Chapter 1990: There will be blood

"How strong are we?"

Leonidas was not a man to waste words. After staring into the abyss of total oblivion, he no longer had patience for pleasantries or hesitation. He wanted to know their standing. The original purpose of Cain’s visit to Doomslayer Heaven had been to secure allies in the looming war against Azazel. Now that Leonidas had pledged his allegiance, there could be no delay in charting their course forward.

A faint smile tugged at Cain’s lips as he heard the word we. That single syllable carried weight—it meant alliance, trust, and the promise of shared destiny. But Cain did not allow himself to be distracted by sentiment. His gaze sharpened, and he laid out the truth with the clarity of a commander.

"Amon of Witchcraft Heaven and Bael of Brightmarch Heaven are now core members of the Scarlet Alliance. They will march with me the instant I give the order. Divine Sea has sworn loyalty as an Honorary Partner. Should I fall under attack, she will come. And if I ask her to fight beside me on the battlefield... I give it a sixty percent certainty she will answer."

Leonidas’ scarred lips curved into a smile as he nodded slowly.

"So, you’ve already bound the brothers to your side. Impressive, my King."

Cain blinked, caught off guard by the certainty in Leonidas’ voice. The elder only chuckled knowingly.

"They hid it well, I’ll grant them that. But when they were young, they made mistakes—little tells, unnoticed by most. Only an old ghost like me, who has watched history march past with his own eyes, could have pieced it together. Don’t worry, though. I care little for Light and Dark Camps. The older I grew, the more those divisions seemed foolish to me. Chains, nothing more. Chains that stunt our growth and shackle our vision."

Cain inclined his head in agreement. He had long reached the same conclusion. Competition was healthy; it forged strength and tempered will. But to divide the infinite diversity of life across the Empyrean World into two camps, forcing them to slaughter each other over grudges older than memory? That was not order. That was madness.

Leonidas poured himself another drink, his molten eyes gleaming. "Divine Sea has always been clever, but she is cautious. She weighs risk carefully, like many of the Archdeities. She is not one to gamble."

Cain listened with full attention. Leonidas was not only strong; he was wise, tempered by an age no other living Archdeity could claim. Wisdom like his was worth as much as an army.

The elder continued. "Through my Alter-Ego and the Path of the Dawn Breaker, I can elevate my cultivation to the Late Archdeity Rank. With that, I should match your strength, my King—at least, so long as you do not invoke Resurrecion."

A proud smile spread across his battle-worn face as he spoke. The fog of disease had shackled him for so long that the thought of advancing again lit fire in his spirit.

Leonidas then leaned forward. "I also have a friend. He is not a leader of some Omega Lord-tier organization, but he is a powerful Archdeity nonetheless. He owes me a debt, and he will answer my call."

Cain’s expression warmed. He had not wasted effort chasing after hermit Archdeities—those wandering lords who shunned society, living in obscurity, uninterested in the tides of war. Such beings were difficult to find and even harder to bind, and Cain had deemed them unworthy of his time. But if Leonidas had one in his pocket, that was a different matter entirely.

Still, before Cain could allow himself satisfaction, he noticed a complicated flicker cross Leonidas’ face.

"He is strong, a Middle ArchDeity," Leonidas admitted, "but he will be expensive."

Cain frowned. "I have no interest in men who only serve the highest bidder. Wealth I have, yes—but Azazel has the knowledge of First Era relics. He may be richer still. If wealth alone secures a man’s loyalty, then loyalty is worth nothing. Such mercenaries can vanish in a single night."

Leonidas chuckled at Cain’s bluntness but quickly raised a hand. "Do not worry, my King. That bastard might demand treasures or rare materials to lift his blade—but he will never turn that blade against us. Greedy, yes. Ruthless, yes. But dishonorable? Never. Of that I can swear."

Cain studied the elder’s face, reading the weight behind his words. He trusted Leonidas’ judgment. The Flow would confirm it, of course—Cain trusted no ally without testing their soul—but if all proved true, this nameless friend could be a formidable addition to their ranks.

Cain began to calculate aloud, his eyes narrowing with thought. "That gives us two Late Archdeities—you and I—and three Mid-level Archdeities, counting the brothers and your friend."

For a long moment he stood silent, lost in thought. Then, battle intent blazed within his aura, sharp and cold as a drawn blade.

Leonidas saw it and smiled faintly. "You are not planning to continue your search for more allies, my King?"

Cain shook his head, eyes alight with golden certainty. "Fortune favors the bold. Our strength is sufficient to strike. Delay will only weaken us, while Azazel secures more pawns. If we hesitate, we lose."

The old Archdeity’s grin widened, admiration in his gaze. Cain was young, but not reckless. His words revealed both wisdom and ruthlessness—the qualities of a true commander. Leonidas, who had watched countless kings rise and fall, felt no doubt: this man was born for conquest.

It was clear Azazel was also forging alliances, gathering his pieces with the patience of a spider spinning its web. And in the cruel logic of numbers, Azazel had an advantage. The Scarlet Path rejected wickedness and cruelty; its allies had to stand for more than power alone. That restriction narrowed Cain’s pool of recruits. Azazel, on the other hand, welcomed any who thirsted for blood, chaos, or domination. He would gather more, and faster.

A straight race to amass numbers would end in Azazel’s victory. To delay was to lose.

Soon. There will be blood.