Gathering Wives with a System Chapter 478 Averon's New Lord Talent, Meeting Of Lords

A long exhale escaped Averon's lips. He hadn't realized how tense he had been until that moment. His shoulders slumped, and the tightness in his chest gradually eased.

The decision had been made. There was no use in dwelling on alternative paths not taken. The opportunity had passed, and all that remained was to see the outcome.

"Did you acquire a Title, Lord Isaac?" Simraj inquired.

Isaac immediately took note of the shift in address. Just moments before, it had been Sir Isaac; now, it was Lord Isaac – a welcome progression.

"I did. It's called Prime Lord. What functionality does it possess?" Isaac asked, though he already knew the answer, as Catherine had covered it during their studies.

"It enhances your Talent's effectiveness by twenty percent, and the Talents of Sub-Lords under your command by ten percent," Simraj stated without hesitation.

Isaac nodded. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Still, hearing it confirmed made the reality sink in more profoundly.

He then shifted his focus to Averon. "Averon, do you possess a Lord Talent?"

"...Yes," Averon replied after a short pause. He wasn't accustomed to divulging his secrets so readily. However, with Isaac now his Lord, it was a necessity.

"What is it?" Isaac inquired.

"[Favour of War]. In engagements where over fifty of my soldiers are involved, they gain what I'd describe as a fortuitous advantage. Enemy aiming becomes less accurate, they falter occasionally, their equipment malfunctions, and cannons experience jams. These are minor factors, yet they accumulate. Conversely, my soldiers find it easier to land strikes, maintain their formations, and react promptly," Averon elaborated.

"What is its rank?" Isaac queried.

"Transcendent," Averon responded with a hint of smugness, finally regaining some of his lost dignity.

Isaac's brow lifted slightly, showing no genuine surprise. Averon had been under the observation of Mother's Organization, a measure typically reserved for individuals of exceptional talent.

"How many individuals are aware of this Talent?" Isaac inquired.

"Approximately nine. They are my closest confidants, those I place my trust in," Averon stated.

"And everyone else?" Isaac pressed.

"They are under the impression that I do not possess a Lord Talent," Averon replied.

This response caused Isaac's gaze to sharpen subtly. Averon continued, as if anticipating the question. "My Talent pertains to probability and luck. Such abilities can be circumvented if one knows what to look for. There exist skills, artifacts, and even formations capable of suppressing or distorting probability-based effects. Therefore, I kept it concealed, projecting an image of having no talent at all."

Isaac remained silent for a moment, his thoughts diverging. If Averon had managed to hide his Talent so effectively, how had Mother's Organization identified his potential? This wasn't something that could be easily deduced without a specific method. Either someone close to Averon had leaked information, or the organization possessed a means of detecting future potential. Neither possibility was particularly comforting.

For the present, Isaac set that line of inquiry aside. This was not the opportune moment to delve into it.

"From this day forward, you possess a Lord Talent," Isaac declared.

"What?" Averon questioned, his brow furrowed.

"I shall visit your city tomorrow," Isaac stated, then briefly paused before amending his statement. "Actually, I will dispatch my clone immediately. He will bring you troops. A significant number of them."

"You will... send me troops?" Averon asked, blinking in confusion.

"Yes. You will claim that you created them utilizing your Lord Talent."

"...Created?" Averon repeated. "Not summoned?"

Isaac gently shook his head. "They already exist. They originate from Emily's city. I intend to create clones of them."

This explanation only deepened the confusion. Averon stared at Isaac, attempting to comprehend the implications of his words. While he grasped the literal meaning, the sheer improbability of the statement made it difficult to fully process.

"What do you mean they already exist, and you will clone them?" he asked.

"Precisely what I said. Do not concern yourself with their sustenance; I will manage the provisions. Should their numbers exceed your city's capacity to support them, I will retrieve them. However, to all external observers, you will be credited with their creation," Isaac explained.

Averon opened his mouth, then closed it again, his mind struggling to keep pace with the revelation.

"I can clone troops," Isaac stated. He made no grand pronouncement, merely presented it as a fact. Then, with a decisive action, he summoned a unit stored within his consciousness. A subtle ripple of mana spread, and a figure materialized before them.

It was a tall, humanoid lion, adorned with black and gold fur, clad in fitted armor, and wielding a formidable warhammer in one hand. The summoned entity, Hammer Goliath, immediately offered a bow. "Greetings, Lord Isaac."

Isaac offered a slight nod before turning his gaze back to Averon.

"Do you recall this one from the livestream, perhaps? It was among the Champion-ranked troops that—"

He trailed off, his words caught in his throat.

Averon was fixated, his gaze unmoving.

His mouth hung slightly agape, eyes glued to the summon before him. There was absolutely no doubt about it; he recognized this entity.

Simraj found his voice as Averon remained lost in astonishment. "My apologies for the interruption, Lord Isaac. But... is this some sort of jest? This troop... was it procured from Lady Emily's domain? Because the idea of cloning it seems rather..."

On the edge of impossibility.

Though his tone was measured, his hands betrayed him with a subtle tremor he couldn't quite suppress.

"I haven't the time for jests. My intentions are entirely serious. While certain limitations exist, I possess the current capability to replicate troops from Emily's city and utilize them as my own," Isaac stated plainly.

He allowed his words to settle for a moment before continuing.

"Upon our arrival in Averon's city, I shall summon the duplicates. You will then claim they originated from your Lord Talent. Should inquiries arise regarding your sudden acquisition of such a powerful asset, simply state that I bestowed upon you a Lord Talent ticket. It purportedly forced the unlocking of your latent abilities, resulting in this outcome."

Averon gave a slow, deliberate nod.

His eyes remained transfixed on the Hammer Goliath, struggling to accept the reality before him.

After a period, his attention slowly returned to Isaac.

A peculiar expression now clouded his features: confusion, shock, and a profound sense of disbelief.

What was going on with this peculiar individual?

That was the sole question echoing in his mind.

How could he possibly possess such a diverse array of remarkable abilities?

It defied all logic.

Then, a sudden realization dawned upon him.

Averon's eyes widened considerably.

"Hold on," he declared abruptly. "If you possess the means to duplicate troops... does that imply you command two Crimson Sky Wyrms? And identical copies of all of Emily's summoned entities?"

Isaac offered no verbal response.

A simple, knowing smile was his reply.

That was all the confirmation needed.

"This is outright cheating!" Averon exclaimed without hesitation. "What in the blazes is this? Why are you granted such an abundance of game-breaking abilities? Where is the semblance of fairness in this entire system?"

Isaac let out a soft chuckle.

"Fairness was never a factor from the outset," he remarked, rising to his feet.

Averon grumbled a barely audible curse, clearly dissatisfied with the response, yet he refrained from further argument.

"Let us proceed. We have an impending meeting with the other Lords," Isaac added.

After a few more moments of muffled complaint, Averon propelled himself upright.

Just as they were poised to depart, Simraj interjected once more.

"Lord Isaac, now that Lord Averon falls under your purview, I shall take my leave. My presence is required back in the city to disseminate information to all. Numerous arrangements must be made, particularly concerning the influx of new troops. Would it be permissible for me to accompany your clone?" he inquired, offering a slight bow. "Certainly." Isaac gave his assent with a nod.

He removed his spatial ring and casually tossed it towards Simraj.

Simraj caught it reflexively. Initially, he gave it little thought. However, upon inspecting its contents, his countenance became notably frozen.

For a fleeting instant, he questioned his own perception.

"Within, you will find four thousand EXP potions. This allocation is for the current month," Isaac stated with utter nonchalance.

Simraj remained silent, struggling to process the information.

Four thousand.

Not a measly four, nor even forty.

Four thousand.

The grip on the ring tightened almost imperceptibly as he fought to regain his composure.

"...Understood," he finally managed to utter.

His voice held a semblance of steadiness, though it teetered on the brink.

Isaac offered no further words. He had already commenced his walk towards the exit. Averon followed a pace behind, still murmuring occasionally under his breath.

Simraj remained rooted to his spot for a few additional seconds, his gaze fixed upon the ring clutched in his hand.

Then, drawing a slow breath, he closed his eyes briefly before turning his back and proceeding in the opposite direction.

A subtle smile graced his lips.

Perhaps, a golden era was on the cusp of dawning for the Solkara people.

...

Within the Assembly Hall

A grand, circular table dominated the hall's center, encircled by nine meticulously arranged chairs.

Seven of these seats were currently occupied.

Six Lords, and the presence of the Third Priest.

Each of these six Lords represented a formidable power within the region, individuals whose influence and strength placed them just beneath Florathi. Even Florathi himself would not dismiss them lightly.

Standing diligently behind each seated Lord were two loyal subordinates.

The collective might present in the room meant no individual was weak. Even the least among them had attained the Overlord level at 55. Every single individual belonged to an Apex-species. The sheer pressure emanating from the assembled company was a burden no ordinary person could endure, let alone comprehend. "So, what are your intentions regarding the boy?"

The inquiry came from a colossal green serpent, coiled regally beside one of the chairs. Wisps of flame danced ethereally around its form, akin to a second skin. This was Fafnir.

His alias within the Lord Chat was [FlameGorgon].

"If you harbor thoughts of simply consuming him, you are sorely mistaken. He is far too cunning and resourceful. Furthermore, with the Great Stampede looming imminently, our need for him is paramount. His resources are of far greater consequence than any fleeting advantage you might be contemplating," he addressed the Third Priest.

The Third Priest sat in serene silence, his hands resting placidly upon his lap. He presented the image of a...

A frail old man, his red hair cascaded loosely around his shoulders, was present. From his head emerged a pair of antlers, reminiscent of a deer's, unmistakably identifying him as a Florathi. His eyes were shut tight.

This was the most striking feature about him. Regardless of the circumstances, his eyes remained closed.

"We have no intention of devouring him. We merely desire for him to visit and offer his gratitude to the World Tree for its benevolence. Afterward, his choice to join any of your factions will be entirely his own," the Third Priest articulated.

A subtle smile graced his features. "Benevolence?" another voice interjected, sharp and laced with disdain.

All gazes turned.

It was Hass.

He was seated, leaning slightly forward, his grey, humanoid form marred by cracks that spread across his skin like parched earth. His very presence felt precarious, as if a powerful force beneath the surface constantly threatened to erupt. His alias on Lord Chat was Ashroot. "What exactly has the World Tree done to warrant such thanks? You speak of it as if it were a divine entity, yet at its core, it's merely a tree capable of speech. Are we even certain it isn't some creature masquerading as something greater?" Hass declared, spitting the words out.

The instant his venomous words filled the air, the atmosphere in the chamber turned frigid.

Every Lord present possessed enough might that the Florathi had to consider them with utmost care. However, this respect only held as long as certain boundaries remained uncrossed.

Hass had just obliterated one such boundary.

The World Tree was not solely important to the Florathi; it represented their very essence, their deep-seated faith, and their collective identity. And the Third Priest... he was renowned for his unwavering devotion.

To insult the World Tree directly before him was to provoke him at his most vulnerable point.

"...It appears my hearing is malfunctioning after the journey," the Third Priest stated deliberately.

He slowly turned his head to face Hass.

His eyes remained closed, yet it seemed he possessed the ability to perceive Hass perfectly.

"Did you utter something, Sir Hass?" Hass emitted a short, sharp laugh.

"Cease the charade. Do you genuinely believe I fear you? Everyone present understands the current situation. The Florathi are fracturing from within following your Emperor's withdrawal. You are no longer the power you once were. Those platitudes of yours no longer intimidate anyone," he jeered, reclining slightly in his seat.

The ensuing silence was more oppressive than before. Behind the assembly of Lords, several of their subordinates stiffened perceptibly. A few instinctively adjusted their positions, bracing for the inevitable. Should a conflict erupt here, it would not be confined to this hall; the entire city risked being engulfed. They comprehended the root of Hass's behavior.

His son had ventured into an Abyssal Gate concurrently with the second and sixth Princes of Florathi. The expedition had yielded substantial returns in terms of resources, formidable artifacts, and significant power. However, Hass's son and his accompanying troops had failed to return.

The official explanation provided was straightforward: An ambush had occurred. Things had gone awry.

Hass refused to accept this narrative.

He was convinced his son had been betrayed. Murdered so that the Florathi princes could claim all the spoils for themselves. And now, that burning rage was manifesting outwardly.

The Third Priest remained perfectly still. Yet, the faintest tremor ran through his eyelashes.

That minuscule movement was amplified.

Several individuals within the chamber drew tighter, their senses on high alert. They understood the implication. If he were to open his eyes, the situation would rapidly spiral into uncontrollable chaos.

A confrontation between him and Hass would undoubtedly be catastrophic. Hands subtly drifted towards weaponry. Mana began to flow, a silent but potent undercurrent of readiness.

And then-

"Third Priest, you ought not to become agitated with Hass."

A voice, soft and almost languid, emanated from the side.

But it sliced through the building tension with surgical precision.

Bella.

Her seat was occupied by a shifting mass of dense mist, her form in a perpetual state of flux, swirling both inward and outward. If one listened intently, faint sounds could be discerned within her ethereal presence: cries, whispers, fragmented voices that never quite coalesced into coherent words. Her Lord Chat alias was MistQueen. "He is not worth the effort. You cannot expect simians to grasp the value of a firearm. Similarly, it is perhaps expecting too much to assume Hass can comprehend why the World Tree merits reverence," Bella stated, her words carrying a faint, mocking undertone. A brief pause ensued before she added, with seeming nonchalance, "You should instead pity him. Being born with such a limited capacity for intellect is not a failing he can overcome."

The Third Priest's eyelashes ceased their trembling.

"I concede that you speak the truth," he replied after a moment's reflection.

He visibly relaxed, electing not to open his eyes.

A few individuals in the room exhaled audibly, a release of pent-up tension.

The immediate danger had seemingly receded.

Hass, however, gave no indication of having concluded his outburst.

Before he could voice further aggression, Bella projected a telepathic message.

'Take action! That fool is going to get himself killed if he continues speaking like that!' she conveyed in a near-shouted telepathic burst.

Fafnir suppressed a sigh. He couldn't disagree with her assessment.

A part of him longed to physically lash out at Hass with his tail, yet he also...He understood the source of the rage. Regardless, this wasn't the appropriate setting for such outbursts. He quickly sent Hass a message, urging him to cease. A brief hesitation followed. Hass's expression grew strained, yet he remained silent. That would suffice for the moment. "Shall we return to the primary subject?" a different voice interjected. It was Sisyphus. Up until this point, he had been quiet, his hands clasped. In contrast to the others, his initial presence wasn't overpowering, but a certain gravitas became apparent with prolonged observation. "How shall we handle the ruler of this city?" This query steered the discussion back on course. Bella shifted slightly forward, her ethereal form solidifying somewhat. "I have a proposal," she stated. "Before we proceed, allow me to ask: do we all consider ourselves civilized individuals?" "Naturally." "That's a given." "We are not savages." The Lords offered their affirmations one by one. Some gave verbal consent. "Excellent. In that case, let us proceed in a civilized manner. We shall present him with incentives. Appropriate ones, mind you. Resources, protection, opportunities. Each of us will present our offer, and he will make his selection. Once he chooses a patron, the rest of us must respect his decision," she declared. She further stipulated, "Furthermore, no one shall employ underhanded tactics such as manipulation, coercion, or any other clandestine schemes to compel him to align with their faction. Do we have an agreement?" A brief silence ensued. Then- "Agreed." "That sounds fair." "I see no objections to that." "I concur with Bella." They voiced their consensus sequentially. On the surface, the approach appeared equitable, almost idealistic. X-019, the colossal mechanical insect standing behind the Third Priest, scoffed inwardly at the spectacle. He wasn't naive. He was fully aware of the nefarious nature of these Lords. While they postured as paragons of virtue, the majority had likely already resorted to some form of deceitful stratagem to sway or coerce Isaac. 'Serves you right. Did you truly believe you were exceptional merely because the Spirit of Water sided with you? You are nothing more than an insignificant entity who stumbled upon some special abilities by sheer luck. Your only recourse is to await your fate, like a crop ripe for harvest by other lords, destined to become a resource for their advancement,' X-019 mused, recalling the condescending tone Isaac had adopted in his morning reply.