Chapter 738: 738

The last of the wishes had been spoken. The last of the wronged had been heard.

No cries of protest rose to challenge the verdict, no unfinished pleas clung to the air in desperation. Even grief, heavy and earned had settled into stillness, no longer sharp enough to wound, no longer loud enough to demand more. It remained, but it rested.

Then the court felt her.

Xerosis’ presence did not arrive with sound or light, nor with any shift that mortal senses could name. Yet it spread through the chamber all the same, an undeniable pressure that tightened the breath and steadied the heart in equal measure. Though unseen, she was unmistakable. The stone beneath their feet seemed to remember her. The air itself grew attentive.

Her gaze moved across the assembled. The victims stood before her, whole in spirit if not in form. Scars remained. Loss remained. Yet their wills were unbroken, their voices uncoerced.

They had spoken not from fear, nor from false hope, but from choice. Their justice had not been perfect, no justice ever was but it had been honest, and it had been freely given.

Xerosis lingered on them for a moment longer, in acknowledgment.

Then her attention shifted.

The godlings stood silent beneath her unseen regard. Once elevated beyond consequence, once shielded by divinity and distance, they now bore the weight of what they had done without resistance. They had accepted their sentence as those who understood at last the cost of their actions.

To walk as mortals, to labor beneath the slow tyranny of time. To live, to age, to fail and to remember their failure.

The punishment had been rendered with the knowledge of all who attended the court. No deception lingered. No doubt remained as to its intent.

At last, Xerosis spoke.

Her voice was measured, neither distant nor kind, carrying no echo beyond the moment it occupied. "Justice has been sought," she said.

"Justice has been given."

No accusation followed, no praise.

"The wronged are satisfied. The offenders have received what they have earned. This court has no further claim upon this matter."

With those words, the immense weight that had pressed upon the hall for so long began to lift. Breath returned. The court, which had stood frozen beneath judgment, was once more allowed to exist.

And just as suddenly as it had come, Xerosis presence receded.

It was not a departure one could follow with the eyes. There was no flash of light, no tear in the air, no echo of divinity withdrawing from the world. Simply, she was no longer there.

The space Xerosis had occupied felt emptier, yet unmistakably lighter, as though a vast pressure had been lifted from every chest in the chamber. Breath came easier. Spines straightened without anyone realizing they had been bent.

Then the four judges followed.

The radiance that had once outlined them began to dim, brilliance folding inward upon itself like a flame deprived of air. The veils that had obscured their faces were gone, leaving them exposed to the court at last. Eyes that had once glowed with borrowed divinity dulled into mortal hues, brown, grey, blue colors that belonged to time and decay.

What remained were figures once more bound to shape, to flesh, to the slow and inevitable passage of years.

They had returned to their normal state.

Mortal enough.

For a fleeting moment, each judge felt the loss keenly, the absence of that ethereal elevation, that sensation of floating above all things, of seeing the court not from within it, but over it. To stand so close to a goddess, to feel divinity brush against their existence, had been intoxicating. A part of them wished it had lasted longer.

But longing did not absolve duty.

There was still a task to complete.

Together, they lifted their wooden mallets once more. No voice rose in protest. No power moved to still their hands. The court, having witnessed judgment in its highest form, now accepted its ending in silence.

The mallet fell.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The sound was plain and final.

With that, the court was formally ended.

The judges were the first to depart. The whole court watched in silence as the four judges departed, their footsteps unhurried, their backs unbowed. No one spoke. No one moved. It felt improper to do so, as though sound itself might fracture the fragile stillness left behind.

With their departure came another change.

The unseen field radiating from Xerosis statue, ever-present, unquestioned was lifted.

The sensation was immediate.

Every superpowered individual in attendance felt it at once: mana, long suppressed and disciplined beneath divine restraint, surged back through veins and channels like a flood released from a dam. Breath caught. Muscles tensed. A few staggered, unprepared for the sudden return of their full strength.

The effect was visible.

A biological field unique to higher lifeforms bled outward from these individuals, subtle to the eye, yet unmistakable in presence. Power rolled off them in waves, instinctive and uncontrolled in those first moments. Whispers rippled through the hall as many realized, perhaps for the first time, that the person seated beside them was no mere citizen, but someone of status... of danger.

Space was created almost instantly.

Common folk shifted away, chairs scraping softly against stone as distance formed like a reflex.The fear was not loud, but it was real.

The accused godlings felt none this rush of power.

For the first time in their existence, they stood untouched by that rising tide of power. No resonance answered the surge around them. No mana stirred in response.

They felt it then.

Mortality.

Not as an idea. Not as a sentence spoken in court. But as a living truth pressing against their skin.

The sensation of being seen, truly scanned by beings far stronger than themselves sent a chill down their spines. Instinct screamed to respond, to counter, to assert presence.

They could do nothing.

Thankfully, they were not alone.

Family members and loyal friends reacted quickly, extending small protective fields, barriers that hide them, enough to soften the oppressive attention bearing down upon them.

The fourteen godlings exchanged glances.

They could feel it now, weakness threading through their veins, unfamiliar and terrifying. The absence of power was like a wound that had yet to scar over.

This was a life they would have to endure.

A century, or perhaps more.

Time, no longer an abstract concept, stretched before them like a slow, unyielding road.

And for the first time, they understood exactly how long that would feel.

Amid the surging sensations and overlapping waves of power overtaking the court, one presence quietly vanished.

No alarm was raised. No sense reached for him and found absence. In a place saturated with mana and attention, Erik simply slipped between notice and meaning.

Far from the court grounds, high above the world, he sat suspended in the open sky, legs crossed, posture relaxed, eyes distant with thought. The wind passed through him without resistance, clouds drifting lazily below as if the world itself had momentarily forgotten he was there.

When Erik had chosen to attend the court, justice had never been his only purpose.

There had been another goal in mind. One that, in another age, should have already been accomplished, if there were still capable hands in the kingdom, if leadership had not rotted away until only cursed beings and survivors remained to shoulder impossible burdens.

At the beginning of all this, his intent had been simple in concept, in execution: separate the still-normal humans from the cursed, relocate them to a place untouched by corruption, and hold the line until the curses could be dealt with.

But that plan had required manpower. Soldiers. Infrastructure. Stability.

Things he did not have.

Now, however, circumstances had changed.

Erik exhaled slowly.

If he could not move the people with what he previously had. This time, he would act alone.

Rather than relocation, he would raise a magical shield, vast in scale, precise in design, one that would encompass every remaining human settlement within his kingdom. A barrier not merely of force, but of exclusion. Curses would find no purchase upon it. Their influence would slide away, unable to take root.

But a shield alone was not enough.

People were unpredictable. Fear and emotion drove them to flee safety just as often as danger.

So Erik planned a second layer.

A subtle one.

A confusing field woven into the boundary of the barrier, not a command, not domination, but a persistent unease. A gentle wrongness that would stir whenever someone approached the edge. Thoughts would tangle. Resolve would soften. The desire to leave would fade into hesitation, then into indifference.

Those within would still choose to stay.

They simply would not want to go.

It was not kind but cruel, but it was mostly a necessity.

Until the curse problem was resolved, until the world was safe again, this was the only way he could guarantee their survival.

High above the sky, Erik opened his eyes.

The decision had already been made.