23. Ascension

"I am willing to pay… I accept," Seiito declared, his voice unwavering and resolute. There was no hesitation, no second thoughts—only the burning desire to become stronger, to crush the idea that he was weak and insignificant. This was his path, and he would take it without fear.

Irene's calm demeanor faltered for the briefest of moments, her sapphire-blue eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise. He agreed so quickly… she thought. But there was no doubt—she had known deep down that Seiito would accept, that this boy was destined to walk the path of Lord.

"Cometh closer," she whispered, her voice soft yet filled with gravity. "Hold my hand. Let me feel who thou art."

Seiito stepped forward, placing his hand atop hers. Her skin was cold as marble, yet something ancient pulsed beneath it—a power older than time itself.

Irene's gaze softened, and a strange warmth touched her lips as she spoke:
"Igarashi Seiito, Lord of Healing...I give thee the title of Lord. May thy path be steady, filled with abundance and joy."

The moment the words left her lips, a searing pain shot through Seiito's entire body. His muscles tensed, his bones cracked under the weight of an overwhelming transformation. It felt as though his very soul was being unmade and reforged in molten fire.

"Ghhhhhrr—aaagh!" He gritted his teeth, every nerve ablaze. His hands shook as he reflexively cast Heal on himself, golden light wrapping around him—but it was useless. The magic eased nothing. This pain was not of flesh or bone; it came from something deeper, as if his essence was being ripped apart and rebuilt.

The lost eye and his sliced-off hand returned; they knitted back.

His knees buckled, but he forced himself to stand, refusing to crumble beneath the agony. Every second stretched into eternity. Endure it. This is the price of power. If I fall now...it means everything was for nothing.

Suddenly, a faint glow caught his eyes. His Status Plate—tucked away in his pouch—shimmered with radiant light, as if awakening to something new. With trembling hands, Seiito pulled it out. The engraved text on the plate flickered, shifting as if alive.

Name: Igarashi Seiito
Class: Healer
Level: 18 (+200)
Title: Lord of Healing (Ur++)
Vitality: 300 (+200)
Strength: 305 (+200)
Endurance: 295 (+200)
Magic: 585 (+200)
Agility: 290 (+200)
Status Rank: B+
Skills: Heal (D), Heal Touch (C), Blood Stop (F), Grow Limb (N)

His vision blurred from the strain, but he couldn't help but smirk despite the excruciating pain. "So this...," he murmured through clenched teeth, "This is what it feels like to be reborn."

The agonizing fire slowly began to subside, leaving behind only the heavy thrum of newfound power coursing through his veins. He felt different—stronger, sharper, as if the world had shifted into clearer focus. Even his heartbeat, steady and rhythmic, echoed with a new purpose.

Irene watched him closely, her expression unreadable but tinged with something like pride. "Thou art now a Lord," she said softly, "and the journey ahead shall demand moe than strength alone. That thee but hast taken the first step, and I commend thee for that."

Seiito took a deep breath, steadying himself. His body still ached, but it was the kind of ache that comes after growth—a reminder of the price he had paid. He tightened his grip on the Status Plate, feeling the weight of his new title.

He looked at Irene, his eyes burning with renewed determination. "What comes next?"

Irene's gaze turned solemn, her voice low. "Now, thou must face every Lord."

Seiito's eyes narrowed. "How many?"

"Seven, including thee."

He digested the number silently, each name he would learn becoming a step toward inevitable conflict. But he felt no fear—only a quiet certainty.

Irene's lips curved into a soft, bittersweet smile, like a flower blooming in winter. "The first one... is me. Irene, Lord of Demons."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Seiito's gaze sharpened. "Do I have to kill you?"

Irene's smile flickered—whether in amusement or sadness, Seiito couldn't tell. "Yes," she whispered, "but the path to power isn't just a battle of strength... It's a battle of who thou become."

Seiito's brow furrowed slightly. "How did you become a Lord of Demons?"

Her smile faltered, and her expression grew distant, heavy with a sadness so profound that Seiito could feel it radiating from her like an aura.

"I was afflicted by the Curse of Words," Irene whispered, turning to the window, her gaze lost in the endless cavern beyond, as if searching for the memories she tried to bury long ago.

Seiito's brow furrowed. "The Curse of Words? What kind of magic is that?"

"It's old magic." Irene's voice dropped, barely a whisper. "One that twists lies into truth."

Seiito tilted his head, waiting for more.

A shadow passed over Irene's face, her sapphire eyes clouding with memories long buried. "Mine brother... Zudeus. He cursed me. He told me—" She paused, her lips trembling for a moment. "He told me I was the Lord of Demons...and the curse made it so."

Seiito's jaw tightened as he let her words settle. "So that's how the Lords were born?"

Irene gave a slow nod, as if each movement carried the weight of centuries. "Yes. I was the first."

Seiito's mind raced. The sheer weight of her words pressed down on him. Irene had lived through countless eras, an ancient being trapped in the twisted fate of a curse.

"Who is your brother?" Seiito asked, feeling the tension in her words.

Her expression darkened, her eyes flashing with old wounds. "Zudeus, the Lord of War."

Seiito let the name sink in, his mind turning it over. "Lord of War..." A Lord whose domain was warfare, a master of battle and bloodshed—an adversary unlike any other.

Then Irene's voice lowered, and her next words struck Seiito like a blow. "He goes by another name now…Valorian, the King of Santizimo."

"What?!" Seiito's fists clenched, his teeth grinding audibly. "That damn king...He sent me to the tower to die... and he's your brother?"

His pulse quickened as rage surged through him. His friends... his comrades—they were still inside the World Tower, trapped, possibly in danger. For a moment, the thought of them gnawed at him.

But then a chill spread across his heart, extinguishing the fleeting concern like a flame snuffed out by wind. His expression darkened, and his gaze hardened into steel.

Seiito's thoughts drifted to his comrades—faces blurred by time but etched with memories of laughter and promises. A flicker of warmth sparked in his chest, only to be crushed by the weight of their absence. Where were they when I needed them most?

His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. Gone. All of them. Abandonment stung sharper than any blade, and betrayal gnawed at his heart like a festering wound. For a moment, regret threatened to crawl in—but no. He forced it out, snuffing out the flame like a candle pinched between his fingers.

"Friends..." he whispered, voice cold as winter frost. "They're nothing to me now."

The words left a bitter aftertaste, but he swallowed it down. There was no going back. Attachment was a burden—one he refused to carry again. If they were still trapped inside the tower, so be it. Whatever fate awaited them was no longer his concern.

And if Zudeus—Valorian—was waiting at the end of it, Seiito would meet him head-on as a Lord, not a pawn.

"Tell me more about the other Lords." Seiito's tone was cold and unyielding, his sharp gaze fixed on Irene.

Irene exhaled softly, her eyes gleaming with a strange mix of respect and caution. "Lout, the Lord of Combat. He is the strongest among us." She paused, studying Seiito carefully. A small smile tugged at her lips. "But with time, thou shalt surpass him, O new Lord."

Seiito's expression remained indifferent, unfazed by the compliment. To him, it wasn't praise—it was a simple fact. Not 'if'—when. He would surpass them all.

"Next...Ame-no-Uzume, the Lord of Lust."

"Lust?" Seiito's brow arched slightly. The word piqued his interest for a brief moment, only to leave a bitter aftertaste as understanding settled in. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, disliking what it implied.

Irene coughed awkwardly, her expression becoming almost comical—a rare crack in her otherwise graceful demeanor. A faint blush dusted her pale cheeks as if she harbored memories of encounters with Uzume that were better left unspoken.

Seiito's curiosity flickered, noticing her sudden embarrassment, but he dismissed it just as quickly. There were some things better left unexplored.

Regaining her composure with a delicate cough, Irene continued, "Then there is Cordelius, the Lord of Justice. He is a man bound by fairness in all things, kind and righteous...I wish thou didn't hast to face him, but the nature of thy paths leaves no choice."

"Justice, huh?" Seiito mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Does that mean he can judge others? Decide who's guilty or innocent with a mere word?"

Irene nodded slowly. "Yes... something along those lines. If he deems thee innocent, you'll be spared. But he won't. Cordelius is no ally of yours. Thou must kill him."

Seiito's gaze hardened. "I understand. When the time comes, I'll face him without hesitation."

A flicker of sorrow passed over Irene's features before she steeled herself and moved on. "Momo Tenashi, the Lord of Hospitality."

Seiito's eyes narrowed. "Hospitality? What kind of title is that?" He scoffed, annoyed. "What, is she going to offer me a meal and then kill me with kindness?"

Irene chuckled softly, the sound both sad and nostalgic. "There are Lords who embody virtues and those who embody vices. Some are kind, and others are cruel. Balance exists between them, just as it does in thee. That is what makes you unique."

Seiito gave a cynical snort. "I'm both good and bad? That's because of my abilities, right? Healing magic and Harm magic?"

Irene smiled warmly, shaking her head. "It's not just thy powers, Seiito. It's whom thou art. You carry light and darkness in equal measure, and that balance is what causes thee a perfect Lord."

Her words lingered in the air, weaving meaning into the silence between them.

Seiito scoffed again, brushing her sentiment aside for now, though a strange thought lingered at the back of his mind.

Both good and bad, huh? He clenched his fists. If that was his nature, so be it. He'd wield both light and darkness, healing and harm—whatever it took to survive.

But one thing was certain: the Lords stood in his way, and if they couldn't be allies, they'd be enemies. And enemies were meant to fall.

His philosophy was simple—Kill anyone who stands in his way. No hesitation. No second chances.

Irene's voice remained soft, though it carried the weight of inevitability. "The final one is Tenno, the Lord of Plague."

A grin curled across Seiito's lips, dark and eager. "Lord of Plague..." He could feel the thrill creeping into his chest—a perfect adversary. Healing and plague, two forces destined to clash. A battle already written in the stars.

"I take it he uses poison magic?" Seiito's eyes glinted with dangerous excitement.

"Yes, but far more potent than any typical poison. Tenno's magic can rot flesh and spread disease like wildfire. And..." Irene hesitated, a flicker of disgust flashing through her expression. "Rumor has it that Zudeus—" she paused, correcting herself, "Valorian—stole a piece of Tennos's powers and is creating a virus that only he can cure."

Seiito's grin faded into a frown, a shadow passing over his face. "So that bastard is weaponizing sickness now?"

"Thou seemeth surprised," Irene said with a knowing smile. "Do not underestimate Valorian. He's more dangerous than most Lords, not just because of his strength, but because of his cunning. He will stop at nothing to keep his hold over Santizimo."

Seiito narrowed his eyes. "How do you know all this?"

Irene's gaze deepened, her iridescent eyes shimmering with ancient magic. "I see everything, Seiito." Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried a haunting resonance. "Through my eyes, I witness the world's truths—secrets hidden from even the gods."

In that moment, Seiito realized how she had been watching him all along, even within the depths of the World Tower. Nothing escaped her gaze.

"I see..." Seiito muttered, letting the weight of her revelation sink in. "And I am the new one... Lord of Healing."

Irene's lips curled into a gentle, bittersweet smile. "Indeed, thou art. The newest Lord, O Lord of Healing—the one who holds the delicate threads of life and death. Thou decideth who lives and dies. Thou art the one destined to overcome death itself."

Seiito scoffed, brushing off the grandiose declaration. "Yeah, yeah... thanks for the speech." His tone was dismissive, but his mind was already whirring with thoughts, plans, and possibilities.

Irene pouts angrily at him, "Hmph!"

Seiito sighs as he looks away.

He knew the path ahead was steep, and the Lords he had to face would be relentless. But that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that he had power—and he intended to use it. Plague, Combat, Justice, Hospitality, Lust, or War... It didn't matter who stood in his way.

If they opposed him, they would fall.