CHAPTER 729: RETURNING HOME (I)

When Vlad had first entered the chamber, the mood had been jovial and full of excitement—a moment of triumph following the end of a long and brutal war. But now, that feeling had vanished. A heavy silence loomed, and the atmosphere had turned grim.

Marshal Maximo, once a towering presence of martial pride and confidence, now felt the weight of a terrible shadow cast over the Graecian Empire.

If Vlad’s theories turn out to be true—if the Zanis Association had indeed betrayed the Empire from within—then they were not merely dealing with foreign threats but standing on the brink of internal collapse.

Mishandling the matter could lead not just to scandal, but to absolute damnation.

When it came to enemy races like the Vorometallicae, things were simple. You could point your blade at them, march to the battlefield, and destroy them without remorse. But when the threat came from within—especially from an institution so deeply rooted in the Empire’s foundations—it became something entirely different.

Even if they possessed definitive evidence of betrayal, exposing it publicly could plunge the Graecian Empire into chaos, civil unrest, or even civil war. It had to be handled with discretion and surgical precision.

"Ahhh, if only the old man were here..." Marshal Maximo muttered under his breath, referring to Elder Damian.

The old man had always been a man of reason and insight, someone capable of navigating intricate webs of intrigue. Maximo, by contrast, was a warrior—a battle-hardened general far more comfortable wielding a sword than playing political chess.

Still, Maximo did not allow the crushing weight of the situation to overwhelm him. His eyes sharpened with resolve, and an aura of leadership, firm and composed, radiated from him. He straightened his posture and faced the others with clarity.

"I’ll take responsibility for this investigation," he declared. Then, turning to Spartacus and General Tiberius, he continued, "You two—keep your eyes open. Don’t directly intervene, but monitor the movements of the Zanis Association closely. If anything unusual surfaces, report it immediately."

The two Legends solemnly nodded, fully aware of the risks and the delicate nature of their new assignment. A single misstep could unleash consequences they weren’t ready to face.

With that settled, Maximo turned to face Vlad and Jormugnadr.

"Remember," he said gravely, "this information must remain with you. Do not interfere with the Zanis Association directly. We cannot afford to provoke them—not until we have the full picture. There’s no need to give them another reason to target you."

He paused, and his tone deepened with greater weight. "Also, remember—just because you’re returning to your world doesn’t mean you’re safe. The power of a Lord can bend the rules of reality itself. Legends may not be able to reach you, but a Lord... a Lord can find you anywhere."

The True Depraivta of Wrath and the True Depraivta of Gluttony offered solemn nods. They understood perfectly. Though they had clashed with High Legends in battle, they were still far from the pinnacle of the Legendary Realms.

They had yet to witness the terrifying might of a Lord firsthand—and they did not wish to, at least not unprepared.

Maximo was satisfied by their reaction. He could see that they fully grasped the gravity of the situation. After a brief silence, he added one final matter of importance.

"Since you’ll be returning to your home worlds soon," he said, "I’ll need the Divine Treasures back."

Vlad gave a reluctant smile. He had known this moment would come. The crown, the necklace, and the gems he had been given were treasures of immense power, granted to him only for the duration of the war. He had grown attached to them. Still, he knew he couldn’t keep them.

With a small sigh, he reached into his dimensional storage and retrieved the three Divine Treasures, sending them toward Marshal Maximo. "I understand."

Maximo accepted them with a slight nod. He could see the young man’s reluctance. Yet, even as a Marshal, he had no authority to let anyone keep what belonged solely to the Empyreal Family.

"What about the Automatons?" Vlad asked.

"They’re yours," Maximo replied. "You earned them, and we’ve already extracted all the evidence we needed. Just make sure to alter their appearance. If the Zanis Association spots them, it could bring trouble to you two."

It would be a lie to say that Maximo didn’t wish to keep the Automatons for the Empire, but he knew the value of maintaining trust—and friendship—with someone as promising as Vlad. The war may have ended, but new challenges were on the horizon, and they would need strong allies.

Seeing that everything had been addressed, Maximo gave the signal for the two Depraivtas to take their leave.

"You can return to your residence now. Be sure to monitor the military interface. Your achievements in this war will be fully documented and credited. Use those credits before returning to your world. They may serve you well."

Vlad and Jormugnadr both bowed, sensing that there was more the three leaders wished to discuss—topics they were not meant to hear. But they were wise enough not to ask questions. Without another word, they exited the tower.

It didn’t take them long to return to the building they had been using for rest and recovery. As they stepped inside, a meaningful glint sparked in their eyes, and they began communicating silently through their A.I. chips.

"What should we do now, Boss?" Jormugnadr asked.

The war was over, yes—but that didn’t mean their mission was. They would soon return to Terra, but time still remained. And even now, the Land of the Three Calamities remained infested with Vorometallicae strongholds.

With their current power, the two Depraivtas could easily move through enemy territory—hunting for treasures and exterminating lingering Vorometallicae nests.

However, Vlad immediately rejected that idea.

"The period after a war ends is always full of opportunities—but also chaos," he said firmly. "We’ve done well hiding our knowledge about the Zanis Association, but they might still suspect us. And even if they don’t, the Zanis Family already despises us. Now that they’ve seen our talent and power firsthand, they will definitely want to eliminate us before we grow too strong."

Jormungandr absorbed those words in silence, then gave a soft nod, agreeing with Vlad’s assessment. His blue eyes, usually playful, were filled with a rare seriousness.

"We’ve fought enough for now," the small feline said calmly. "We’ve pushed ourselves over and over throughout this war—stimulating our potential to the limit. Now is the time to rest, to let our foundations solidify. Even we need peace to allow true growth to take root."

Vlad nodded, and with that mutual understanding, the two made their decision. The war may have been over, but the next phase of their journey would be one of quiet preparation, not open conflict.

Before setting anything into motion, they sent a secure message through their A.I. chips to Ouroboros and Fafnir, warning them not to leave the stronghold under any circumstances. The world might seem calm, but unseen dangers were still lurking—and any mistake could cost them everything.

Once that was handled, the duo turned their attention to a different matter: spending their accumulated war credits.

The sheer amount of resources they had amassed during the conflict was staggering. Their participation in the final assault on the Voidheart Fortress, especially their role in breaching the core, had earned them a massive bonus.

Vlad’s and Jormungandr’s exploits had been recorded, and their success had been broadcast across multiple sectors of the Land of the Three Calamities.

Not wasting a single moment, the two began exchanging their credits for rare treasures, cultivation-enhancing artifacts, and powerful tools that could assist them in their future growth. There was no sense in hoarding resources—not when they didn’t know if, or when, they’d return to the Empire’s domains. Every credit was spent with careful calculation.

Within a single day, Vlad had exhausted the last of his war earnings. The next week, he took time to wander the fortress—a luxury he hadn’t allowed himself in ages.

Given his new rank and reputation, he had access to nearly every area of the stronghold, and the soldiers gave him respectful nods as he passed by.

Eventually, his steps led him to a grand hall located on the upper terraces of the fortress—a towering structure built from obsidian and etched with runes. As he entered, he was greeted by a scene of unfiltered celebration.

Inside, dozens of massive warriors—clearly from one of the Viking Clans allied with the Empire—were gathered around great stone tables. Their booming laughter echoed across the hall, tankards of ale spilled freely, and roasted beasts were being served in heaps. The smell of mead and roasted meat filled the air.

These were no ordinary soldiers. They were battle-hardened raiders, their muscles thick with the memory of war, their faces covered in the scars of countless skirmishes. Many of them had fought in the final assault, and upon seeing him enter, a great roar erupted.

"The Hero of Wrath!" one of them bellowed. "Come, drink with us!"

A massive, bearded man with silver braids raised his tankard in greeting. Others joined in, cheering his name.