Chapter 665

In short, the Ethereum followed a scorched-earth philosophy.

They had drawn a hard line against the Void. Any race they believed had allied itself with the Void had to be destroyed. Any race they suspected might one day become a tool of the Void had to be eliminated as well.

They had followed that extreme doctrine for millions of years.

Unsurprisingly, they had accumulated a staggering number of enemies.

Their rivals, the Consortium, took the opposite approach. They had quietly cultivated relationships with countless races while secretly supplying the Void Lords with physical materials.

They had never openly declared where their allegiance lay, but judging by their actions, they could already be considered a puppet organization cultivated by the Void’s invading forces.

Then again, that was hardly certain.

For all anyone knew, the Consortium might simply be pretending to serve the Void, patiently waiting for the right opportunity. When the Void eventually stumbled, perhaps the Consortium would turn on its masters and launch a counterattack.

And then there were the Locus-Walkers.

Among the Ethereals, they stood above the two major factions. Only a Nexus-Prince was considered capable of matching one of the true Locus-Walkers.

Yet they remained independent of both sides.

Their philosophy was simple: rescue who could still be rescued.

Whenever the Void focused on a world and everyone else decided that world was already doomed, the Locus-Walkers would arrive and insist that it still had a chance.

They selected promising individuals from among the natives, taught them their secrets, and tried to turn them into legendary champions capable of tearing apart the Void and saving their worlds.

Evenson had only one description for the whole practice.

They had become hopelessly addicted to playing the mysterious old master who showed up, handed some chosen prodigy a secret technique, and told them to save the world.

Unfortunately, their reputation as the Void’s foremost disaster-response force suggested just how reliable that strategy actually was.

And yet they had followed it relentlessly for millions of years.

Kamar-Taj’s New York Sanctum.

The Sorcerer Supreme’s private room was neither large nor luxurious. There were no extravagant decorations, no priceless treasures on display.

Yet anyone who entered the simple room could not help but feel the quiet serenity that seemed to permeate it.

At the moment, however, its owner was anything but serene.

Ancient One had intended to settle everything with Cleya today.

Her plan had been straightforward.

Your talent is exceptional. I am entrusting you with a great responsibility. From this day forward, the defense of Earth against threats from the multiverse will be in your hands.

It had even sounded suitably dignified in her head.

Then, at the last possible moment, Evenson had stopped her.

He wanted to speak with Cleya alone.

Ancient One had considered the circumstances.

Cleya was about to become a married woman. The matter was important, and if she were going to be entrusted with such a tremendous responsibility, it made sense for the young couple to discuss it between themselves.

So Ancient One had politely left the room.

Then she waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Eventually, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

She reached for the door, intending to check how the conversation was going.

She opened it.

Empty.

Both of them were gone.

Ancient One stared into the vacant room.

Where did they go?

Then she thought about it and immediately understood.

The moment Evenson heard her mention the Locus-Walkers, he’d identified the race by name.

That meant he already knew something about them, but probably not enough to trust them blindly.

Naturally, he had gone to consult those two demon women before allowing Cleya to study under one.

Ancient One could understand being cautious.

She really could.

But still...

Did the two of you seriously forget about me?

She had been sitting outside waiting like a fool while the people inside had quietly disappeared without so much as saying goodbye.

Ancient One took a slow breath and calmed herself.

She could hardly blame herself for being irritated.

Ever since she had become the Sorcerer Supreme, there simply weren’t many people in the world with the audacity to leave her waiting outside like that.

She sat cross-legged on the hard bed, resting her hands lightly on her knees and closing her eyes.

Perhaps a little meditation would help.

She had barely begun to settle her thoughts when a crack suddenly appeared in the air.

A portal blossomed open.

It was shaped almost like a teardrop, but it looked nothing like the orange portals of Kamar-Taj.

Its edges were traced in an eerie deep purple rather than golden sparks.

There was no destination visible through the opening.

Only endless darkness.

A figure emerged from the portal.

He wore an oversized, broad-brimmed hat and long robes reminiscent of ancient Greece.

His body was roughly humanoid, but layers of white bandages wrapped around him from head to toe.

There was no flesh beneath them.

Purple smoke drifted through every gap in the wrappings.

Ancient One waited until he had closed the portal, then flicked one hand.

The entire room shifted into the Mirror Dimension.

"You’ve arrived."

She regarded him calmly.

"It really has been a long time, Zahaid."

"Oh, that’s rude."

The newcomer sounded mildly offended.

"You still call your teacher by his given name? Even if you’ve turned this place into your own little circus, surely you can show some respect."

Ancient One stepped off the bed.

"Spare me."

She sounded thoroughly unimpressed.

"You and I both know that isn’t your real name."

"Perhaps not."

Zahaid had no visible face, so there was no way to read his expression.

His voice, however, carried the weight of immense age.

"It was my name for a very long time."

Zahaid had used that name back when he was still a physical being.

After the Void consumed and transformed him, the Ethereals had been given new names by the Void.

But that old name still carried enormous personal significance.

"All right."

Zahaid waved a hand.

"I’m here now. So how is my new student?"

"I’d like to observe her."

He paused.

"Quietly."

Ancient One opened her mouth.

Then closed it again.

How exactly was she supposed to explain that her prospective student had vanished with Evenson while she was left standing outside?

"You’re having trouble explaining something?"

Zahaid immediately noticed her hesitation.

"How considerate."

Ancient One frowned.

"It’s nothing."

"No, I understand."

He nodded solemnly.

"It must be rather awkward."

Ancient One’s expression stiffened.

He knows?

But Zahaid continued before she could ask.

"If I remember correctly, that girl currently calls you her grandmaster."

"Once she officially becomes my disciple, however, she’ll be your peer."

He sounded genuinely thoughtful.

"That could certainly be awkward."

Ancient One’s mouth twitched.

Awkward?

That’s what you’re worried about?

Even if Cleya became her equal in seniority someday, Ancient One would still be the senior disciple at Kamar-Taj.

Compared to everyone else, that little bit of awkwardness meant absolutely nothing.

She thought of Ollivander.

He was technically Cleya’s adoptive father.

Imagine what would happen during some future Kamar-Taj ceremony.

Ancient One would still occupy the central seat.

Cleya would sit below her.

Everyone else would be left standing.

And Ollivander?

He’d have to stop calling Cleya his darling daughter and start calling her Grandmistress.

So really...

What exactly did Ancient One have to be embarrassed about?

...