Chapter 222: Elder Achilor’s Talent
For a long moment, no one spoke.
The arena that had once been filled with voices, laughter, ridicule, and rising tension now fell into a silence so deep that even the faint sound of breathing felt loud. Every vampire present, from the lowest ranked guard standing at the edges to the Emperor level rulers seated above, held their breath as if even the smallest sound might disturb what was unfolding before them.
Their eyes were locked onto one place.
Cornelia.
Seated upon the transformed palm that no longer looked like a mere testing artifact but something far older and far more dangerous, she remained still, her posture straight, her presence calm, her long curly brown hair resting gently against her shoulders as if she was unaware of the storm she had stirred in everyone’s hearts.
Above her, the eighth drop continued to form.
It gathered slowly, drawing from something that none of them could fully understand, its shape becoming clearer with every passing second, its presence pressing down on the entire arena like an unseen weight.
No one dared to speak.
No one dared to question.
Because deep down, all of them already knew what it meant.
But knowing it and accepting it were two different things.
"...This..."
A trembling voice broke the silence, but even that voice seemed to fear its own existence.
"This is... impossible..."
The words hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, as if they could shatter at any moment.
And then—
The eighth drop fell.
The instant it touched Cornelia’s forehead, the reaction was unlike anything before.
The entire arena trembled.
Not from a simple vibration of energy, but from something deeper, something that felt as if it reached into the very blood of every vampire present and stirred it violently.
A heavy, suffocating force spread outward.
The air grew dense.
The ground groaned faintly beneath their feet.
And for a brief moment, it felt as if the entire world had paused.
Then—
The silence shattered.
"EIGHT!"
The scream came from somewhere in the crowd, but it did not matter who it was.
Because the moment that word was spoken, the entire arena erupted.
"Impossible!"
"That is the same level!"
"She reached that level!"
"Elder Achilor!"
The voices came one after another, each louder than the last, each filled with disbelief that refused to settle into reality.
They turned.
All of them.
Their gazes moved almost at the same time, drawn toward a single figure standing among them.
Elder Achilor.
The protector of the Vampire race.
The one who had stood for countless years as one of their strongest pillars.
The one whose name alone carried weight across their territories, whose presence alone was enough to suppress countless enemies, whose strength was acknowledged even among other races.
And now—
A young woman from another plane had reached the same level of talent.
All eyes were on him.
The pressure of their gazes would have crushed anyone else, but Achilor stood still, his expression unreadable at first.
Then—
He cleared his throat.
A simple action.
A small movement.
But everyone saw it.
And more importantly—
Everyone saw what lay behind it.
Excitement.
Pure, unhidden excitement that he did not even try to conceal completely.
"...Indeed..."
He said slowly, his voice calm, yet carrying a depth that silenced the crowd once more.
"This level... is not something that appears often..."
His eyes returned to Cornelia, and for the first time, there was no trace of distance in his gaze.
Only recognition.
"Reaching eight drops..."
He continued, his tone steady, yet filled with meaning.
"...means she possesses the same potential as those who stand at the peak of our race."
The words struck deep.
They were not exaggerated.
They were not spoken lightly.
They were the truth.
And everyone knew it.
A wave of realization spread through the crowd, and with it came something else.
Memory.
They remembered.
They remembered who Achilor was.
They remembered what he had done.
They remembered the countless battles he had fought, the enemies he had crushed, the wars he had ended, the times he had stood alone against overwhelming forces and emerged victorious.
"He once held back three Ascendant wolves by himself..."
"He defended the eastern territory for decades without rest..."
"He crushed an entire Dark Elf legion..."
"He stood against the Winged race and survived..."
The whispers spread like wildfire, each recounting a piece of Achilor’s legend, each adding to the weight of what it meant to reach his level.
"That is the level..."
"And she reached it..."
"And she is still so young..."
The realization hit harder with every passing second.
Because Achilor was not just powerful.
He was a symbol.
A protector.
A pillar.
And now—
Cornelia stood on the same path.
They turned back to her.
Their gazes no longer carried doubt or dismissal.
Only awe.
Only reverence.
Only something close to fear.
She remained seated on the palm, unmoving, her presence calm as if she was untouched by the storm around her.
Her long hair rested gently against her back, her expression peaceful, her eyes still closed as if she was completely immersed in the process, unaware of how the entire arena had been shaken by her existence.
The Moonshade family stood frozen, their earlier cheers gone, replaced by a silence that came from being overwhelmed beyond words.
"...Madam..."
One of them whispered, his voice trembling.
"She... reached that level..."
Elder Ghurn clenched his hands, his old eyes filled with emotion as he stared at Cornelia.
"To think... that our family..."
His voice broke slightly, unable to continue.
Because he understood.
More than anyone else, he understood what this meant.
This was no longer just about survival.
This was no longer just about finding a place in this world.
This was about rising.
About becoming something far greater than they had ever imagined.
Lord Vord stood nearby, his earlier arrogance completely gone, replaced by a stunned expression that he did not bother to hide.
"...Eight..."
He whispered, his voice almost hollow.
"I struggled for countless years just to reach the Ascendant realm..."
His gaze remained fixed on Cornelia, unable to look away.
"And she..."
He did not finish his sentence.
He did not need to.
Because everyone understood.
Cain watched all of this unfold, his expression calm on the outside, but inside, his thoughts were anything but calm.
"...Eight already..."
He thought, his brows knitting slightly.
"This is getting out of hand..."
Even he, who had expected her to be extraordinary, could not ignore what was happening anymore.
This was no longer within normal expectations.
This was something else entirely.
And the more she rose...
The harder it would become.
"...Troublesome..."
He muttered in his mind, yet his gaze did not leave her.
Because despite everything, despite his thoughts, despite his plans—
He could not deny what he was seeing.
She was shining.
In a way that was impossible to ignore.
The arena remained filled with voices, with whispers, with gasps that came and went like waves, but beneath all of it, there was a growing tension.
Because something felt... incomplete.
The process had not ended.
The palm had not calmed.
The energy had not dispersed.
Instead—
It continued.
At first, only a few noticed.
A slight gathering above Cornelia’s head.
A faint glow.
A weight that began to form once more.
"...Wait..."
A voice whispered again, but this time, it carried something deeper.
Something closer to fear.
The voices slowly died down.
One by one.
As all eyes lifted upward.
And there—
Above Cornelia—
Something was forming again.
Slower than before.
Heavier than before.
More suffocating than anything they had felt until now.
The shape began to take form.
A drop.
Another drop.
"...No..."
Someone whispered, their voice shaking.
"That cannot be..."
Achilor’s eyes narrowed sharply, his entire focus locking onto the forming shape, his earlier excitement replaced by something far more serious.
Even he—
Even someone like him—
Could feel it.
This was no longer something simple.
This was no longer something expected.
This was something beyond.
Lord Vord took a step back, his breath unsteady as he stared at the forming drop.
"...There is no such thing..."
He said, as if trying to convince himself.
"There is no ninth..."
But the reality in front of him did not care about his belief.
It continued.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
The ninth drop began to form.
And as it did—
The entire arena fell into a silence deeper than before.
A silence filled with disbelief.
A silence filled with fear.
A silence filled with something they could not name.
Because if eight was the level of a protector—
Then what...
Was nine?
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Because the answer...
Was something none of them were ready to face.