Chapter 16 - Godryen's tears

Alastor came out of the training room with a slightly pale face, the extreme consumption of Spirituality making his mind somewhat cloudy, confused and heavy. His eyelids were heavy and he wanted to fall asleep at any moment.

If asked what it felt like, Alastor would reply that it was a hangover, albeit three times stronger. If it hadn't been for his body being stronger than any normal human, he would have been unconscious on the floor while sleep consumed him completely.

As he left the training room, Alastor saw a flask containing a strong, vibrant liquid on top of a chest of drawers; he couldn't help but approach it and didn't hesitate to drink the crimson liquid.

As the liquid went down his throat, the feeling of cloudiness and tiredness faded with the drink.

Godryen's tears.

Named after its creator, a famous witch from the Age of Ashes called Godryen.

The potion restored his spirituality and was made up of various ingredients from the Astral World itself. It was extremely expensive, but Alastor took it almost every day after his daily training sessions.

A bottle cost several hundred thousand pounds, but Alastor took thirty in a month, enough to feed several tens of thousands of families without any problems.

It wasn't a cheap cost even for the Noble Houses of London, or as the supernatural community used to call the city - Lordran. Which showed just how rich and powerful a noble house that had been in the world for over a thousand years like House Agrece was.

Wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, Alastor heard the last of the Crimson Moon's laughter and the silence and stillness returned to his mind. He was relieved not to hear those whispers anymore.

He had to admit, the Outer Gods had an almost magical ability to make you believe their words. The Crimson Moon in particular was very skilled in this art.

Without even answering a word, he found himself doubting whether such a being could be normal given how she spoke so humanely. Fortunately, Alastor had a determined mind and didn't listen to her tempting words.

Shaking his head, Alastor headed for the bathroom to take a shower and wipe off the sweat soaked into his body.

-

Arriving at the room he shared with his sister, Alastor opened the doors wearing a retro-looking white shirt from the last century and baggy pants. His hair was a little wet after his shower and he seemed full of energy again.

Suddenly, he saw his sister standing in front of two mannequins wearing a dress and a suit respectively. The dress was blood red with several layers upon layers, it looked worthy of a dress a princess would wear. The mannequin wore black lace gloves embroidered with roots and flowers in a pose full of elegance.

Next to it, the suit worn by the mannequin was a similar color, red with shades of silver around the edges. She also wore black gloves, but made of silk instead of lace.

"Why the sister clothes?" Alastor asked with a relaxed tone and sank lazily onto the sofa without intending to move a muscle.

"Our father has been invited to take part in the Order's Lord Marshall's Name Day." Roxane replied, smoothing out her dress, her eyes fixed on the dress, looking for any flaws.

Alastor frowned at her words. "Can I miss it? I'll be sick all week." He spoke with a bitter tone full of resistance.

Balls, banquets and birthdays might sound interesting, but they didn't interest him at all. If it hadn't been for Roxane, he wouldn't even have wanted to attend his own birthday, let alone the others.

"First of all, no one would believe that an Agrece got sick. Secondly, the answer is no, I'm not going alone. Do you know how difficult it is to socialize with those spoiled teenage sluts? If I'm going to suffer, so will you, dear brother." Roxane turned to face her brother on the sofa and explained in a gentle tone, but it wasn't gentle at all in Alastor's eyes.

The boy couldn't help but groan in frustration at the thought of attending another party. He didn't like socializing either, especially with boys of the same age.

Alastor was the neighbor's son who your mother would set as an example for you to try harder. So he definitely wasn't liked by boys of a similar age.

He was also very cold, combine that with a lack of interest in socializing among his peers and you get someone who is extremely arrogant in other people's eyes.

Unfortunately, being an Agrece, even if he said he had no interest in talking, these teenagers would still try to strike up a conversation with him. The reason is simple, their parents ordered them to.

All of this involved politics and power struggles within the Golden Order. After all, where there are people, there are interests and greed.

"How old is he? If I remember correctly, he's already has one foot in the coffin and one foot out." Alastor asked after a brief internal monologue, his voice a little sleepy at this point.

"Two hundred and one years old." Roxane replied, undoing a wrinkle in her dress. Stepping back a little to get a full view of the dress, she nodded in satisfaction, seeing that there were no defects on it.

"So old! He won't live much longer." Alastor couldn't help but be surprised by the age of the old Marshall of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.

Only Beyonder who reached Special Grade could live more than two hundred years. A Grade 1 Beyonder could at most live to be one hundred and fifty. Even so, two hundred years was still an extremely advanced age. Even as a Special Grade Beyonder, Old Marshall is at the end of his life.

Old Marshall was only alive because he was Marshall of the Golden Order, he could use countless potions to extend his life, otherwise he should already be in a coffin.

"Really old, they say the man can't even move without a wheelchair." Roxane agreed with her twin brother's words. The Marshall was really old, which also meant that another political war was looming, everyone wanted to sit on the Marshall of the Order's throne.

At the same time, England was about to lose another Special Grade Beyonder, the Knight of Ruin, leaving it with two, or at least until she and Alastor also became Special Grades.

Thinking about something, Alastor raised a very important question. "Is our father going to run for Marshall?"

Roxane pondered before speaking with an indecisive tone. "If he is, he hasn't given any indication that he will."

Achille Agrece was a difficult man to read, even she would find it hard to see through the man's thoughts given the generally stoic and cold expression her father wore at all times of the day.

Alastor put his hand to his chin and pondered. His father never showed any ambitions for the Throne of Dawn, the supreme power of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. However, what does one know of the ambition hidden in every man's heart?

"If he doesn't go, I assume he'll support our cousin." Roxane thought for a moment and replied with a glare. Victoria Tarten, a descendant of the secondary branch of House Agrece.

Yes, House Agrece had other relatives, but because these relatives didn't want to follow the tradition of keeping the blood pure, the secondary branch was created, separating it from the main branch.

Victoria was one of these descendants, the daughter of an Agrece from the secondary branch with a witch.

Victoria was young by the standards of the Supernatural World, thirty-two years old, but unmatched with her Grade 1 strength, dangerously close to Special Grade. She was recognized as the closest person to reaching the Special Grade at that moment.

She was therefore eligible to sit on the Throne of Dawn, the supreme seat of the Golden Order.

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