Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 550: Marshall of the Golden Sky Fortress

Chapter 550: Marshall of the Golden Sky Fortress

Agamenon waited until the Sacred Flame could consume no more of his blood before using magic to seal the gaping wounds along his forearm. His face was deathly pale, and the energy in his body seemed nearly exhausted. Still, he managed to bow deeply to the flame for an entire minute before stepping away from the ancient altar. Only when he left the circle of golden runes beneath his feet did his strength falter, his body sagging with fatigue.

Zalasar reacted at once, moving forward to lend the young man support. "Well done, Lord Agamenon," he said in a voice brimming with approval. "Your sacrifice will keep the flame stable for at least fifty years. You’ve brought great honor to both the empire and your family."

Agamenon forced a weary smile in response, though his breathing remained labored. It was clear that notions of honor and duty were dear to him, and receiving Zalasar’s praise seemed to bolster his spirit despite the profound blood loss.

Zalasar began rummaging through his spatial ring, presumably seeking a potion to aid the young noble’s recovery, when suddenly, a small vial with a red liquid flew across the air and landed in his hand.

Surprised, Zalasar and Agamenon turned to see a small yellow cat looking at them with a slight grin. The cat radiated an undeniable aura of arcane power, and there was a broad smile on his face as he saw the surprise of the duo.

"Since you plan on purchasing my alchemical recipes," Jormugandr purred, "I think it’s only fair you get a taste of what you’re paying for."

Agamenon and Zalasar nearly chuckled at the cat’s self-assured tone but quickly inclined their heads in gratitude. Resources like healing potions were invaluable in a Doomsday World, and having an extra vial in one’s arsenal could be the difference between life and death. Without hesitation, Agamenon brought the vial to his lips and drank.

Within moments, his eyes widened as a searing heat rushed through his veins. His once-pale cheeks reddened with fresh vitality. Though the initial heat felt uncomfortably intense—almost scorching—he gritted his teeth and endured, and before long, a wide smile arose on his face.

The potency of the elixir flooded into his bloodstream, reinforcing his natural healing processes without depleting his existing life force. It wasn’t a quick fix, but it was stable and carried no adverse side effects. He’d recover steadily rather than in a chaotic burst, making it perfect for recuperation after major injuries away from the battlefield.

Zalasar watched Agamenon closely, mindful of potential risks in an unfamiliar alchemical concoction. Seeing the young noble’s complexion rapidly improve, a wave of joy arose in his heart. Graecia would have access to a very useful tool as soon as they finalized the deal for Jormugandr’s alchemy recipes. With a spark of excitement in his eyes, he turned toward the cat.

"Master Cat," Zalasar said with evident respect, "your alchemical skills are nothing short of remarkable."

Agamenon likewise made no attempt to hide his admiration. "Indeed. It is an honor to witness such mastery. Let’s hope we can put it to good use across the empire."

Jormugandr’s whiskers twitched, clearly pleased by their reactions. A sly smile found its way onto the feline’s face, though he refrained from boasting further. Vlad, standing beside them, watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and pride. Not to mention that the better their relationship with the duo, the easier it would be to acclimate themselves to the fortress.

Just as the group settled into a more relaxed state, a small squad approached—a silent reminder that serenity in a Doomsday World never lasted long. All conversation halted as five men in gleaming white armor strode toward them with disciplined precision. Their combined aura felt sharp and unified as if they shared a single heartbeat. Each bore a regal bearing, and together they exuded a latent power that made everyone in the vicinity straighten in caution.

The leader stood nearly three meters tall, his black hair flowing around a scar that covered the right side of his face where an eye had once been. Vlad could sense an immense pressure radiating from him. It wasn’t just the man’s Sage-tier energy levels but also some more elusive quality, perhaps a specialized martial or magical technique that magnified his threat level.

His single visible eye flicked over Vlad, Jormugandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir with hawk-like scrutiny. Then he turned to Agamenon and addressed him with the finality of an officer delivering orders.

"Lord Agamenon, the Marshal requests your presence—and that of your companions. Please come with us."

Though phrased politely, his tone and the suffocating aura of the armored squad left no doubt that this was not a mere suggestion. Agamenon managed an even nod, respecting the implicit command.

"We will follow the Royal Knights," he said.

At the words Royal Knights, Vlad felt Jormugandr shift slightly on his shoulder, and Ouroboros’s ears pinned back for an instant. Anything bearing the term Royal in an empire as formidable as Graecia hinted at top-tier authority, not to be challenged lightly.

Agamenon cast a quick, meaningful glance at Vlad and the other Sky Seed Depravitas, likely warning them of the seriousness of these knights’ summons. Defying such an order would be suicidal in a place like the Golden Sky Fortress.

Vlad responded with a slight bow, echoed by Jormugandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir. They signaled understanding and respect for the knights and the empire they represented. The scarred leader inclined his head almost imperceptibly, acknowledging their compliance. Then he turned, his men following in perfect formation, and led the way down a wide, shining street.

Their destination soon loomed into view: a sprawling castle. It wasn’t ostentatiously large yet boasted elegant lines and severe architecture. The walls, made of the same golden alloy seen throughout the fortress’s inner ring, reflected the sky’s flames in dazzling patterns. Despite its relatively modest size—capable of housing only around a hundred individuals—Vlad could sense a colossal force thrumming inside it, like the relentless beat of a hidden giant’s heart.