CHAPTER 82: RESOLVES.

The Divine Castle pulsed faintly—its walls responding to the footfalls of twenty-nine souls, each one carrying a burden newly pressed into their hearts.

Auralyne walked ahead, silent as the void. Her expression unreadable, silver-white lashes flickering beneath the artificial morning light. She was thinking, not brooding—calculating every angle, every consequence, every detail of Alaric’s command. Cold logic meeting warm dread.

Behind her, the others followed in strange silence—not from obedience, but from shock. The air was no colder, but their skin prickled with the subtle weight of divine pressure. As if the Castle itself were listening. Watching.

It wasn’t fear that bound them quiet.

It was reality.

Aurevia broke the silence first, her voice cutting through the corridor like a frost-edged blade.

"He’s serious."

Her tone held no panic—only clarity. The crimson in her eyes shimmered beneath the ambient glow of runes.

"He means for us to break past every wall. He’s not going to lift a finger. Not even to shield us."

"He won’t be helping us either,"

Cellione muttered, arms crossed beneath her night robe, lips tightened into a frown.

"Not even a push. Just expectations, high enough to kill someone."

"But that’s impossible,"

Serineth whispered, voice faint as candlelight, still clutching her pillow like armor.

"Even if they push ourselves to the edge... [Grade-5]by year’s end? We’d need perfect conditions. Perfect talent. Perfect will."

"No,"

Virellen scoffed, walking barefoot and unbothered, her robe swinging loosely.

"That’s not impossible. That’s Alaric. Our Divine Pervert just woke up today and decided to become a divine tyrant. But before worrying about them we should worry about us."

Her words were mocking, exaggerated, dramatic—but the slight tremor in her fingers betrayed the storm under her smirk. But ever one chose to ignore her.

"He’s pushing us to break,"

Auralyne finally spoke, her voice low, thoughtful.

She didn’t look back as she continued walking.

"He wants to see who snaps... and who sharpens. Or at least... that’s what I can interpret from his behavior. He cares too much to harm us without purpose."

"Thanks for stating the obvious, miss genius,"

Virellen said sweetly, smile too wide to be sincere.

A vein twitched on Auralyne’s temple. But she held her tongue. Barely.

They reached the newly-formed quarters—the twenty-nine once-separate rooms now joined through gilded arches and flowing mana lines, coalescing into a grand network of chambers that led into a central hall, tall and opulent like a celestial cathedral.

It shimmered. A divine equilibrium. Balanced. Silent.

And mocking.

It was too beautiful—too serene—for the crucible it had become.

Each room now held more than a bed and shelf. The interiors had reshaped. Tables softly glowed with faint inscriptions. Items wrapped in silk marked with runes rested neatly—training logs, manuals, spell scrolls, staves, blades, enchanted gemstones, formation diagrams, bloodline techniques, aura resonance matrices.

A treasure trove.

An arsenal.

"He planned this in advance..."

Cellione murmured, halting near her room’s threshold, eyes narrowing.

Which, of course, he absolutely hadn’t.

If she knew her so-called divine Master had been idly playing around when he stumbled upon this feature last night, she’d likely choke him in his sleep. Not out of hatred—just from sheer indignation.

"Of course he did,"

Aurevia replied automatically, full of trust.

"He always does."

Blind devotion and trust. Alaric would never admit it aloud, but he relied on it. Cherished it. Encouraged it.

Because the more devoted they were... the easier it would be to sedu—*cough~*, shape them.

They entered the grand hall—arched ceilings overhead, a sky dome casting soft golden dawn through its illusion, projected perfectly to mimic the outside world.

Aurevia turned, facing the four who stood beside her—originals, veterans of Alaric’s divine absurdity.

"If we break through first,"

she said,

"if we rise fast enough... the others will follow."

"Or collapse trying,"

Virellen interjected with a flick of her wrist.

"And we’ll be punished right alongside them. How very... fair."

Silence swept through them like a windless winter.

And then, from behind her pillow, Serineth’s voice rose—barely a whisper, yet louder than thunder in that moment.

"Do you think he wants us to fail?"

Aurevia’s expression faltered. She looked down.

"No,"

she said at last.

"But if we do, he won’t care about excuses. He never has. That’s how he sees growth. That’s how he sees us."

"Tools,"

Auralyne added, her tone as cold as a crystal blade.

"Instruments for a greater vision."

"No,"

Cellione said sharply. Her voice held heat this time—undeniable and raw.

"Not tools. We’re his. His vessels. He’s not using us—he’s forging us. Into something else."

Her hands trembled, but her eyes didn’t blink.

"And he’s not going to let us stay weak. Not even for a second."

The silence afterward wasn’t heavy anymore.

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

It was electric.

Aurevia stepped forward, fists clenched at her sides.

"Then we begin."

She turned, scanning the other three—Cellione, Serineth, Virellen—then Auralyne. Then her gaze swept the corridor behind them, where the twenty-four newcomers stood gathered, some still in half-buttoned robes, some clutching scrolls, others whispering in disbelief.

Eyes wide. Hands unsteady. Souls unprepared.

"We lead,"

Aurevia declared.

"They follow."

"And if anyone falls behind?"

Cellione asked, arms folded.

"We carry them if we can,"

Aurevia said, voice sharpening,

"drag them if we must. But if they choose weakness..."

"Then they deserve the punishment,"

Auralyne finished, calm and decisive.

"Uia, Uia~ Mistress Aurevia,"

Virellen chimed with a smug grin, hand over her mouth,

"Since when did you get a thing for crafting pillars? How are you going to ’carry’ someone when you don’t even know what the hell they’re doing?"

Aurevia’s cheeks flushed.

"That was a figure of speech! It means we’ll... we’ll make them feel our presence. That we’re with them."

"Mhm. A total scam call, then,"

Cellione said dryly, jumping at the rare chance to tease the ever-composed swordswoman.

"I—!"

Aurevia opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned on her heel with imperial grace and walked to a quiet corner of the hall.

"Enough. All of you. Focus on your tasks, lest you fail."

And with that, she sat cross-legged, closed her eyes, and began cultivating.

The others followed suit, more serious now. The tension returned—but this time, it had purpose.

Unforgiving. Real.

The path ahead would burn.

But no one turned away.

***

Somewhere far beyond, behind curtains of divinity and unreachable light, Alaric stood in silent vigil.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

But he saw.

A thousand golden threads shimmered in his divine sight, webbed across his soulspace—each strand bound to a heartbeat, to a thought, to a future still unwritten.

And with a single thought, projections flickered open before his mind like windows of light.

He didn’t need effort. His soul trait did the heavy lifting. He could be watching and speaking at once—and not a soul would notice.

"They’re shaking,"

He murmured to no one.

"Good."

He set down his cooled tea and turned toward the massive crystalline window of his study. The view was endless—an illusory sky forged by divine illusion, pulsing in rhythm with the realm’s inner balance.

"But since my vessels are working so hard..."

A smile crept onto his lips, slow and quiet.

"...I should too."

There was no cruelty in that smile.

Only pride.

And an unrelenting will.

The trials had begun.

And the Divine Castle—like its master—showed no mercy.

-To Be Continued