Anthesis of Sadness
Chapter 90: The Price of the Future

Chapter 90: The Price of the Future

The next morning, the desert seemed to have emptied itself of all anger. Far from the outbursts of the night, far from the silent screams of the flayed sand, it stretched as far as the eye could see — peaceful, flat, almost benevolent. A golden, gentle light embraced every dune, caressing the sand crests like an ancient hand. There was no more wind. Only that warm, soft, almost unreal silence that sometimes floats after storms, when the whole world seems to hold its breath. The war of the previous day was now only a memory embedded in the grains, a shiver in the earth’s memory.

And in the middle of that silent immensity, Lysara...

She was skipping.

Light.

Alive.

Her feet barely touched the surface, as if she no longer quite belonged to gravity. Her step — supple, rhythmic — traced a carefree, almost childlike dance. And her voice — clear, radiant, free — rose softly, blending with the air with the nonchalant grace of a bird rediscovered. She murmured weightless words, fragments of a song, or perhaps nothing at all. Just sounds, bits of joy, breathed into the wind like offerings.

Her laughter, discreet but genuine, split the space with more power than the previous night’s uproar.

And I, somewhere behind her, watched that silhouette glowing at the heart of the sand, and wondered if I was still in the same world.

— Aaah, I’m so happy!

Her voice rang out like a ray of light in the golden vastness of the desert — vivid, honest, crystalline. A simple, disarming exclamation, tossed into the wind without shame or restraint, like a truth too full to be kept silent. She walked ahead of me, still skipping a little, arms loose, movements light, almost floating. Each step stirred up a puff of sand that immediately faded into the morning warmth.

I walked beside her, more slowly. My kimono, perfectly smooth, fell around me in impeccable elegance. Not a fold out of place. Not a drop of blood. Not a stain. As if the fierce duel of the night before had been nothing but a fevered dream, a delirium erased by the day’s first light.

My body, of course, no longer bore a single wound. Vampiric regeneration had done its work with silent efficiency, repairing every fiber, every nerve, every fractured bone during my sleep. And the kimono — that elite artifact, reactive to my vitality — had adjusted itself with an almost organic loyalty. To look at me, one would swear nothing had happened. That the night had been only a whisper.

I let out a long sigh, deliberately exaggerated. A theatrical sigh, inflated with false reproach and hidden tenderness.

— Happy to have roughed up your poor father? What a disgraceful daughter...

She stopped short, then spun around with a twirling step, playfully coquettish with graceful mischief. Her hands crossed behind her back, she looked up at me with a mock-innocent pout. Her armor, half-sealed in a more flexible travel configuration, vibrated softly under the morning light, gleaming like living skin at rest.

— But you know, Papa... I’m still happy.

— Really?

My voice lingered slightly, deliberately doubtful, as if I needed confirmation despite the obvious. As if her smile, her dancing steps, her almost insolent joy weren’t already an answer.

— Yes, she said, chin lifted with that smug pride that belongs only to personal victories. I managed to draw with the Great Vaarkhyr.

She paused dramatically, arms spread as if to frame the magnitude of the name she was about to pronounce.

— The Vampire of Lust.The Great Varkh of Zagnaroth.Oh, rising legend...

She gave me a theatrical look — mocking and affectionate all at once — like declaiming some forgotten epic. Each word was sculpted like an affectionate jibe, a provocation disguised as reverence.

I laughed.

A soft, warm, genuine laugh — the kind that rises from the chest and escapes unguarded.

I stepped closer to her, slowly, and placed my hand on her head with casual tenderness. My fingers sank into her tousled hair, and I ruffled it at will, like one would with an unruly cat or a child proud of their latest mischief.

— And now you tease me... Disgraceful daughter, I murmured with a smile gentler than reproach.

She giggled. A true giggle, light, crystalline, like a splash of clear water thrown to the sky. Her eyes sparkled with disarming mischief, full of joy and fire. She no longer carried the weight of the battle, only the momentum of what it had revealed.

But I saw it.

She limped slightly.

Barely. A detail. A tension in the hip, a more cautious step on the left leg. The aftereffects were there, discreet, residual, lodged in the fibers of her still-young but battered body. The effort had marked her. She stood not from lightness, but from will.

Me?

I was as fresh as day one.

No pain. No constraint. No weight. My body, perfectly restored by vampiric regeneration, had erased every trace of the duel, as if the night had been a game.

And that, too, was the difference between us.

She fought to grow.

I already wore the crown.

But she... she was getting closer.

And I was proud of her.

I knew.

From the beginning, I knew that this crown I wore, vast and dark as it was, was only a temporary ornament. A fleeting gleam in a world that crushes legends as quickly as it raises them. This power, this temporary peace, this illusion of mastering sand and sky... it was all just a parenthesis. A breath.

I would fall soon.

I felt it.

I would face obstacles that neither brute force nor strategy could overcome. Forces so ancient, so terrible, they wouldn’t even bother to confront me — they would simply seek to erase me.

So, without a word, I reached for my watch.

It rested there, against my wrist, cold and steady. It beat to its own rhythm, independent of time, independent of heart. An elegant machine, precise, like me. But that morning, its presence felt heavier than usual. Like a reminder. Like a promise.

I clenched it in my palm.

And I thought of them.

The ones who would come.

Not ordinary mages, nor jealous kings or frustrated demon lords. No.

I thought of those who, by principle, by nature, would refuse my presence in this world.

Those for whom my very existence would be heresy. An insult.

I thought of the gods.

And in that thought, there was neither fear... nor arrogance.

Only the cold certainty that one day, soon, their gaze would turn toward me.

And that on that day... I would have to prove myself worthy.

I hadn’t reached my goal.

Level 100 still eluded me, like an invisible line always retreating on the horizon. A promise I’d made myself — simple, brutal, numerical — and had not fulfilled. On that point, yes, I was disappointed. Not crushed, but deeply irritated. I had wanted to reach that threshold first. Before the alliances, before the titles, before the dinners in suspended salons or duels in sacred sands.

And yet...

I had to admit: despite that numerical gap, I had become something else. In less than a year, I, a stranger, an accident in this world’s foundations, had become a pillar. A figure. Not simply through brute strength, but through the trials endured. Through oaths, through pain, through pacts. Through the imprint I had left in the sand, in the eyes of others, in the very structure of this world.

I had forged a status.

And with it, I had accumulated far more than numbers: essential skills, honed and integrated into my body like second nature. An arsenal worthy of the greatest. High-grade artifacts. A set of bound objects, dormant relics, precious materials. And above all... money.

Yes.

Where my power still fell short of certain legendary monsters, my wealth already rivaled theirs. I was an economic lord, a strategist surrounded by resources, a silent builder.

And looking at Lysara, out there, a little farther ahead, her figure still haloed in golden light, I felt the weight of that responsibility anchor even more firmly.

I couldn’t lose her.

Never.

She was more than a student. More than a daughter. She was my living oath. My proof.

And I would do everything to ensure her survival. Everything.

If I had to equip her from head to toe, cover her in relics until even death hesitated to approach, then I would do it. Without negotiation. Without delay. I would pay the price. I would empty my vaults. I would bend the artisans to my name, to the seals I bore.

For now, I didn’t have the strength of the greatest.

But I had their wealth.

And soon... I would have their power.