The Guardian gods-Chapter 724

There was a pause as the words hung in the air. It was a statement loaded with promise and expectation, a subtle acknowledgment of trust. The envoys exchanged glances, noting the shift in the king's tone. Mei, meanwhile, felt a quiet thrill at the acknowledgment, not only for herself but for the validation it represented of her master's plan in motion.

"I have been persuaded," Nwadiebube said at last, his voice steady and carrying across the throne room. "I believe an alliance between our kingdoms would be for the best. However, now that I have accepted, I wish to be informed of what comes next."

At his words, every envoy dropped to one knee.

Including Mei.

The sight caught him off guard. Heads bowed in unison, hands pressed to the floor.

"By your word, my lord," the scarred envoy spoke, his voice filled with respect, "we swear ourselves to you. We shall become the greatest sword and spear to strike down Osita and his people, and pave the way for you to ascend to the throne of the emperor."

The declaration sent a ripple through the court.

Nwadiebube did not respond immediately. His gaze lingered on them, sharp and probing. Allegiance given so freely was rarely without chains.

Finally, he spoke.

"You offer much," he said calmly. "But words alone do not win wars. What plans do you have in place to support these claims?"

The envoys bowed even lower, foreheads nearly touching the polished stone floor. After a brief pause, Mei lifted her head and spoke, her voice composed but reverent.

"Based on our understanding of Osita," she said, "and the knowledge and power he wields, the master believes it is best that these plans be carried out without the involvement of you or your people."

Mei continued, "Your kingdom must remain untouched, untainted. The master's intent is to ensure that when Osita acts, no blame, suspicion, or retaliation can be traced back to you."

She lowered her gaze once more. "All actions will be taken by us."

Nwadiebube leaned back slightly on his throne, fingers resting against the armrest, his expression unreadable.

Nwadiebube opened his mouth to speak, to press further, but Mei cut him off before a word could leave his lips.

"Your Highness," she said, her tone firm, "once we swore our allegiance and you accepted, it is already a great risk to you and to the plan, if we continue to speak or linger together."

She rose gracefully, and the other envoys followed her lead, bowing slightly before stepping back.

"Your Highness would understand the plan once it takes place," she continued, her eyes meeting his with quiet intensity. "It would take the entire eastern continent by storm. Now, if you would permit us, we wish to depart."

Nwadiebube regarded them, his expression unreadable. There was something strange, almost unnatural, in their sudden urgency. Their haste to leave, so abrupt, so careful, hinted at more than mere protocol. Every movement suggested that remaining in his presence even for a moment longer might jeopardize everything.

From the little he could discern, it was clear they wanted his hand and the hands of his people entirely clean of the machinations they were about to enact. No trace, no loose end, no opportunity for blame to fall back on him.

By the time the envoys departed, the effects of their visit had already begun to ripple through the kingdom. Within hours, word spread that the representatives from the southern continent had completed their business and were preparing to return to their homeland.

It came as no great surprise. The envoys had remained in Omadi for quite some time, long enough that their eventual departure was expected.

The only oddity was the suddenness of it, the decision seemed to have been made in an instant. Still, the people of the Omadi Kingdom moved swiftly. Preparations for a formal procession were set in motion almost immediately, banners readied and escorts assigned, as custom demanded.

Outwardly, everything appeared orderly.

Inwardly, the weight of what had transpired lingered heavily.

Meanwhile, Nwadiebube sat in private council with his sister, the two of them carefully revisiting everything that had transpired in the court.

The only conclusion Nwadiebube could draw was a troubling one: Osita likely possessed a spell or some form of power that could trace an event back to its true origin. It was the only explanation that made sense of the envoy's behavior.

Seen through that lens, every action taken by the envoys and by Mei fell neatly into place.

During their very first meeting, they had claimed to possess a method by which Osita could be made to appear as the enemy in the eyes of the world. At the time, the statement had sounded ambitious. Now, it sounded precise.

He and Osita were locked in a delicate stalemate. Neither could act first without condemning themselves. The one who made the initial move would be branded the aggressor, the one who shattered peace and ushered in war.

If Osita truly had the means to reveal the mastermind behind any act of provocation, then the envoy's insistence on distance made perfect sense. Their plan must hinge on forcing Osita's hand, cornering him until he had no choice but to act.

And for that plan to succeed, Nwadiebube's involvement could not be merely hidden, it had to be nonexistent.

Any thread leading back to him, any suggestion of orchestration, would give Osita the very proof he needed to turn the world against Omadi. The envoy's haste, their careful withdrawal, even their refusal to share details, none of it was caution born of secrecy alone.

It was necessity.

"They are not protecting themselves," Nwadiebube said at last, his voice low. "They are protecting us, from what Osita might reveal."

The room fell quiet as the implication settled.

If his deduction was correct, then whatever was about to unfold would not simply be an attack on Osita.

It would be a provocation so clean, so precise, that even truth itself would struggle to point to its true author.

The world outside was anything but calm. A new frenzy ignited almost overnight, spreading like wildfire across nations, cities, and distant settlements alike. Markets stalled, councils adjourned, temples overflowed with rumor and speculation. Whatever quiet maneuvers Osita and the kingdom of Omadi were making were swallowed whole by this rising storm, rendered insignificant beneath the sheer gravity of what was unfolding.

The words that carried the world into upheaval were simple, yet unthinkable:

"The godlings are being taken to court."

Justice was being demanded and not by gods against mortals, but by mortals against those who bore divinity.

No one knew how the news had escaped its sealed confines. Some whispered of a defiant scribe, others of a divine lapse, or perhaps a deliberate leakage from the nobles involved. Regardless of its origin, the truth spread faster than any attempt to suppress it. Each retelling sharpened the edges of the story, and soon the message reached even the most isolated corners of the world.

Humans everywhere were transfixed.

Never before, in all recorded history, had mortals dared to summon godlings to account for their actions. The very notion struck at the foundation of faith, hierarchy, and world order. Fear mingled with exhilaration as people began to wonder: If godlings could be questioned, could they also be condemned?

Questions multiplied as quickly as the rumors.

Where would such a trial even be held? Who possessed the authority to preside over beings touched by divinity? And most importantly, what crimes were grave enough to justify this defiance?

All roads of speculation led to a single name.

Xerosis. Goddess of Justice, the Veiled Arbiter.

Petitions flooded her temples in numbers unseen . Scrolls, prayers, blood-sealed oaths, and desperate pleas piled upon marble steps and sacred halls. Entire communities demanded answers, dates, locations, names of the accused.

Within the temples themselves, the air grew heavy.

The priests and judges sworn to Xerosis knew fragments of the. They were tempted, endlessly so, to speak. To reassure the fearful. To guide the hopeful. To claim some measure of control over the chaos spiraling beyond their walls.

But they did not.

Followers of Xerosis were trained from their first vows to embody neutrality so absolute it bordered on cruelty. Justice, as the Veiled Arbiter taught, could not bend to comfort, nor yield to pressure, not even when the world begged for clarity. To reveal what they knew before the proper hour would be to taint the scales, and the price for such imbalance was never small.

And so they remained silent.

Once one stepped out of boundary, Xerosis herself took swift action, withdrawing her gift and blessing from the offending priest or Judge. There was no warning and no exception. This absolute doctrine was well known among her followers, and it shaped every word they spoke and every action they took in her name.

Because of this, the temples of Xerosis were few, and her worshippers fewer still. No outside power could take advantage of the faith they cultivated, for there was nothing to exploit. Their neutrality made them unsuitable tools for politics, manipulation, or influence.