Timeless Assassin

(Planet Ixtal, Soron's Castle, Charles' POV)

Charles handed over the block of Origin Metal to Soron, who cradled it in his palm as if he were cradling a newborn, his withered fingers trembling ever so slightly, not from weakness but from the profound awe that shone through his ancient gaze.

"Two thousand years of searching for just twenty five grams of this thing, and now you hand me a slab weighing twelve hundred," Soron whispered, his lips curling into a smile so complete that it seemed to chase away every shadow carved into his aged face, as his eyes gleamed with the reverence of a pilgrim who had finally touched his god.

The block itself looked anything but divine.

It bore none of the otherworldly shimmer of relics or the luminous brilliance of refined ores.

Instead, it appeared to be nothing more than a plain, steel-like mass, dull in its finish and unremarkable to the naked eye, save for its weight, which was merely twice that of normal steel, hardly enough to warrant such reverence.

Yet in Soron's hands, it became a treasure beyond measure, for even this block of metal in his hands could be used to bludgeon a god to death.

*Sigh*

Letting out a deep sigh, Soron stored the metal away within his storage ring, before looking towards Charles with a thousand emotions rising in his eyes.

"As you already know, I must refine this metal first before it can be forged into a blade, and to do so, I have to leave the Cult for a while—" Soron began, his voice steady but laced with gravity.

"It may take me north of a year before I can return. So until then, I will leave you as the acting Sect Master of the Cult Of Ascension."

Charles dropped into a deep bow, his right arm pressed to his chest, as he immediately accepted the honor.

"As you command, Lord Soron."

He said, as Soron flicked his hand faintly, dismissing the formality.

"There is no need to tell anyone else about my departure, especially the Council.

None of us know what they would do if they learned I was gone.

And worse, we cannot be sure whether news of my absence might be leaked to our enemies.

I intend to depart tomorrow without disturbance, and before I go, I will cover this castle with a divine barrier strong enough to block all probing senses.

So even if the other gods grow suspicious of where I am, they will never be sure of what is happening within the Cult, because they'll never be able to look inside my castle.

And that uncertainty of whether I'm really here or not, will keep their hands tied….. at least for a year at minimum."

Soron said, as Charles inclined his head, listening intently, as he committed every word that Soron spoke to the depths of his memory.

"But let us say something bad happens, something unexpected," Soron continued, his golden eyes narrowing faintly as though he were speaking not to Charles but to the walls themselves.

"Then I need you to protect the Cult as best as you can, which I know you will.

But remember this, old friend, your goal will not be decisive victory. Your goal will be to buy time. Delay them, retreat if necessary, abandon ground if you must, but live and endure until I return.

Do not bleed yourself for hollow pride, for if you fall while I am gone, then the next most powerful individual within this Cult is a twenty five year old boy with two Monarch tier servants to his name.

And I am not ready to entrust the fate of the Cult to him just yet."

Charles's jaw tightened, but he did not speak, for he too knew that Soron's words were true.

"Finally," Soron said, lifting three faintly glowing orbs from his sleeve, each one swirling with caged fragments of his own divine aura. "I have stored a measure of myself within these three crystal balls. Should the Cult find itself threatened, and you need to bluff an enemy into believing that I still watch over them, then crush one.

Or if you need to unleash a spontaneous burst of overwhelming aura to incapacitate an opponent, crush it.

They will not know the difference."

He pressed the orbs into Charles's outstretched hand, his own gnarled fingers lingering over Charles's rough knuckles as his expression turned unusually fragile.

"I am sorry, old friend," Soron whispered, his voice low enough to carry only to the ears before him. "But I do not know if I will return from this journey alive. I believe I will, yet with these injuries festering in me, I cannot be certain.

So If I do not return after a year and a half, then you must be prepared to assume the worst."

Charles's eyes slid away, unable to meet the piercing honesty in Soron's gaze, his usually stoic features twitching faintly as if his pride warred with grief.

"I know I leave the Cult in good hands," Soron continued, both hands now resting firmly on Charles's shoulders, the gesture heavy with trust. "But if this absence becomes permanent, then you must devote everything to making Skyshard the next God of the Cult.

If my father acknowledged the boy in death and asked me to hand him such an advanced aura manual, it can only mean, he believes in his potential as a warrior.

And if my father, with his impossibly high standards acknowledges someone's talent, then I too believe he's special….. special in ways the rest of us cannot yet fathom."

At last, Charles turned his head, locking eyes with the god he had served for centuries, his watery gaze hard but steady, his chest rising with a deep breath as he nodded once.

"Do not worry about permanence, old man. Just focus on coming back alive first," Charles said quietly, his voice carrying both respect and defiance in the same note.

Soron chuckled faintly, though there was little mirth in it, the sound like brittle glass. "I will try. But if fate decides otherwise….."

He began but paused, as the two men stood in silence, the moment stretching long as though both were memorizing the presence of the other, one preparing to leave, while the other prepared to carry a burden that was still too heavy for his shoulders.

However, both knew they had no other option.

Both knew, this had to be done.