Venti's footsteps made no sound as he left the private dining room in the west wing of the palace. The carved mahogany door shut tightly behind him, leaving the God of Darkness, Erebus, alone with the remnants of jasmine tea and a theatrical stage that had now completely collapsed.
The night wind of the Kaios Desert blew through the gaps of the carved sandstone pillars supporting the grand hallways of the Sorshana palace. The breeze played with Venti's dark hair, which faded into turquoise at the tips. The God of Wind cradled his wooden lyre casually.
His encounter with Erebus left a strange philosophical resonance in his mind. Venti, possessing memories from his life on Earth as well as his experience as the Anemo Archon, deeply understood the anatomy of a tragedy. Erebus was not an evil figure born of greed; the god was driven purely by an extreme and twisted love for humanity. Erebus was willing to burn himself on a stage of hatred so that humans would learn how to extinguish the fire. But to Venti, wings forced to grow through torment would never be able to experience true freedom when flying.
The bard god's steps led him out of the main corridor, strolling through the internal oasis garden located right in the heart of the Shalzard palace. In stark contrast to the barren desert outside the city walls, this garden was a hydrological marvel. Lush palm trees grew abundantly, surrounding a clear pool of water that reflected the starlight. The trickling sound of water blended with the songs of nocturnal insects, creating a deeply soothing natural melody.
As Venti walked along the desert marble path, his ears caught a very faint sound. The soft humming of a woman, interspersed with small, innocent babbles.
Venti stopped in his tracks. At the edge of the garden, sitting on a sandstone bench draped in red silk, was a noblewoman with beautiful Middle Eastern features. Her attire indicated a very high status—most likely she was the Queen or the chief consort of the King of Shalzard. In her arms, swaddled in a high-quality linen blanket, a baby barely a year old was sleeping soundly.
As the God of Wind, Venti could sense ripples that eluded ordinary senses. Around the little baby, the blowing wind seemed to whisper softly, carrying fragments of immense future potential. This child was not just an ordinary royal baby; her existence was tied to the wheels of history that would one day shake the lower world.
With steps as light as cotton, Venti approached. He plucked a single string of his lyre slowly, producing a gentle note that merged with the trickling water, deliberately announcing his presence so as not to startle the woman.
The mother turned quickly, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of a young boy dressed in the green garb of a street bard roaming freely in the royal private garden at night. However, the serene aura and genuine smile radiating from Venti's face eased the woman's protective instincts.
"A very beautiful night for a lullaby," Venti greeted in a cheerful and friendly tone, his eyes fixed on the tiny baby who occasionally smacked her lips in her sleep.
The noblewoman hesitated for a moment, but finally nodded slowly. She knew from the guards' reports that the palace had received special guests from Orario sent by the Guild, and the petite figure before her was surely one of them. "Yes... the desert wind tonight is much cooler than usual."
Venti stepped closer, gazing at the baby's innocent face with an inscrutable look. There was a trace of a playful smile on his lips as he tilted his head slightly.
"So, this is Aram Raza Shalzard, huh?" Venti said suddenly, his voice flowing softly yet very clearly. "Or... should I call her Arry?"
The woman's eyes widened. Her beautiful face instantly paled, and she hugged her baby a little tighter. Her breath hitched as she stared at the petite youth before her with a mix of shock and fear.
"H-How did you... where did you learn that name?" the mother whispered with a trembling voice, ensuring no palace guards were eavesdropping on their conversation. "No one outside the King's innermost circle knows about that."
Venti only chuckled softly, his laugh as cool as wind chimes. He leaned his body against a nearby palm tree trunk, crossing his legs casually. "The wind is always listening, My Lady. And the wind never lies to me. They carry many stories, including the little secrets hidden behind these sandstone walls."
The mother lowered her face, gazing at her sleeping daughter with a look full of tenderness mixed with profound sorrow. That secret had burdened her heart since the day the baby was born.
"It is true..." the woman said in a faint voice that was almost swept away by the wind. "I... I always wanted to name her Arry. She is a very beautiful girl, my own flesh and blood. That name suits her perfectly. But... His Majesty King Shalzard did not agree at all."
Venti did not interrupt. He listened with full empathy, letting the woman release the burden that had been weighing on her chest.
"King Shalzard, my husband, has very rigid views about the throne and the continuity of power amidst the harsh politics of the Kaios Desert," the mother continued, caressing her baby's soft cheek with her fingertips. "He insisted that this child, later when she grows up, must disguise herself as a boy. She must hide her true identity from the world. The real name officially given by the King is Aram Raza Shalzard... a masculine name to deceive everyone, to protect the kingdom's prestige."
Tears began to well up in the woman's eyes. "As a mother, imagining my daughter having to live a lie her entire life... hiding her true self behind men's clothes and never being free to be herself... it tortures me deeply. But I do not have the power to defy the King's decree."
Venti stared at the mother and child in silence. His long experience spanning thousands of years had shown him various human disguises and sacrifices for the sake of the throne. However, to the God of Freedom, seeing a child forced to live a lie from birth was a truly regrettable thing.
Venti stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He reached out his hand, and very gently, his fingertips touched the little baby's forehead. Along with the warm touch of his fingers, a cool breeze of the oasis night blew softly, providing a soothing natural caress. The baby smiled a little in her sleep, responding to the sincere warmth of the bard.
"In that case, this is my advice to you," Venti said. His voice had now lost its playful tone, replaced by the profound, serene earnestness of a bard who understood the meaning of freedom. "Speak to King Shalzard tomorrow. Tell him that this child, Arry, does not need to disguise herself as a boy at all. Just let her grow up as she is."
The woman looked up, meeting Venti's teal eyes that shone under the moonlight. There was a kind of absolute authority in the petite youth's words that made her doubts slowly erode away.
"Arry Shalzard," Venti repeated the name, savoring its syllables as if singing a melody. "That is a very beautiful name. A name full of freedom. Do not let the fear of the future rob her of her identity before she can even walk."
"But... what about the views of this country? What if later she is considered weak because she is a woman amidst this harsh desert culture?" asked the mother, still shrouded in anxiety.
Venti smiled gently, pulling his hand back. "The future is always uncertain, My Lady. That is what makes it so beautiful. However, from the gust of wind I feel, I know one thing: one day, this Arry will grow up to be a truly great person. She does not need a man's mask to prove her strength, because her true strength will be born from her courage to be herself."
The God of Wind turned his body, preparing to step back into the palace corridor. He looked over his shoulder, giving one last smile full of cosmic riddles.
"No one in this world—not even King Shalzard or the gods themselves—knows which way the wheels of future destiny will turn," Venti spoke poetically, letting his green cloak flutter softly. "Therefore, let her take control of her own wheel. Protect the name Arry, and the wind will always bless her."
The woman was stunned. Venti's words pierced straight into the depths of her heart, shattering the wall of fear that had shackled her for the past year. As she looked at her daughter, Aram—no, Arry—the baby looked so peaceful. A fiery new resolve was suddenly born in the mother's chest. She would confront her husband. She would fight for her daughter's name.
When she looked up to express her gratitude, the green-clad youth had vanished, leaving only a cool breeze carrying the scent of aster flowers from out of nowhere.
A day had passed since the silent confrontation in the palace dining room and the destruction of the Warusa army's remnants in Gazoob. The Kaios Desert sun rose high again, baking the sea of sand with merciless heat. However, inside the sturdy walls of the capital Sorshana, the pulse of life moved very dynamically.
In the vast main courtyard of the Shalzard palace, the usually disciplined formation of royal guards now appeared overwhelmed. Dozens of soldiers in thick cloth armor tried to keep their distance, forming a semicircular perimeter with spears at the ready. However, the soldiers' faces did not radiate murderous intent, but rather sheer bewilderment.
In the center of the carved sandstone-paved courtyard stood the giant figure of Zald. The former Zeus Familia executive towered high, carrying his greatsword. His face looked hardened—not because he was facing a lethal threat, but because this foreign situation felt far more complicated than slashing Dungeon monsters.
Swarming around Zald's legs and waist were dozens of people in tattered clothes. They were the former slaves of the Elf, Pallum, and Dwarf races that Zald had successfully rescued from the rusted cages in Warusa.
A few hours ago, Zald had escorted this large group across the desert, ensuring they were safe from desert monsters until they arrived at Sorshana's borders. To Zald, his task was complete. Venti's scenario was to free them, and Zald had executed it with absolute efficiency.
"Listen," Zald's heavy voice echoed, trying to sound as harsh and authoritative as possible. He looked down at a Pallum woman who kept holding onto the hem of his cloak while sobbing uncontrollably. "I've told you since we left Warusa. You are all free. You are no longer slaves. Go wherever you wish. Return to your families, or settle down in this oasis city. Don't keep following me."
However, Zald's words bore no fruit whatsoever. Instead of dispersing, the crowd of former slaves actually tightened their ranks around the Gluttony.
"We have nowhere to return to, Sir!" cried an old Dwarf man whose beard was filled with dust, staring at Zald with teary eyes full of reverence. "Our families were slaughtered when we were captured. Warusa took everything. If it weren't for you breaking open those iron cages and guiding us through the sandstorm, we would have definitely become Basilisk food!"
"That's right! Sir Zald is our hero!" chimed in a young Elf whose face was covered in bruises, pressing both hands together in front of his chest as if praying to a god. "We owe you our lives. We'd rather be your servants for the rest of our lives than leave aimlessly!"
Zald massaged the bridge of his nose. The muscles in his jaw tightened. Facing a giant dragon or a Behemoth capable of destroying continents felt much easier to him than dealing with a sea of tears and fanaticism from these weak people. As a veteran adventurer accustomed to living in the shadow of death, being treated like a compassionate savior made his insides churn. Zald felt unaccustomed to—and a little uncomfortable with—being under the spotlight of such pure gratitude.
"I am not the savior you imagine," Zald said, his deep, heavy voice echoing with an emphasis that made the crowd slowly fall silent. "I tore open your cages purely as part of a war strategy, not out of compassion. Your duty here is to rebuild your lives, not to follow me."
"We will not leave, Sir Zald!" the mob shouted in unison, further drowning the giant figure in a sea of innocence and gratitude.
From the second-floor balcony of the palace overlooking the courtyard directly, a very crisp and unrestrained laugh broke the tension.
Zald looked up quickly, his eyes radiating immense annoyance. There, leaning against the carved sandstone railing with his lyre in his arms, Venti was laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach. The god's teal eyes narrowed, holding back tears of amusement at seeing how helpless a Level 7 monster was in the face of the innocence of the people he had just freed.
Behind Venti, Hedin and Hogni stood with stiff postures, though the corners of Hedin's lips seemed to twitch slightly to hold back a smile, while Hogni only snorted softly seeing a Level 7 adventurer of Zald's caliber troubled by such a thing. Dina and Vena, standing on the other side, looked at Zald with sympathetic gazes.
"Stop laughing and get down here, Barbatos!" Zald yelled, a vein bulging on his temple. "Take care of these people! I was only tasked with destroying their cages, not to be a babysitter!"
Venti wiped a teardrop from the corner of his eye, then walked down the stone steps of the palace with light and cheerful footsteps. The bard stepped closer, taking a position right in front of Zald without causing the slightest tension.
Venti's presence immediately drew the attention of the people in the courtyard. His friendly and calming demeanor instantly made the commotion and tension among the crowd slowly subside.
"You're confusing our great Sir Zald, my friends," Venti greeted with a warm smile, looking at the faces of the former slaves one by one. "Just as he said, you are already free. Shalzard is a peaceful and wealthy country. The King here has agreed to provide temporary asylum for all of you. You will be given food, proper clothing, and shelter until you can determine your own path in life."
Venti winked at the Pallum woman who was still holding onto Zald's cloak. "And don't worry. This great giant won't be going anywhere anytime soon. He will stay right here, preparing to welcome the strong guests who will soon come to meet us."
Hearing the reassurance from the incredibly friendly and soothing green-clad youth, the slaves finally let go of Zald. They bowed deeply, murmuring thousands of thanks before the Shalzard soldiers stepped forward to guide them toward the shelter hall in the east wing of the palace.
Zald let out a long sigh, feeling as though a foreign tension had just been lifted from his shoulders. He smoothed out the outer cloak covering his heavy armor from the tugging of the people earlier, then glared sharply at Venti.
"Next time, if there's a mission involving mass hostage rescue, have your four favorite Elves do it," Zald grumbled in a heavy tone. "I'd rather be told to cleave a mountain than face their crying."
Venti chuckled softly. "You've always had a heart that's far too soft behind that terrifying face, Zald. That's exactly why you'd never be suited to play the role of a true villain like Erebus wanted."
Zald's expression hardened again, tossing aside the remnants of the relaxed atmosphere from moments ago.
"Speaking of Erebus," Zald said, folding his arms across his chest. "His plan to bait the new generation of Orario has succeeded. The false information I spread has made Finn Deimne, Gareth Landrock, Riveria Ljos Alf, and Ottar rush across the desert. Right now, they are racing toward Gazoob, thinking that the loser god alliance and the Warusa forces have taken their races hostage there."
Venti nodded slowly, his playful smile gradually fading, replaced by a gaze full of sharp calculation. He turned his body, looking toward the gates of the Sorshana palace which directly bordered the vast expanse of sand.
"They will definitely be very confused when they arrive at Gazoob," murmured Venti. "They came prepared to face a hell of illusions and a sea of troops, but all they will find is an empty desert, the remains of burned tents, and the scent of blood from a brief battle we have already won."
"Then, what is your next plan?" Zald asked, stepping forward to stand parallel to the God of Wind. "Erebus expected me to be the final executioner who tortures them and pushes them to the brink of despair so their true potential awakens. But since that Purgatory stage has been destroyed, should I intercept them and tell them to go back home to Orario?"
Venti turned to Zald, an enigmatic smile once again adorning his face.
"No, Zald. You will still test them," Venti answered, making the former Zeus Familia member's eyebrows knit in confusion.
"Test them? Weren't you the one opposing Erebus's ideology about forcing humans to evolve through absolute despair?" Zald reminded him.
"I oppose 'coercion', Zald. Not the battle itself," Venti corrected in a calm yet absolute tone. He raised his index finger, emphasizing the essence of his philosophy. "I want you to still stand as the mountain they must climb. But this time, the rules are different. There will be no hostages to save. No ticking clock chasing them. And absolutely no despair chaining their necks."
Zald narrowed his eyes, beginning to catch the drift of the God of Freedom's thoughts.
"Just wait for them at the borders of this kingdom, or meet them while they're confused in Gazoob," Venti laid out his plan with a pleasant rhythm. "Just tell Finn and the others honestly that the slaves have been saved. Their moral burden has been completely lifted. They are free to turn around and head back home to Orario."
Venti slowly plucked a string of the lyre Der Frühling in his arms, creating a single, clear note that drifted softly through the air of the palace courtyard.
"However, in exchange, offer them a pure choice. Tell them: 'If you want to see how vast the difference is between the old generation and the new generation, if you want to surpass your limits not because you are forced to, but because you want to... step forward and fight me voluntarily'."
Zald's eyes widened slightly, before a very rare and pure savage grin finally blossomed on his face. This was the grin of a true warrior whose blood was boiling once again.
A pure challenge. Without intrigue, without hostages, without the manipulation of gods. Purely a clash between pride, resolve, and the desire to become stronger. If Finn, Ottar, and those Orario elites chose to turn around and run after knowing there were no more slaves to save, then they truly did not deserve to inherit this era. However, if they voluntarily chose to draw their weapons against Zald to measure their strength, then it would be absolute proof that this new generation possessed wings of their own.
"A trial of freedom," muttered Zald, his voice vibrating with deep anticipation. "I like your idea, Venti. I like it a lot. Crushing their egos on the foundation of their own choices sounds far more entertaining than following Erebus's dark script."
Suddenly, the highly synchronized and authoritative sound of booting footsteps was heard from the balcony stairs. Hedin, Hogni, Dina, and Vena had descended to join Venti in the main courtyard.
"If you permit it, God Barbatos," Hedin's voice broke into the conversation, cold and full of elegant arrogance. The White Elf pushed up the frame of his glasses, his eyes emitting a purple flash from the Electro-Calyx beginning to resonate within his body.
"May we also take part in this new 'stage'?"
Zald turned, gazing at the four Elves with an evaluating look.
Hogni beside Hedin had already half-drawn his sword, the eye hidden behind his long bangs flashing blood red. "The abyss of darkness in my blood... screams for a worthy sacrifice. We slaughtered those lowly soldiers in Gazoob, but that was no more than slashing dry weeds. Extremely boring."
Dina and Vena, despite looking much calmer, could not hide the intensity of the Anemo energy beginning to swirl around their feet. Dina stepped forward, representing the two Elf sisters.
"We have received our Falna from you, God Barbatos," Dina said, looking straight at Venti with deadly firmness. "Our statuses have skyrocketed far beyond Level 3 adventurers with the support of the Calyx. We hear that the adventurers coming are the main pillars of the Loki and Freya Familias—the people claimed to be the strongest in Orario right now."
Vena nodded in agreement beside her sister. "Our hands have felt incredibly itchy ever since the one-sided battle at Gazoob ended. We want to know. We want to see firsthand how vast the power gap is between us and Sir Zald, who stands at the peak of Level 7, as well as those highly touted elite Orario adventurers."
"You have a good look in your eyes," Zald stated, his heavy voice exerting palpable pressure on the palace courtyard. "I have never seen how you fight, but if the power of your Falna and whatever that 'Calyx' you're so proud of is truly capable of making you this bold in my presence... then step forward alongside Finn and Ottar later. Show me if you are truly capable of shaking the position of the old generation, or if you will just end up collapsing, heavily wounded by my hands."
"That remains to be seen until we clash with each other, Sir Zald," Hedin shot back without the slightest hint of fear. Purple electrical sparks began to arc in the air around him, creating a menacing crackle of static.
Seeing the burst of tension and burning fighting spirit among his Familia members, Venti made no effort to intervene. On the contrary, his cheerful smile grew wider, radiating a deep sense of pride and satisfaction. His teal eyes reflected the desert sunlight with crystal clarity.
For Venti, this was the melody of freedom he loved the most. When people chose their own path based on pure desire—without coercion or the engineering of destiny—solely to test how far they could go.
Venti spun around, spreading his arms wide, facing the grand Shalzard palace and the desert expanse stretching into the distance.
"Yes, it looks like this is truly going to be a very interesting show," Venti declared, his tone cheerful again but laden with genuine enthusiasm.
"No more Purgatory. No more of Erebus's stage of despair. In this place, upon this hot sand, let's see just how far you can prove yourselves later!"
The wind suddenly blew with immense force, lifting sand dust into the air and billowing Zald's cloak and the Elves' garments epically. On the northeastern horizon, the shadows of the Orario elites racing through the desert drew ever closer, completely unaware that the trial awaiting them had now shifted from an illusory hell into a pure confrontation that would put all of their pride on the line.
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