Chapter 342: Gemnarch
"Gemnarch?"
At the name, the Practitioners fell into utter silence. Even the stands seemed frozen in time, every gaze fixed on the ogre standing on the scale.
"Lady Thalira, are you saying he is a real Gemnarch?" Thalira Luna’s close aides could not hold back their suspicion and whispered the question.
The Gorathim had always claimed they were the bloodline of the Gemnarch, an Elder Race. From the highest races to the smallest, everyone had heard the rumor at least once in their lives; the claim was too momentous to miss. Yet hearing a rumor and believing it were two different things.
In essence, when one considered that every race—near or distant—came from the Elder Races, all of them were branches of the first peoples ever created to walk these lands. But when a single race claimed pure blood and a direct connection to one Elder Race, especially here in the Outer Region, disbelief was natural.
Whether they could not believe or did not want to, every pair of eyes remained on Brakhtar’s second head. Compared to the first, it looked slightly illusory, like the image on a faulty screen that flickers in and out, yet the power and presence radiating from it felt unmistakably real.
Their knowledge of the Gemnarch was limited. The Gemnarch were said to possess bulky bodies like the Gorathim, and the only clear physical trait separating the 2 races was that a pureblood Gemnarch bore 2 heads. Beyond that, they had no further detail by which to judge whether the figure before them was genuine.
Fortunately, Thalira was there to explain.
"He is probably not a pureblood Gemnarch, but he certainly has the ancient blood flowing in his veins." She herself had been skeptical, yet seeing Brakhtar’s second head left her sure. "That manifestation of his second head should be a bloodline talent he awakened."
With that explanation, the questioning and disbelieving looks finally fell away. Acceptance spread through the crowd.
A bloodline talent is undeniable proof of Elder Race blood flowing in one’s veins.
While the Lunari accepted the truth, the Gorathim Practitioners sank to their knees. Their massive, dark-green bodies bent as if in worship, and low, chant-like murmurs rose and mingled in the air.
"Oh, damn. Is it really so great that it makes them look like fools?" Loudbark frowned at the sight. Irritation lined his face, but beneath it a faint tremor ran through his body, uncertain whether it sprang from fear or excitement.
"Your ignorance is bliss, Houndkin," Rhadak spoke beside him in a voice like ancient stone. Even his dark obsidian features held both shock and reverence.
"Someone with an ancient bloodline flowing in their veins, here in the Outer Region?" Maruun murmured, joining the exchange with open astonishment. "Yes, that is truly shocking, even more so than the presence of the Rank 5 Adept, the Wanderer Merchant."
Hearing them, Loudbark shut his mouth and offered nothing further. He found no excuse to smother what he felt, and the shaking in his frame intensified with every passing second as he imagined what it meant to be near someone of god-lineage.
As for Adyr, interest flickered in his pale eyes as he watched.
So the rumors were true.
Witnessing how a Gorathim’s faint bloodline connection to an Elder Race, coupled with the manifestation of a bloodline talent, could stir such a response made him grasp even more clearly how high its impact stood in the eyes of other races.
Soon, he would learn that it impressed not only the minds of Practitioners, but the Tower itself as well.
[Past and future turn to ash; before Creation, only weight and lash.]
[Bloodline is wealth, not right to reign; capital to risk, not certain gain.]
[The Scales stirred, grave and gory:]
Brakhtar Gorat → Found Worthy.
With the verdict, the spectators seemed to come back to life. A single roar surged up the stone like a wave, rattling banners, shaking grit from the walls, and sending a tremor through the sheet of golden sand. The air tasted of dust and hot metal. Footsteps hammered the steps as spectators stamped and shouted, their voices folding into one thunderous chord.
"As expected, he won the last trial," Maruun spoke low, but the resignation showed in the mixed-race faces around him. It felt right to them, a result that needed no argument.
If anyone was worthy of the Tower, it was Brakhtar with that ancient bloodline. On that point, even the doubters kept quiet.
"At least it’s finally over." Loudbark drew a long breath and let it go. He had won nothing today, but keeping his life felt like a prize few would refuse.
Brakhtar stood steady on the scale while the second head receded, the warping around him easing until the light settled. When the distortion died, he stepped off the pan and crossed the sand with the same measured certainty, moving to stand among his kin. Hands rose to meet him, and the faces that turned toward him carried the quiet awe people reserve for figures out of legend.
Then they waited.
Seconds stretched as the roar thinned to scattered calls and then to a silence broken only by the hiss of wind along the upper tiers.
After their long wait, when no door opened and no pull came to cast them out as it had drawn them in, a small shiver of unease moved through the Practitioners.
"Why doesn’t the trial look finished?" Several voices rose at once as heads turned and fingers pointed toward the Scales. "Look, the pans are level again. Maybe it’s our turn. Maybe it wants to measure our worth as well."
All eyes were fixed on the device once again. One pan hung empty. The other still bore the stone-carved planet, heavy enough to bow the chain. The arena swallowed its noise again, a silence tight enough to press on the lungs.
Many began to think the statue wanted a second name.
No one truly believed Brakhtar could be surpassed. Yet as the moments ticked and no new system message arrived, attention shifted of its own accord. One by one, gazes slid to the Lunari ranks, settling on Thalira Luna’s still figure, calm as moonlight over cold water.
"I have nothing to offer." Thalira’s tone was calm, almost indifferent, as the stares fixed on her.
She already accepted the result. Without something of equal weight to present, there was no way to surpass Brakhtar, and she had no wish to step forward only to embarrass herself before them all.
Acknowledging her words, the Practitioners turned to Adyr as expectation faded into doubt.
Since even Thalira, from one of the top races, had accepted defeat and admitted she had nothing to present, no one expected anything from Adyr, a Velari. In their eyes, the Velari were a young and weak race, so expectations fell away at once.
Even so, his strength and the strange feats he had already shown held their attention, as if one more surprise might still be waiting in his hands.
As if in answer to their expectations, Adyr laughed. "Well, if that is what it wants, let me try next."
He started to unfold his wings to climb into the air toward the Scales, as curious about the outcome as the watchers were.
As Adyr started to unfold his wings, every gaze fixed on the shapes stretching from his bare back.
The process was as it had been before his third evolution: with a wet sound, two seams opened and milk-white bones pushed outward to either side. Yet this time, unlike the Dawn Raven’s wings, there was a difference.
The bones did not look entirely like bone; their texture resembled hardened liquid, like real milk cast into a skeletal form.
As the frame took shape—each side about 2 meters long—white vapor began to condense around it, turning to soft cloud.
Slowly, the cloud gathered into wings that looked feathery yet remained distinctly cloudlike.
"Hm. Their appearance changed a little." Adyr studied the new form closely.
He gave a few testing flaps; as the wings moved up and down, a mist-like cold breath drifted outward. Despite their airy look, they felt solid, even more solid than his previous pair, yet so light that it was as if they were truly made of cloud.
He then tried to lift off. After a small flap, his feet left the ground, and rather than flying, he seemed to glide, his whole body carried upward with no strain and almost no extra motion.
Even this small test told him how much his maneuverability had improved, and the weightless feel of his body added a clean edge of speed.
The only problem was their whiteness. In the light, the wings gleamed, drawing eyes and risking exposure when he needed to stay unseen; even so, he set the worry aside and kept moving, rising to the giant statue’s hand to take his place above the empty pan of the scales.
"Let me see how much it will move."