Chapter 25: Counter-Assault, Part Three.

"May the winds of the spell guide our souls, and may every strike of our swords be accompanied by the roar of ancient enchantments, forging our destiny in the flames of eternal magic."

—Excerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero

Aurora Vortex's Perspective

Replaying the last five minutes of her life, Aurora could only wish the ground would swallow her whole. After walking straight into her Master's trap, she now found herself in a lavish meeting hall in none other than the Palace of the Eternal Moon, the heart of Eldoria. In a war council, no less, orchestrated by the Princess herself.

Damn it... and that very morning, she had debated whether it was even worth getting out of bed. Now, she was surrounded by monsters—in both the literal and figurative sense of the word—all gathered around a massive table holding a titanic map, waiting for the last person to arrive.

Her eyes drifted almost involuntarily. Beside her stood the man known as the "God of Combat," a three-meter-tall figure who made her look comically like a small child by comparison. At least she wasn't the shortest in the room. A little farther away stood Zyren Emberfang, known as the "God of the Sword," who matched the giant's height. Sure, one could argue he was a Gobler—a member of the goblin race—but she'd take whatever small victories she could get.

Not far from Zyren was Vaelora Firebane, the current monarch of the draconids and famously called the "Goddess of Technique." Those three monsters had once formed a legendary group; it was even rumored they would become the next Heroes to rise.

The room didn't stop there. The twin siblings Rach and Pach, the "Yin and Yang," two Folkmmurds of the Lagomorph race, were present. Then there was Titania Crustmerd, the solitary guardian of the frozen lands of Iskandra in the continent's southwest. She was followed by Freya Linspell, also known as "Broken Spear," the strongest lancer who had defeated the Calamity Fafnir the Devastator.

Kael'therion Noctharnis, first prince of the Night Elfcors, and Pyviss Ondemur, an amphibious Folkmmurd and Master of the Adventurers' Guild, also stood out among the crowd. Pyviss was surrounded by seven Adamantite-Rank Adventurers, which did little to ease Aurora's discomfort. To her, his short stature was the most noticeable thing about him; seeing him perched atop the massive table brought her slight comfort regarding her own height.

In addition, two Inquisitors of the Faith of Erislysse were also present, making her uneasy. Their presence left no doubt about the gravity of what was unfolding here.

Finally, the Princess of Eldoria presided over the council, flanked by her personal bodyguard, the commander of the Eldorian army, and two of her most trusted captains. Yes, Aurora had no idea what the hell she was doing there. She didn't belong, and she felt watched. Well, that was relatively true; the Lagomorph Folkmmurd known as Rach was casting fleeting glances her way, which he probably thought she wouldn't notice, but she did. To her eyes, he was nothing more than an adorable black rabbit with two sheathed katanas, but his hostile glares kept that thought from fully taking root.

"So, neither Red nor Yellow had the decency to show up," Rach said, his sharp voice cutting through the room. "And there are far too many new faces here, which I dislike. And why the hell did they let a child in?" The comment was aimed directly at Aurora. He looked her up and down with disdain, pointing one of his katanas at her.

She resisted the urge to twitch her eye, focusing on keeping her best poker face and ignoring the comment. "Tsk, look at her. She barely looks twelve," he added with a challenging tone. Against those words dripping with disrespect, her restraint almost cracked. Aurora could be many things, but tolerant of blatant disrespect was not one of them. "I'm an adult, furball," she retorted indifferently, as the rude rabbit didn't deserve a shred of her emotions.

"What did you say, you insolent brat?" Rach spat before vanishing in a blink, disappearing like a shadow.

Aurora's instincts flared. Her self-imposed restraint crumbled instantly, and prana surged freely through her body, reinforcing it with purified mana. In the next split second, she dodged a katana that grazed her cheek and, with a fluid motion, swung her staff—heavy as a ton—as if it were weightless, aiming for the Lagomorph's temple.

The impact was brutal, but Rach managed to block it with his other katana. The clash generated a gust of wind that forced everyone to plant their feet firmly on the ground. Yet none of them flinched. Everyone here was a monster in their own right.

The silence that followed was as heavy as the tension-laden atmosphere. Aurora held Rach's defiant gaze, fully aware that her place in this room had just shifted from irrelevant to a declaration of intent.

The war council room trembled. In fact, the entire palace did, but only in this room did fine cracks appear on the walls, a testament to the pressure being exerted. Even so, those fissures seemed like mere scratches, a showcase of the exceptional materials used in the building's construction.

Rach, caught in a bad position, stepped back a couple of paces, his off-hand aching from the sudden block. If Aurora was to be considered a Sorceress in all her glory, this was a fine moment to prove it. True to the reputation of sorcerers as the greatest deceivers, she lived up to her title.

"Bang," she murmured swiftly, raising her free hand in the shape of a gun. A spark, barely a fleeting glimmer, preceded the birth of an electric arrow that streaked across the air at blinding speed. To his credit, Rach managed to intercept it with one of his katanas. However, the lightning, now split into two, transformed into buzzing, sparking orbs eager to continue the fight.

At the tip of Aurora's staff, a magic circle began glowing with increasing intensity, while her free hand wove a second spell, one known as "Opening." Rach, recognizing the danger, growled and braced himself to face it head-on. But before he could react, Ordyr's laughter filled the room, dousing the tension like a bucket of cold water.

"Seems like you got cornered in your own game, Rach," the man said, a mocking smile lighting up his face. Rach clicked his tongue in irritation before leaping back with agility. A shadow momentarily cloaked his figure before he reappeared in his original spot.

"This is why I hate sorcerers," he snapped, casting a sharp glare at Aurora. "They think they're the biggest fish in the pond. Also, your smell bothers me. It's... strange. I can't figure it out."

Seeing that the confrontation wouldn't continue, Aurora dismissed her multiple spells, ready to be unleashed. The runes floating around the tip of her staff dissipated like smoke—runes that, if recklessly cast, could have obliterated half of this gigantic palace.

"You live up to your name, Harlequin of the Hundred Faces," commented Pach, a white-furred rabbit observing the scene from a corner of the table. His drooping ears emphasized the look of shame on his face due to his twin brother's behavior.

"It's said that anyone who faces her cannot overcome the sheer number of spells she can cast in succession. Fighting her is like facing an endless rain of magic," this time spoke a pink-haired woman, one of the Adamantite-Rank adventurers. Her voice brimmed with fervent emotion. And Aurora couldn't deny feeling a little odd at receiving such enthusiasm from a complete stranger.

"Lyria, you're speaking out loud," interjected a man with dull gray hair, undoubtedly the leader of that group of adventurers. "So… will you test us as well?" he asked with a teasing tone, attempting to break the tension in the room.

Rach, the target of those words, merely turned his face away. "Pfft, you're not worth my time."

Ordyr let out his signature laugh. "The younger generation sure has energy to burn," he said, giving Aurora a light pat on the shoulder. The blow sank her a couple of inches into the floor, creating cracks along with a perfect circular crater. She kept her flattened-potato expression and only sighed. Without a doubt, she didn't want to be here, surrounded by lunatics.

Curiously, Princess Azareth Wynsdread didn't seem to care about the damages. Gathering so many people of incredible power in one place was always a recipe for disaster. "Ahem," she said, coughing lightly to draw attention to herself. "If you don't mind, let's wait for our final guest to arrive before destroying the place."

To their credit, neither Rach, Ordyr, nor Aurora had the decency to feel ashamed.

"You have immense potential. Tell me, young lady, are you interested in the way of the sword?" a new voice joined the conversation. It was Zyren Emberfang, the God of the Sword. This old Gobler, his green face lined with wrinkles, approached with slow steps.

"Don't even try, my swordsman friend. She's Carmele's protégé," exclaimed Ordyr to his former groupmate. Zyren sighed in disappointment, though the other war council members looked intrigued.

"Well, I didn't think Carmele would have a successor so soon, but that fits her personality," Pyviss remarked as he waddled closer to Aurora, his short legs walking atop the gigantic table without a care for the world map spread out on it. The Adamantite-Rank adventurers followed him like a flock of sheep.

Why on earth were all these monsters sticking to her like bees to pollen? Aurora thought, resisting the urge to display a tick of annoyance. "I'm Aurora Vortex, Semi-Special Grade Sorceress. A pleasure to meet you all." Still, no one could say Aurora lacked manners; she even added a small bow.

"What a well-mannered young lady, the complete opposite of that brazen Carmele. I suppose you didn't pick up her bad habits," commented a new voice, joining the growing group of monsters inexplicably surrounding her. It was Vaelora Firebane, the Goddess of Technique and current Monarch of the Draconids.

"It's good to see you, my old friend. And you as well, old comrade," said Ordyr, casually addressing his former teammates. "Likewise. Good to see you're still as thick-headed as ever," Vaelora replied with a smile. "I guess old habits die hard," added Zyren, shaking his head.

"I think now's not the best time to interrupt such a lovely reunion," came a gentle voice that seemed to emerge from the very shadows. From the dimness, a figure materialized slowly. Cloaked entirely in blue, no human features could be seen beneath the hood, save for two glowing blue lights serving as eyes—eternal and piercing.

The figure needed no gestures to assert its presence. A wave of power filled the room, oppressive and undeniable. Every soul present felt the weight of that energy, as though the very air had been charged with static and gravity. The tension was palpable. This figure was unmistakable: Arthur Pendragon, the Herald of the Arcane, representative of the Tricolor Blue, and the most powerful existence in the world. The only being to have achieved the mythical 17-star rank, his mere presence etched history into the moment.

In an instant, the pressure vanished. Arthur raised both hands, and with a simple motion, removed his hood. His face, aged but serene, was lined with wrinkles that spoke of centuries of experience, complemented by a gray beard lending him a grandfatherly air. He smiled warmly, like a benevolent elder. "Though not everyone could make it, I see. I suppose gathering 25 exceptional individuals is already quite the feat," he remarked lightly, as though the meeting weren't composed of the world's most formidable beings.

Rach, unable to contain his abrasive nature, scoffed loudly. "Took you long enough to grace us with your presence, Blue. Not all of us have the luxury of reaching a hundred and still walking around as if time doesn't weigh on us."

The dark-furred rabbit crossed his arms, his characteristic impatience showing. "Those who didn't come are too busy being lazy or wandering the Dark Continent. And of course, Red decided to send a child in her place. That woman has no shame," he added with a sneer, casting a fleeting glance at Aurora. "I suppose red and blue make purple, don't they?"

Arthur chuckled, genuinely amused, his laughter echoing through the room. With a snap of his fingers, his blue cloak vanished, revealing practical travel attire and a leather chest protector worn with age.

Without responding to the exchange, the wizard approached Aurora, the young purple-haired sorceress, and placed a hand on her shoulder. His smile grew even warmer, as though looking at a cherished granddaughter. "It's good to see how much you've grown. Your Orb in the Tower… it shines brighter than any other. A radiant spectacle."

To most, these words would be little more than riddles. But for Aurora, they carried immense significance. Arthur Pendragon wasn't just the strongest wizard of the age; he was also the current head of the world's most prestigious academy, founded 400 years ago, where sorcerers and hunters alike trained. He also served as the master of the Triumvirate Tower, a bastion of power and alchemical knowledge—the epicenter of magical scholarship.

"Congratulations on becoming the strongest sorceress of this era. I imagine Carmele saw it the moment she laid eyes on you and sent you here to represent them at this war council," the wizard said, his sage-like smile widening.

For Aurora, whose time at the Academy hadn't even lasted a full year, the words struck profoundly. Like others, she too had left her signature on one of those Orbs—alchemical artifacts that displayed the strength and vitality of any functioning sorcerer in real time. The same applied to hunters, though their Orbs were separate from those of sorcerers.

Caught between astonishment and disbelief, she bowed deeply, a gesture she hadn't even granted the princess of this country. "It's an honor to see you in such excellent health, sir," she replied, striving to maintain composure as a whirlwind of emotions roared within her.

Her words only prompted a small chuckle from the wizard, delighted to see that Aurora hadn't inherited Carmele's lack of manners. Completely ignoring the bombshell he'd just dropped, which caused most present to widen their eyes slightly, Arthur merely smiled.

"Aurora Vortex, one of the few Semi-Special Grade Sorceresses, you've become their representative by attending this gathering. I trust you'll be able to live up to your responsibilities," expressed the strongest mage of the present age, his tone that of a proud grandfather. Aurora, still unsure how to react to such news, could only nod, her expression unchanged, though inside her emotions surged like a stormy sea.

Zyren, leaning on his sword, let out a sigh, though a subtle smile betrayed his fascination. "So, no Special Grade Sorcerer has appeared yet. What a shame," he murmured, his words heavy with longing. The desire to cross blades with someone of that caliber glimmered in his gaze.

Arthur observed him calmly, but it was Ordyr who replied, his relentless laughter filling the room once again. "Zyren, my friend, you know as well as I do that those are mere legends. Just as no one has ever reached the elusive mark of 18 stars, no one has attained such a degree of sorcery either. Though, I'll admit, I'm just as curious as you to face someone like that. But I suppose it's impossible."

"Ahem," Azareth Wynsdread cleared her throat, her tone firm but measured, seeking to regain the room's attention. Though many blatantly ignored her, she wasn't offended; she wasn't a princess who demanded unnecessary reverence. Only Kael'therion Noctharnis, with his imposing presence and gaze that seemed to pierce through time; Titania Crustmerd, whose regal composure never wavered; her four attendants, ever watchful like shadows poised to strike; and the two inquisitors of the Church, wrapped in stony silence that radiated disapproval, displayed the proper decorum.

This, however, was due to the positions they and Azareth held within their respective realms and spheres of influence.

The rest of those present had no ties to Azareth or her homeland. The fact they had responded to her summons was a miracle in itself. This included the adventurers she had hired. With their Guild Master present, the decision of where to stand had become rather evident.

"Great Mage Arthur Pendragon, if you would be so kind as to commence this council, I would be grateful," Azareth said, inclining her head slightly—a gesture of respect that only her stubborn father had ever managed to elicit under exceptional circumstances. The shift in her tone did not go unnoticed. Like a well-oiled machine, the room regained its composure. The attendees returned to their positions, their previously relaxed faces now adopting a stony seriousness.

Arthur Pendragon stepped forward, positioning himself near Azareth, who gave him a slight nod with her helm as a sign of acknowledgment. Her movements radiated the confidence of someone accustomed to bearing the weight of her decisions.

"A crack has appeared. I detected it in time and erected defensive barriers to prevent the rift from fracturing further as it has in past incidents. For now, it's stabilized, but this gives us a unique opportunity: we can strike before they do," Arthur spoke with surgical precision, each word a beat marking the start of a strategy.

The Princess of Eldoria took up the mantle, straightening with a solemn air. "That's why I've called this council. I ask you to fight alongside me against our common enemy: a threat without borders, without a homeland, whose sole purpose is to lay waste to everything we know." Her voice, though firm, carried a calculated vulnerability.

Azareth did not hesitate to incline her head slightly once more—a gesture that resonated more deeply than any command, given her position in the royalty.

"Those damned invaders are nothing but a nuisance. It wasn't enough for them to invade the Dark Continent 70 years ago and spread like the plague they are; now they torment us with their nearly undetectable rifts," spat Rach with visible disgust.

Azareth resumed speaking, unfazed by the interruption. "The rifts, which were once rare, are now becoming increasingly frequent. They used to appear once a decade, then every five years, and now they appear annually. The pattern is clear. If this continues and we don't reverse the situation, there's no guarantee they won't start appearing monthly, weekly, daily… every hour or even every second. That's why I've gathered you all here."

The princess's eyes hardened as her hands dug into the solid wooden table, as if she wanted to channel her determination into everyone present. "I speak to you not as the Princess of Eldoria, but as an equal. I need your strength, your experience, and your courage to eradicate this threat once and for all. The last time they attacked, entire villages were wiped out. Many lives were lost. We cannot allow that to happen again."

Arthur, with his characteristic calm, spoke after Azareth. "I believe I speak for the majority: no one here will shy away from such a challenge. Or am I wrong?" His tone was firm, almost challenging, sealing the resolve of those present like a hammer forging steel.

Rach, unable to resist the opportunity, stepped forward with a growl. "What are we waiting for? Let's end this nonsense once and for all."

Arthur didn't respond with words. With a fluid gesture, his staff appeared in his hand. It was a humble-looking artifact, almost crude, but those in the know understood that this simple object held immeasurable power. Without further words, he began to cast a spell. Runes and magical engravings began materializing in the air, expanding to form a teleportation circle that encompassed the entire room. It was a titanic spell, a feat only someone like Arthur Pendragon could perform with such apparent ease.

"Let the counterassault begin." His tone was soft, almost friendly, but the smile that played on his lips spoke of a dangerous determination. In a blinding flash, the activated circle marked the beginning of the war.

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