The Veiled Man
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Martial Arts Vs Magic - Chapter 143
🕑 Added 2025-07-14 16:00:20 +0000 UTCChapter 143: Reunions and Rivalries
The desert sun beat down on the ancient temple, its stone walls unyielding against the harsh winds that had eroded mountains over countless millennia. Right outside it, the blood of Leviathan, Lailah stood before the assembled members of the Leviathan Cult, their faces solemn beneath ceremonial veils.
Here, amid the great Saharan expanse, Lailah no longer felt like the frightened girl who'd once nursed a dying stranger back to health.
Senna, the High Priestess, approached her slowly. Her weathered face betrayed little emotion, but her eyes, pale as morning mist, held a hint of pride.
"You honor us with your growth, Saintess," Senna said, her bald head gleaming under the merciless sun. The other Leviathan Cult members stood in a semicircle, their faces a mixture of pride and sorrow. "Level 83 in mere months. The blood of the Leviathans sings true in you. It hurts to say goodbye."
Lailah laughed, the sound carrying warmth through the formal atmosphere. "Goodbyes are for people who don't plan on seeing each other again, Senna." She stepped forward, taking the older woman's hands. "If everything goes as planned, we'll meet again in less than a day."
Priest Amir, a gaunt man with ritual scars mapping his forearms, spoke up. "Nothing is certain when dealing with powers beyond our comprehension, m’lady. The Sovereign of Nevaramis may reject our petition. The world speaks of Aethelgard's fall a month ago. It has a lot of implications you don’t realize.” He waited before continuing, “To go against one of the Arcane Kings and survive to see the next day is more than impressive. He must be a ruthless person to have accumulated such strength in such a short time. Would he listen to you?"
"He would," Lailah said with more confidence than she felt. The memories of her time with Iskandaar flashed through her mind, his patience as he taught her to harness her abilities, his unwavering belief in her potential. "He's not what you think. He's very different from the usual strong people."
"Different enough to welcome a different cult of devils into his domain?" Senna asked, one eyebrow arched skeptically.
Lailah met the woman's gaze. Two months ago, she’d have lowered her eyes, stammered in uncertainty before this 8th Ascension powerhouse, but that Lailah, the doubtful girl who'd lived her life in fear, was gone.
"Yes," she said simply. "Different enough for that."
The conviction in her voice silenced the desert. Lailah looked around at the faces watching her, some curious, some doubtful, but all respectful.
"Up there in Nevaramis, Iskandaar isn’t just building a city," Lailah's eyes sparkled with knowledge earned through pain and triumph as she added. "He’s building a new world. One where old hatreds need not define us, where people aren’t full of arrogance." She squeezed Senna's hands once more before stepping back. "Trust me, everyone… This isn't an ending, it's the first page of something magnificent."
“We hope so,” Senna said.
"Once, I thought power meant forcing the world to bend to your will," Lailah said, the words coming unbidden. "But true power is that, and more. Such as understanding your place within the world, and then choosing to change it. Iskandaar taught me that."
Her eyes crinkled at the corners, the closest thing to a smile Lailah had ever seen from the stern woman. The smile was as if she was hoping her naive belief in Iskandaar was indeed as true as she spoke of it. "You've grown wise, child."
"Not wise," Lailah corrected, thinking of Iskandaar's laugh, of Rafin's quiet strength. "Just less afraid."
The cultists exchanged glances. The shy desert flower who'd stumbled into their care had evolved into a woman who understood the weight of power and the price of change.
Everyone stepped back a little, giving her space. It was time. Lailah closed her eyes and reached inward, finding that warm thread of connection that linked her to him. For a short moment, Lailah hesitated. She was nervous. Based on the rumors, Iskandaar had fled with the Dragon Princess and a Phoenix girl. His… lovers.
Meaning unlike last time, she won’t get to enjoy alone time with him in Nevaramis. She already felt nervous and awkward thinking about their interaction. She took a deep breath.
Iskandaar, she called with her mind, Nevaramis, Stratos, I’m ready to return.
For a heartbeat, only desert wind answered. Then warmth bloomed in her chest. Acknowledgment, welcome, and something that felt suspiciously like eagerness.
The sky tore open above her in a cascade of impossible light. The Bifrost didn't burn; it sang, a symphony of distant stars and ancient magic that wrapped around her like a lover's embrace. Along with Senna and the entirety of Leviathan Cult, the hot desert vanished between one breath and the next.
She materialized on marble that caught sunlight like trapped diamonds. A rooftop cafe sprawled before her, its tables arranged around fountains that defied physics, water flowing upward in spirals of liquid crystal. Beyond the railings, Nevaramis stretched in all its impossible glory—floating gardens that bloomed with flowers from a dozen civilizations, architecture that married function with dreams.
At the center table, three figures turned toward her arrival.
Iskandaar's face transformed with a smile that stripped away the worries that came from months of carefully constructed sovereignty. He was on his feet before the Bifrost's light fully faded, crossing the distance in strides that spoke of barely restrained enthusiasm.
"Look at you," he said, pulling her into an embrace that smelled of star-jasmine and that indefinable scent of power contained. His Sovereign's Gaze flickered across her form, and his grin widened. "Level 83. You've been working hard."
She shrugged, fighting the blush that threatened. "Not as hard as those first few weeks with you. Going from 7 to 66 was the real madness."
Iskandaar laughed, the sound reminding her of desert nights under infinite stars. "That's the early stage. We were hunting like maniacs, remember? Besides, the growth that matters most isn't always about levels. Techniques and understanding matter too."
She knew he was right. The numbers were just a crude measurement of the profound changes she'd undergone. In confidence, in understanding, in her very sense of self.
"Come," he said, guiding her toward the table. "I want you to meet someone. Well, two someones."
The women watched their approach with undisguised curiosity. The winged one practically vibrated with energy, while the other carried herself with the casual confidence of ancient power. So that’s Sahrazzakhan’s daughter…
"Lailah, this is Solara Fenixia and Amelia Duskleaf," Iskandaar said. "My... companions."
"Companions?" Solara snorted, rising from her seat. "Is that what we're calling it now?" Before Lailah could process the comment, Solara darted forward and grabbed her arm, emerald eyes dancing with mischief. "So this is Lailah!"
She was a girl with hair like living flame, linking their arms with the casual intimacy of old friends. Wings of fire folded gracefully behind her back, every feather a work of art that hurt to look at directly.
"Isn't this crazy, Iskandaar?" Solara's voice danced with mischief. "You seduced such an innocent girl this time! Lailah, you poor thing, stay behind me. I'll protect you from this scary monster."
Heat flooded Lailah's cheeks, but Solara's infectious energy made it impossible to feel truly uncomfortable. This was clearly a woman who collected hearts like others collected coins. Not from greed, but from an abundance of affection that demanded to be shared.
"I wouldn't call her innocent," the golden-haired woman observed from her seat, purple eyes studying Lailah with the intensity of a scholar discovering a new theorem. "I knew she was a Jinn, but you failed to mention she's a Leviathan, Iskandaar."
Lailah froze. The words carried weight. Not quite an accusation, but the echo of ancient cautions passed down through bloodlines. The lightness of the moment evaporated. Of course, Amelia was the Gold Dragon Princess.
Dragons and Leviathans had been ancient enemies since before recorded history. Even reduced to a handful of survivors, her heritage represented a threat to dragonkind. Well, not quite a threat; they were each other’s rivals, so the threat was equal.
Iskandaar's voice cut through the sudden tension like silk. "Is that a problem, Amy? I never took you for the racist type."
Amelia's eyes rolled with the practiced ease of someone who'd been dealing with his provocations for far too long. "Don't be a brat, Iskandaar. For decades, I’ve taught students from a hundred different bloodlines. I have a soft spot for kids her age."
"Trust me, I know," Iskandaar replied, his tone shifting to something teasing that made Amelia blush slightly.
She tried her best to ignore him and returned her gaze to Lailah. Something in her expression softened, walls coming down. "And I'm not the Gold Dragon Princess anymore. I've been disowned, or so I hear. We're just two council members here. So, relax."
The knot in Lailah's chest loosened. These women weren't rivals competing for scraps of affection, they were co-conspirators in something larger than jealousy could touch.
"Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. To be disowned must… I don’t even know how to describe that feeling. How did you hear about it though...? Do news-carrying birds fly above Nevaramis, too?" Lailah said, and only then did she regret it.
How could she ask such a silly question in this serious situation?
To her surprise, Amelia giggled. She clearly hadn’t taken offence.
"We've been searching for a werewolf and a vampire clan for the past month," Iskandaar explained, guiding her to a seat as faceless androids glided forward with tea that smelled of distant mountains. "Dropping into different cities for intel. That's where we heard the news about her father’s fury toward her."
His hand found hers across the table, the touch grounding. "And Lailah, speaking of family... your father has been dying to see you. Let’s have some tea, then I’ll take you to him."
This meeting went surprisingly well, Lailah noted with a smile. These girls were far less scary than she thought they’d be. They were so nice. Although Solara was still hugging her arm in a quite clingy way…
****
I led Lailah through the crystalline corridors of Nevaramis's upper levels, past gardens that shifted colors with the breeze and fountains that defied gravity. Her eyes glittered at every new wonder, her awe reminding me of my own first days exploring this impossible city.
"It's even more beautiful than I remembered," she whispered, trailing her fingers along a wall that hummed with ancient magic.
"Wait until you see what your father's done with his section," I said, unable to keep the pride from my voice.
We emerged onto a vast platform that stretched toward the horizon. It was a floating farm that shouldn't have been possible. Golden fields of grain rippled like an ocean under the afternoon sun. Fruit trees heavy with impossible bounty lined neat pathways. Streams of crystalline water wound through the landscape, their courses defying natural laws to irrigate every corner of the massive space.
And above it all, mechanical beings darted through the air like metallic dragonflies, spraying precisely calculated amounts of water and nutrients over different crops.
"This is..." Lailah stopped, words failing her.
In the center of this agricultural miracle stood Rafin, his sleeves rolled up, his hands deep in the rich soil, despite the automated help surrounding him. I'd visited him nearly every day over the past month, watching as he transformed this barren platform into a paradise through sheer determination and an innate understanding of growing things.
"Some things have to be done by hand," he'd told me once when I questioned why he didn't leave more to the robots. "The land needs to know you, to feel your care. Plus, I love using my Farmer Class Skills here… the land is so fertile!"
He looked up then, and the years fell away from his face. His eyes found Lailah, and for a moment, neither moved. Then his face crumpled into joy so pure it physically hurt to witness.
He started to rise, noticed his mud-caked hands, and hesitated. "Lailah... my girl... you're... I'm covered in mud."
The sob that escaped her was half laughter, half a release of fears she hadn't known she'd been carrying. "Oh, aren’t you a brave old man to say something like that!"
She crossed the distance at a run, crashing into him with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. The sight made me smile. Mud be damned, this was her father, and he was safe, and she was home in a way that had nothing to do with geography.
His arms came around her, stronger than before, and I felt him trembling. "My brave girl," he whispered into her hair. "Look at you. Just look at you."
When they finally separated, both pretending their eyes weren't wet, I had moved a respectful distance away. I caught her eye and smiled. "I'll leave you two to catch up."
"Wait!" The word escaped before Lailah could stop it. Both of them turned to me, and I felt heat climb her neck. "Will... will you have dinner with us? I'll cook... like the first time we met. If you're not too busy, that is..."
Something shifted in my expression, surprise melting into something warmer than the biodome's artificial sun. "I'm never too busy for your cooking, Lailah."
From the corner of my eye, I saw her father watching our exchange with an expression I couldn't quite read. I had a feeling that an awkward talk was coming soon.
****
Lailah's cooking was everything I remembered and more.
Simple ingredients transformed through skill and care into something approaching art. The three of us ate at a rough-hewn table on the porch of Rafin's new home, a modest structure compared to the grandeur it could have been, but perfectly suited to the man who'd built it.
"This is incredible," I said, savoring another bite of spiced lamb. "Better than the royal kitchens of Aethelgard."
"You're exaggerating," Lailah protested, but pleasure widened her lips.
"He's not," Rafin said, pride evident in his voice. "She gets it from her mother. Zarielle could make a feast from sand and thorns."
The mention of Lailah's mother brought a momentary silence to the table. Not awkward, but reverent now, acknowledgment of a presence still felt despite her absence. She wasn’t quite “dead,” after all.
When we finished, Lailah began gathering the dishes.
"Leave those," I said. "You can have the androids take care of it."
Rafin waved me off. "If we let the machines do everything, son, what stories will we have to tell? The joy is in the work, not just the result."
I paused, struck by the simple profundity. This world had ended a couple of times, and in one of those previous iterations, Nevaramis was produced. The flying city. The current world was essentially medieval with pockets of advanced technology. Yet Rafin, a simple farmer, had intuited what my old world had taken centuries of technological advancement to realize, that convenience wasn't always worth what you sacrificed for it. You know, like those old Earth movies. WALL-E, for instance.
Here was a man who could have anything in this impossible city, who chose the satisfaction of honest labor over ease. No wonder Lailah turned out the way she did.
"Walk with me," Rafin said suddenly, and though the words were casual, they carried the weight of command that only fathers possessed.
We strolled through fields lit by stars that might have been real or might have been the biodome's greatest illusion. The silence stretched comfortably between us until Rafin broke it with the directness of a man who'd never learned to dance around truth.
"Don't take this the wrong way," he began, his voice level but intent, "but what is your intention with my daughter?"
I'd expected the question, but the directness still caught me slightly off-guard.
Before I could answer, he continued, "I know about your lovers. One of their fathers is the Sahrazzakhan. So I know you're not scared of any parents, not that I'm trying to scare you, but..." His voice softened. "Lailah is the jewel of my life. The one my wife sacrificed herself for. So I want to make sure the man she has fallen for will treat her well."
"I thought you already trusted me, Rafin," I said quietly.
"It was before I realized you had other lovers." He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Look, there's nothing wrong with it. I've met Solara, she's a lovely girl, so I know they're not being forced to stay or anything. But as a father, it's difficult to want my daughter to be 'one' of the women in your group... you know? I raised her as my only child, and in recent years, my only family member. So I hope you don't take any offense with this question."
"No offense taken," I assured him. "If anything, I'd be disappointed if you didn't ask. Lailah deserves a father who looks out for her interests."
I took a deep breath, organizing my thoughts. This wasn't a conversation I'd prepared for, despite anticipating it.
"I... don't have such intentions with her, Rafin," I began, choosing my words carefully. "Nevaramis isn't a city of my lovers; it's a city of my Heavenly Demon Divine Cult. I'll naturally have members other than my lovers as it grows. For example, I have two other lovers, Lilian and Nebula, and their mothers are 8th Ascension powerhouses, who had promised to bring their factions to Nevaramis. Those two would kill me if I eyed their mothers. So rest assured, this city is more than my girls. But…”
“Go on.”
I sighed. “It’d be a lie to admit I don’t like her. Lailah is someone easy to fall for, with the vibes of a wife around her. You’ve raised her well, after all. I mean to say I wouldn't mind proceeding with things with her, but… As you said, it's difficult to want to see her and me get together when I already have other lovers. As her friend, I acknowledge that, so I’d long decided that it's ultimately her choice."
Rafin's brow furrowed. "That relieves me to hear. However, you do know Lailah loves you, right…? So you're just going to ignore her?"
The bluntness of the question left me momentarily speechless. I, who’d clashed will with Sahrazzakhan, found myself rubbing the back of my head in awkwardness. "I... do. I'm aware of her feelings, but whether those feelings are enough for her to sit down and compromise with this situation is up to her. We'll live for a long time, old Rafin, longer than typical humans. We have tons of time to figure things out. And by then, who knows, maybe she'll find a better man?"
He laughed, the sound unexpected in the stillness. "Even 500 years later when this place will be full of people, I think it'll be really difficult to find a better man than the Lord of the city. But I understand." His smile turned wistful. "Hah. My daughter is really unlucky..."
We continued walking, the tension between us easing with each step. As we circled back toward the house, I saw Lailah step onto the porch, her silhouette outlined against the warm light spilling from inside.
"What are you two talking about?" she called, suspicion evident in her voice.
"Farming techniques," Rafin answered smoothly. "Irrigation systems."
She crossed her arms. "You're a terrible liar, Father."
Rafin chuckled. "I should check on that batch of bread dough. Don't want it to over-rise." He patted my shoulder as he passed, the gesture both warning and acceptance.
Alone with Lailah on the porch, I felt an unexpected awkwardness settle between us. Her next words made the awkwardness evaporate as I grew serious. "So… I wanted to ask you something before you leave," she began, playing with the end of her braid, "the Leviathan Cult wants to move here. I told them it's not up to me and I have to ask you. I know this city is the base of your cult, which immediately makes it a no, but I just wanted to make sure..."
Quite audacious of the Leviathan Cult to make Lailah ask me this, I held back a frown and considered the request carefully. Truth be told, the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult wasn't quite about worship in the traditional sense. The deeper rituals and devotional aspects do exist, but they’d likely remain dormant until after I'd completed my primary Quest—saving this world from destruction.
And despite being the "Heavenly Demon," considered the manifestation of the Demon God Mara, the one true god on this island, it didn't hurt to have other "gods" present. Not capital-G Gods, of course, as the devils weren't truly divine despite being worshipped.
But could I allow another cult when mine was still in its infancy? I considered it.
"If they agree rather to become a division of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, rather than a possible ‘rival,’ then I can compromise it,” I told her at last, “Even so, I can allow a very small portion to come for now. Like five people," I decided. Their strongest was that bald Priestess, whose name I forgot, from the early 8th Ascension. If she planned anything nefarious, Amelia could handle her.
Amelia, huh. A sudden warmth spread through me at the thought. Beyond our romantic connection, her mere presence elevated the Cult and Nevaramis immeasurably. With her knowledge and power, this place’s defenses and capabilities had expanded tenfold in just a month.
Lailah's face lit up with joy. She impulsively leaned forward and kissed my cheek. "Thank you! I think they’d agree to your request, from what I understood in my time there. You’ll probably have to chat with my mother’s spirit, though… We can do all that when we meet with Senna. When are you free to meet them?"
"Why not right now?" I suggested, a plan already forming. "We can just teleport and bring them here."
I was eager to proceed, and not just for Lailah's happiness. There was another reason why I agreed to bring another cult here, even as a division to my own. The Leviathan Cult possessed ancient knowledge and extensive networks of information that spanned the globe. They could aid in our search for the Lunewolves and Obsidian Vampires, allies we desperately needed but were having a difficult time finding as the world tilted toward chaos.
And as the pieces of my strategy fell into place, I realized a deeper truth in this world. Power wasn't just about strength or magic or levels. It was about connections, about weaving disparate threads into a faction strong enough to withstand the coming storm.
Because I knew, with bone-deep certainty, that the destruction of Aethelgard was just the beginning. The real war of the Divine Cult was still to come.
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The Veiled Man: The full-blown reunion just around the corner...!
