no one reacting?

Even Magma, who had been visibly surprised by Dune's words, looked completely lost.

Who is this guy?

Yet no one reprimanded him. No one challenged him. Not even King Aramir.

Instead, Cel grinned, walking past the council members before dropping into his chair with zero decorum. He threw one leg onto the table, his arms resting lazily behind his head.

"Go on," he told Dune, his voice full of amusement.

Dune's fingers clenched. His mind raced.

Just who the hell is this guy?