Realm Lord
Chapter 145: A fight

Chapter 145: A fight

"Aziel, I told you a million times—I’m not going!"

The words hung heavy in the cramped apartment air, thick with the tension that had been building for weeks. Arthur’s voice carried the weariness of someone who had repeated the same argument countless times, each iteration more exhausting than the last.

Aziel’s response was immediate and explosive. His fist crashed down onto the wooden table with such force that their shared dinner dishes rattled, the sound echoing through their modest living space like a gunshot. His eyes blazed with frustration as his lips curved into that familiar pouting expression.

"Come on!" Aziel’s voice cracked with barely contained excitement, his hands gesturing wildly as he leaned forward across the table. "It’s perfect! Just think about it for one second, Arthur. Imagine all the void creatures we’ll get to kill! We’ll fill up our cores in no time!"

The enthusiasm radiating from Aziel was almost palpable, his entire body practically vibrating with anticipation. His hair fell across his forehead as he spoke, and Arthur could see that manic gleam in his friend’s eyes.

Arthur slowly shook his head, he had learned long ago that matching Aziel’s energy only led to bigger explosions, and right now, what they needed was calm reasoning, not more fuel for the fire.

"Aziel, you’re really underestimating the situation in the 3rd district right now," Arthur said, his voice steady despite the frustration building in his chest. "It’s not going to be as easy as you think. Chosen are dying there every day—experienced ones, powerful ones. This isn’t some training ground."

The weight of those words settled between them. Arthur had been following the reports, reading between the lines of the official government statements. The casualty rates were staggering, even if they weren’t being publicized. Every day brought news of more chosen and civilians decimated, another group of promising young Chosen who had ventured into the chaos and never returned.

Aziel let out a wild sigh, the sound somewhere between exasperation and desperate pleading. He ran his hands through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled than before. When he looked up again, his expression had shifted slightly—still determined, but now tinged with something that might have been genuine concern.

"Well, what about all the innocent civilians dying there?" His voice carried a note of moral urgency that made Arthur’s jaw tighten. "You don’t feel like you should do anything about that? All those people who can’t defend themselves?"

The question hit its mark, and Arthur felt his shoulders tense involuntarily. He forced himself to relax, letting out a long breath as he considered his response. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more controlled, but somehow that made the words hit harder.

"No, not really. I don’t really care—it’s not my problem." The admission tasted bitter on his tongue, but it was honest. "As long as me and the ones I care about are safe, I don’t care what happens to the rest of them."

The silence that followed was deafening. Arthur could see the shock register on Aziel’s face, followed quickly by something that looked almost like disappointment. Then, unexpectedly, Aziel began to laugh—a manic, almost hysterical sound that made the hair on Arthur’s arms stand on end.

"Wow, how brave of you, Arthur," Aziel said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Each word was carefully enunciated, designed to cut deep. "You know, you’re quite the hypocrite. You’re always ready to jump down other Chosen’s throats for not being noble, perfect heroes with pure intentions, yet here you are with the power to help but a will that won’t let you."

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. The accusation hung in the air like a physical presence, and he found himself unable to formulate a response. Because deep down, in a place he didn’t want to acknowledge, he knew Aziel was right.

But Aziel wasn’t finished. His expression had hardened, and when he continued speaking, his voice carried a finality that made Arthur’s stomach drop.

"It doesn’t matter anyway, because one of the people you ’care’ about is going whether you like it or not." He paused, letting the words sink in before delivering the final blow. "I’m leaving with the rest of the first batch of volunteers in a week."

For a moment, Arthur was completely stunned. The words seemed to echo in his head, repeating themselves over and over as he struggled to process what he’d just heard. Aziel—reckless, impulsive Aziel—was actually going to throw himself into the meat grinder that was the 3rd district.

When Arthur finally found his voice, it came out as a roar of anger and hurt.

"You don’t know anything, Aziel!" The words tore from his throat, raw and desperate. "If you want to go run off and die in the 3rd district, be my guest! See if I care!"

Arthur’s hands slammed down on the table with enough force to make the wood groan in protest. Without another word, he turned and stormed away, his footsteps heavy and angry as he stalked toward his room like a petulant child.

The government announcement had come two weeks ago, delivered with all the pomp and ceremony that bureaucrats could muster. All guilds and Chosen were now officially permitted to join the fight in district 3, with the first batch of volunteers scheduled to depart in exactly one week. Since then, Aziel had been relentless in his campaign to convince Arthur to sign up with him.

His arguments always followed the same pattern: it would be the right thing to do, it would vastly boost their strength, they had a responsibility to use their power to help others. But Arthur remained unmoved. The whole situation felt too dangerous, too unpredictable. They could fill their cores just fine hunting in the second realm, where the risks were manageable and the rewards steady. And if he was being completely honest with himself, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care about saving a bunch of random people, hypocritical or not.

Arthur slammed his bedroom door with enough force to rattle the frame, then flopped angrily onto his bed. The mattress sagged under his weight, and he stared up at the cracked ceiling, his chest rising and falling with rapid, angry breaths.

He lay there for what felt like hours, occasionally muttering angry comments under his breath about his roommate and best friend. "He doesn’t know what he’s talking about... what an idiot," he grumbled, but the words felt hollow even as he spoke them.

As his anger gradually subsided and the night dragged on, Arthur found his brain beginning to attach itself to one particular word that Aziel had thrown at him: "hypocrite." The accusation circled his thoughts like a vulture, refusing to be dismissed or forgotten.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Arthur knew it was true. Right now, in this moment, he had become exactly what he had always hated most—a Chosen with the power to help others, yet doing anything but. He used to look at Chosen like himself and feel nothing but disgust, nothing but contempt for their selfishness and cowardice.

He remembered the thoughts that used to fill his mind when he saw powerful Chosen living comfortable lives while others suffered ’if I had that power’ And yet here he was, with that very power coursing through his veins, and he was doing nothing to help those who needed it most.

Arthur knew he was being petty, and the knowledge only made his internal conflict worse. His mind filled with bitter, defensive thoughts ’Well, where was humanity when I needed help? When my parents needed help? When I needed food and a place to sleep, they weren’t there for me when I needed it, so why should I be there for them?’

The memories came flooding back—nights spent shivering in alleyways, days without food, the way people had looked through him as if he didn’t exist. Society had failed him when he was at his most vulnerable, so why did he owe them anything now that he had power?

His thoughts continued to spiral, filled with moral dilemmas and conflicting emotions that seemed to have no clear resolution. The internal debate raged on until, mercifully, sleep finally claimed his troubled mind.

But even sleep offered no true respite. When the dreams came.