Rivers of the Night - Chapter 341

Chapter 341: A Long Time
“Originally,” Aetherion said calmly, “we were told to capture you alive. But since then, the rules have changed. This time…”

Aetherion slowly pulled out a shadowy spear, its blade changing shape and form continuously. Sometimes it was slender and sharp; at other times, it was curved, large, and jagged, carrying the air of a warring glaive more than an elegant spear.

Yet, it fit naturally in Aetherion’s palm, his gaze having changed.

Before, he lacked the confidence—because dealing with someone like Theron while having it in the back of your mind that you couldn’t kill him was troublesome.

Aetherion was intelligent, smart enough to know that before, in all likelihood, killing Theron would have brought more trouble than reward.

But now, things were different. He had been explicitly told to do exactly that.

Theron just stood there, his eyes too dull to read, their shimmering blue reflecting the light of the moon maybe more than they should naturally. His breathing wasn’t nearly so rhythmic or calm as usual, its heaviness underlining the depths of his fatigue.

Time and time again, he had been forced to stop in the middle of that rampaging army, and every time he did, it took a little bit more out of him—and then a little more after that, and then even more after that.

By the time he stepped out, the princes in front of him and the chaos-stricken army behind him, his knees felt wobbly, his blood was running cold, and his mind felt foggy in ways he couldn’t recall ever experiencing since his days in the Daggers of the Night trials.

Even his battle with Ironvale hadn’t pushed him nearly this far. It wasn’t just a bodily fatigue, but a mental one. It had taken everything he had to comprehend those Laws, and though they were one with him now, it was taking even more to manifest them.

Yet, without them, his body was too fragile and his Mana too depleted to even put up much of a fight.

Theron took another breath, his eyes seeming to focus as he gazed at Aetherion instead of right through him for the first time since he had come to stand here.

He didn’t speak. There was no need to waste his energy. He didn’t make a face, nor did he seem to truly acknowledge Aetherion at all. He just stood there, waiting.

And yet, Aetherion didn’t attack.

Despite the words he had spoken, Theron could feel his fear. That seed of doubt had already crept into his heart.

Right this moment, maybe because he had become a Quasi Gold Mancer, Theron could feel the insecurity of Gold Mancers all the more clearly.

Why was it that geniuses could reach Gold Mancy as early as 20 years old, and yet fail to reach the peak of it for so long?

He had learned of it. That self-doubt that crept in after facing their Tribulation.

But Theron had faced it not just once, but twice now.

Doubt?

A lack of self-assuredness?

It never even crossed his mind.

Instead, his aura—his presence itself—had been tempered by those bolts of lightning not just once, but twice over.

Standing there, even teetering on the edge of all that he had left, a Gold Mancer like Aetherion and the other two princes felt it all the more clearly than any Silver Mancer could.

Fear.

Theron’s breathing began to slow. Steadily, he was catching his breath once again, the one thing this Aetherion didn’t want to allow.

The hesitation in the Nightingale Crown Prince’s eyes was forced away as he lunged forward. There was no backing out now.

Marcel and Morelle seemed to understand the situation as well, the former bringing out a pair of golden hammers that swung down at the earth while the latter brought out a pair of scimitars that crisscrossed in hard-to-follow patterns.

Neither the former Gold Crown Prince nor the latter Sangun Crown Prince made any effort to actually close the distance, instead both choosing to maintain a gap and support Aetherion from the back.

For a moment, Theron felt that it was well and truly a shame that he had to let them live. Just how much easier would all of this be if he could just rip their hearts out from their chests?

But Emperor Sangun was correct. It wasn’t just his son, but the others that were more useful to Theron alive.

Theron needed the Black Clan to have its full arsenal of power behind it. If he crippled the Black Clan, their ability to buck up against the Seijin would be severely diminished.

Was there a good chance that the Black Clan would simply keel over and obediently do everything the Seijin said?

Maybe—if it wasn’t Theron who was manipulating things from the back.

They already all believed that Theron was an escapee from the Seijin… so why not keep letting them think that?

How would they react when they felt as though the Seijin had dumped all their problems onto them, and then sowed chaos through their provinces just to capture Theron once more?

Of course, Emperor Sangun knew the truth, but Theron had already spoken to him. He knew where the Emperor stood. He was a man with backbone but simply lacking in strength…

So Theron planned to let him borrow a blade.

These princes, however… just because he would let them live didn’t mean that he would let them off. These two things… were completely different.

Theron tapped a foot. The rushing golden earth coming for his feet missed as he leapt into the air, arching in a backflip and landing lightly on more cracked stone.

Morelle’s crisscrossing blade lights had already closed the distance, the blades forming a resonance with one another in a familiar vibrational pattern. They were a mere instant from fusing into one enormous blade light when a flash came from Theron’s eyes.

In that moment, what was supposed to be a perfect fusion collapsed, the blades destroying one another instead of bolstering one another.

All of this happened in a flash—just in time for Aetherion’s spear to extend its blackness before Theron’s eyes.

‘Weak.’

The thrumming of Theron’s bloodline seemed to speak for him. It didn’t matter how much blood he had lost, how tired he was, how foggy his mind…

Theron’s backhanded dagger parried the spear over his shoulder, a strong step forward being all he needed to plunge his short sword into Aetherion’s gut.

… This so-called Crown Prince hadn’t been a match for him for a long while.

PUCHI!

A sharp line of blue exited Aetherion’s back.