Chapter 539
Meanwhile, back with Rattan, Vellok could hardly control the tremor in his hand. The fleeting moment of recognition between the angel within him and Ikenga had been unmistakable, yet bewilderingly brief. He sent out another, more forceful wave of his mana towards Rattan, expecting some kind of reaction from the young mage, some flicker of awareness or resonance with the power he carried. But, contrary to all expectation, nothing happened. Rattan merely blinked, the effects of the earlier clarity spell holding. It made Vellok question if the previous happening had been an illusion, a trick of his own fatigued mind.
As for Rattan, the immediate effect of Vellok’s mana had been a jolt, followed by a surge of overwhelming power that made him break out in a heavy sweat. He had sensed strength from the Ogre King and Master Gorok, but it paled in comparison to the figure now calmly seated before him. This mage’s mana seemed to have no discernible limit, an endless, swirling vortex of arcane energy.
A chilling realization clawed its way into Rattan’s mind. He knew immediately this figure was from the Empire, a pillar of its magical might. "Were these," he thought, his stomach churning, "the type of beings he and the Ogre King had been going against?" The sheer disparity in power made his previous actions feel utterly reckless, almost suicidal.
Rattan felt a cold dread settle in his stomach, a certainty that he wouldn’t be surprised if the Ogre King had sold him out for his own safety. He would understand. But contrary to his thought, the figure across from him spoke first, his voice calm, resonating with a quiet authority.
"Mage Nixbolt," he began, "you might have heard of my name before, but for formal purposes, I will introduce myself as Grand Mage Vellok."
The name hit Rattan like a physical blow. He immediately scrambled from his seat, dropping to one knee, head bowed in deep deference. There were too many histories, too many whispered stories about this figure, especially the most prominent one: his unparalleled position and direct relation to the Emperor himself. Rattan found himself utterly unable to speak, his tongue tied by a mix of fear and overwhelming respect.
A moment of silence stretched between them before Vellok spoke again, his voice softer, almost reflective. "Do you hate the Empire, boy?"
Rattan remained on one knee, his head bowed, the words of the Grand Mage echoing in his mind. The question hung in the air, a silent challenge. His mind raced, a frantic war between self-preservation and the burning indignation that had fueled his actions. Should he lie, offer the expected sycophantic reverence? Or should he speak the truth, risk everything, and lay bare the resentment that had festered within him and his people for generations?
He knew the power of the man before him. A single word from Vellok could end his life, erase him from existence. Yet, in that moment, something shifted. Perhaps it was the lingering clarity from Vellok’s spell, or the raw memories of the battlefield and his betrayed mages, but a stubborn resolve hardened within him. A lie felt hollow, meaningless, a betrayal of the very defiance he had just unleashed upon the Empire.