In the capital of Klariz, where white stone towers soared proudly under the harsh western sun, King Drenor was venting his fury upon his two defeated generals. The king's roar echoed through the royal hall, so loud it felt as if even the precious Persian carpets were trembling. The two Demigods, once the pride of Klariz, now knelt at the foot of the throne, their gleaming armor stained with the dust of the battlefield and shame.

"You two! You incompetent fools!" Drenor shouted, his face red with rage. "Two illustrious Demigods of Klariz, yet you were routed by that savage Uron, a man the whole of Tehra scorns! You lost both the fortress and our honor! Do you still have the face to look at me?"

"Your Majesty, please calm your anger," the older general, Arinos, who had fought on battlefields since Drenor was a child, tried to explain, his voice hoarse. " Uron is no longer a man. He fought like a blood-crazed demon. He unleashed one hundred percent of his divine power, a suicidal madness no sane ruler would dare attempt!"

Hearing this, Drenor's anger seemed to subside slightly. He understood the meaning of a Demigod using their full power. It was a gamble with life and death, a foolish trade.

The court advisor Naphel, who always stood silently like a shadow beside the throne, also quickly spoke to appease the king: "Your Majesty, if Uron was indeed that desperate, it is understandable that our generals could not prevail. This wasn't a failure of skill, but an encounter with sheer, reckless insanity."

King Drenor waved his hand dismissively, signaling for the two generals to withdraw. He himself understood the issue well. If the enemy was so crazed as to disregard his own life, then even if his two generals had continued to fight, the losses would only have been heavier. If he could have defeated Uron, but lost one or even both of his pillar Demigods, it would truly be too high a price, an irreplaceable loss for Klariz.

When the two generals had left the great hall, King Drenor let out a weary sigh, sinking back into his throne. "What the hell was that bastard Uron thinking?" he muttered, his voice full of confusion and a hint of unease. "Using one hundred percent of his Demigod power is no different from seeking death. Does he truly not value his own life?"

"Your Majesty," the advisor Naphel spoke again, his tone still respectful, "Uron is a madman obsessed with war, nothing more than a bloodthirsty beast. It is difficult for us to use the normal reasoning and thoughts of an ordinary person to judge or predict his actions."

The plan to attack and weaken Zephyros, though initially successful, had seen its subsequent advantages vanish with the appearance of Uron. In theory, Klariz had not lost much in the war with Zephyros, but King Drenor himself still felt annoyed, an frustration. It was as if he had missed something important, a key detail, and now found himself in a passive, awkward situation.

Meanwhile, in the savage land of Orvahn, where brave warriors were reveling in their resounding victory over their sworn enemy Klariz, a fervent joy spread through the great camps. Cheers, clinking glasses, and loud laughter echoed ceaselessly. But inside the central command tent, a contrasting scene was unfolding.

The great ministers, the prominent nobles, the highest-ranking generals of Orvahn, were all prostrate on the ground, their faces showing clear worry and fear, respectfully before King Uron, who had just returned from the battlefield.

"Your Majesty! Please, never do that again!" an old general, who had followed Uron through countless life-and-death battles, pleaded earnestly, his voice trembling. "You know full well the consequences when a Demigod uses their full power in a mortal body!"

King Uron, his face still flushed with the afterglow of his recent victory, his thick beard trembling with each breath, laughed heartily: "Hahaha! Why the long faces? So I shaved a few years off my life! A small price for a glorious victory! I have centuries to spare, and this body is still fit to crush a thousand more of those Klariz rats!" Uron maintained his usual arrogant, carefree demeanor.

"Your Majesty, please reconsider!" another general pleaded, his voice full of anxiety. "You are the only hope to revive all of Orvahn, to lead our people out of poverty and backwardness. Your life is the fate of an entire nation, of millions of subjects. Please, always be careful, preserve your royal health. Two hundred years of life may sound long. But they will also pass quickly if Your Majesty continues to be so reckless."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Have you all ever thought..." King Uron suddenly fell silent, his eyes looking into the distance, a strange thought flashing through his mind. "If the prophecy about the end of the world in the year 999 of this Seventh Era is true, then all of us only have sixty-six short years left. So, what am I saving my two hundred-plus years of life for?"

In this harsh and perilous world of Tehra, humans could somehow still train and reach the realm of a Demigod, a level of power almost equal to the sacred gods they worshipped.

When they reached that realm, they would gain two precious things: a significantly extended lifespan, up to a maximum of four hundred years, and an immense source of magical power. The only difference was that they still had to bear a human body, a finite, small, and fragile vessel. That Demigod power was truly too great to exist harmoniously within such small vessels.

In ordinary battles, Demigods of human lineage would only dare to use a maximum of seventy percent of their true power. When forced to use one hundred percent of that power, their bodies would have to endure a terrible pressure, an tremendous strain from within. Their bodies could be crushed, could explode instantly, or at the least would suffer enormous wear and tear, irreversible damage after those reckless uses of full power.

If someone, by some miracle, could withstand that power, their lifespan would also be greatly shortened. It was rumored that for every minute they maintained one hundred percent Demigod power, they would have to trade one month of their own lifespan. This was a costly price, a great sacrifice, that not everyone dared to make.

While conspiracies and calculations were silently unfolding in various nations and organizations, in another place, a place far beyond the sight of mortals, even larger, more complex chess games were also being decided by the most supreme entities in Tehra.

At the Crystal Cathedral, a magnificent architectural feat made of pure crystal, proudly soaring on the peak of Mount Sinai, the light from distant stars pierced through the transparent walls, refracting into countless ribbons of rainbow light, dancing on the snow-white stone floor. The space was absolutely silent, only the sound of the cosmic wind whistling through the sharp crystal spires, creating a symphony of supreme authority.

Lucifer, a Trinity, stood there, beside a window looking out at the chaotic realm of Tehra. His perfect form was enveloped in a jet-black robe, woven from darkness and starlight itself, contrasting sharply with his long, sparkling silver-platinum hair like a river of stars.

He silently observed what was happening in Aerion, his brow slightly furrowed, and in his deep, universe-like eyes, there was an annoyance, the displeasure of a chess player whose important move had just been ruined by some invisible force.

"What's wrong, my brother?" a voice rang out, carrying a teasing, mischievous tone, breaking the silence of the cathedral. "Worried about that small, pitiful kingdom again? You don't look happy that their plan has failed, do you?"

Gabriel had been sitting there for who knows how long on Lucifer's black crystal throne. He leaned back comfortably, even propping his feet up on the crystal quartz meeting table in the middle of the hall, a disrespectful but natural gesture, as if this were his own home.

Lucifer did not turn back, still gazing at the distant Aerion. "What annoys me is not the failure of a mortal plan," Lucifer intoned, his voice echoing in the crystalline silence, "but the interference of the Sanctuary Enclave. They move like ghosts through the grand design, upsetting the board at the most inconvenient times."

"Oh, so that's it," Gabriel sneered, a meaningful half-smile on his face. "I thought you were actually interested in the so-called 'Free Will' that you always pursue, wanting to see if those mortals could overcome adversity on their own."

"Free Will..." Lucifer repeated, the words a whisper across eternity, filled with a universe of longing and contradiction. "That is something that even those called 'gods' like us can never truly possess. We were born with power and responsibility, bound by the laws of The Omni. Every action, every decision, must be within a predetermined framework."

Gabriel laughed, his laughter echoing through the crystal cathedral. "If you truly desire that freedom so much," he said, his voice still full of teasing, "then you could learn from Michael and Uziel, give up the body and power of a Archangel to become an ordinary human. After many reincarnations in the mortal realm, perhaps you will find the so-called 'Free Will' you have always longed for. It's just... such a great and harsh trade-off, would someone who is always so arrogant, always wants to control everything like you, dare to accept it?"

"You should know," Lucifer finally turned, looking directly at Gabriel, a rare seriousness in his eyes, "except for Uziel who chose that path himself, Michael's departure was a necessary sacrifice, a part of The Omni's plan. It was not a choice, but obedience."

The smile on Gabriel's lips slowly faded. The name "The Omni" seemed to carry an a sense of gravity, making even a Trinity like him become solemn. The space fell silent once more. The game in Aerion might have temporarily ended, but another, much larger game, between the most powerful entities, seemed to have just begun, with pawns and rules that no mortal could ever comprehend.

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