Chapter 778: A familiar face
Book 9 – War Across the Stars
The Graecia Empire was truly massive—so vast, in fact, that no one noticed the moment a spatial fluctuation rippled through one of its mountain ranges.
A low tremor followed, shaking the land, and then, in the blink of an eye, five figures materialized on the rocky slope. They were a young man, a young woman, a small yellow cat, a white werewolf, and a dragon of shimmering light and flame.
"Hahahahaha, we’re back!" Vlad shouted, stretching his arms wide as the familiar aura of Graecia washed over him. He couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth in his chest. Slowly but surely, this empire had become his home—a place where he felt safe, respected, and rooted.
It wasn’t just the physical safety that drew him in. Vlad had built meaningful bonds here. He had fought side by side with some of the empire’s most skilled warriors, shared drinks with members of the noble houses, and even laughed alongside the imperial family. But more importantly, he had come to deeply respect the Emperor himself.
The man was not only honorable but also unwavering in his loyalty to those who served him. Vlad still found it hard to believe that Alexandro had declared—without hesitation—that he would personally execute any Lord who dared to kill Vlad.
That level of fierce commitment to his loyalists had left a lasting impression on him.
Of course, the Emperor had clarified that such protection didn’t extend to the Legends, making it so that Vlad had to take care of them on his own. But Vlad didn’t mind that. A ruler had the right to expect his strongest to fight with caution and not recklessly throw away their lives.
If Vlad had marched into Valhalla without the power to fend off Legends, then he could only blame himself for dying.
"Is everyone ready to move?" Vlad asked, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the group. The Depravitas all nodded in unison.
The great saga had ended, and though Vlad was eager to return to Terra, there was one final matter he needed to address before departing. He wanted to see the Emperor once more, to speak with him directly about certain urgent issues that couldn’t be left unsaid.
With everyone prepared, the group ascended into the sky, soaring across the open expanse toward the capital city—Constantinopla.
As they flew, Vlad turned toward Freya and noted her pensive expression. Her brow was furrowed slightly, eyes lost in thought.
"Is everything alright?" he asked gently. He knew how difficult it must have been for her to leave the place she had once called home. While she had made her decision with conviction, the weight of change wasn’t something one could shrug off easily.
Freya looked at him, offering a small, reassuring smile, then shook her head slowly.
"I’m fine. My heart was resolute when I made my decision, and I don’t regret the outcome," she said. But then she paused and moved closer, lowering her voice to a whisper meant for Vlad’s ears alone. "Still... the changes to my body and soul are extreme. I feel like an entirely different person now. And..."
A complicated expression crossed her face.
"I feel a powerful urge... whenever I think of you. Or look at you."
Vlad’s eyes narrowed slightly, then widened as he broke into a grin and puffed out his chest with mock bravado.
Freya had yet to become a True Depravita, and the nature of her Core Sin—Lust—still influenced her deeply. Vlad understood this better than anyone.
He, Jormungandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir each had their own Core Sins, and although they had tamed their impulses through constant war and discipline, the influence was always present. It became manageable only through experience and controlled outlets.
But Freya’s case was different. Her sin wasn’t one that could be easily expressed through combat. She wasn’t some reckless nymphomaniac, far from it. In truth, if any man dared approach her with lecherous intent, she would most likely break his bones without a second thought. But her deep, genuine love for Vlad—now fused with the essence of her sin—amplified her desires into something primal and overwhelming.
"We’ll find a solution when we’re back home," Vlad said with a confident grin. "You’re my queen. There’s no need to suppress what you feel."
Freya narrowed her eyes at him, unimpressed by his easygoing attitude. Then, catching sight of the smug gleam in his gaze, she turned her head away with a small, irritated snort.
"Hahahaha!" Vlad laughed, unable to hide his amusement at her reaction. He could feel her emotions, sense her struggle. But he also knew she wasn’t truly angry—just flustered. Freya was a warrior, after all, and warriors didn’t easily display such vulnerable emotions.
Jormungandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir watched the exchange with faint smiles on their faces. Every moment in Valhalla had been like dancing on the edge of a blade—where one wrong move could spell death. This easy, teasing interaction between Vlad and Freya was a welcome change. A reminder of what they were fighting to preserve.
It wasn’t long before the vast, magnificent capital of the Graecia Empire came into view. Constantinopla sprawled across the landscape like a living jewel, its golden domes and marble towers shining beneath the sun. Just like during their visit with the Kylon King, Vlad guided the group through the outer circles of the city and into the prestigious Inner Circle.
But as they neared the entrance to the Inner Circle, they came to an unexpected halt.
"Janus?" Vlad said, surprised.
The Imperial Prince stood tall, his armor polished and pristine. His expression was one of warmth and familiarity, a wide smile spreading across his face as he stepped forward and grasped Vlad’s hand.
"Brother Vlad," Janus said with genuine joy. "It’s been far too long."
Vlad clasped it firmly, a wide smile of his own spreading across his face.
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They were great friends and the True Depravita of Wrath was happy to see a familiar face from the time of the Land of the Three Calamities.