MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 1018: Garden

In the expansive reaches of the Acarnis Galaxy, upon a world situated billions of light-years distant from the spot where Anthony and his companions conducted their casual duel, a lady sat in peaceful seclusion. Mana circulated softly and serenely on this world, nearly following a melodic and chant-like rhythm as it drifted across the skies like an invisible harmony.

Throughout the world, birds sang quietly while beating their wings amid the peaceful heavens, butterflies swirled freely in the breeze with no worries at all, and blossoms saturated every area and nook of this realm with lively shades and subtle scents.

This world was owned by a lady recognized across the Blue Planet as 'The Everlasting One,' or simply as 'The Saintess of the World.'

Crimson Irene, spouse of Null Collins, parent to Null Michael, and grandparent to Null Anthony.

This spot served as her usual retreat whenever she sought isolation, often following endless treatment rituals that exhausted her mental and spiritual reserves. Right now, away from her relatives, she chose to linger here for some time, savoring the calm offered by this concealed haven.

Just her spouse, her offspring, and her son's partner were aware of this site. Even the Crimson lineage, from which she originated on the Blue Planet, remained ignorant of its whereabouts. Anthony himself had no inkling that such a place even existed.

In a sprawling garden brimming with blooms of endless types, Irene appeared seated tranquilly with shut eyes, dressed in a billowing white garment that matched her esteemed title flawlessly. The attire gleamed subtly beneath the mild glow of the heavens, as if the material embodied a hushed peacefulness.

Her locks shone in vivid crimson, the hallmark hue of the Crimson family heritage, tumbling smoothly along her spine like silken streams. She rested with profound tranquility and immobility, as if her awareness stretched into a more profound realm of being. Mana swirled around her form like a soft stream, circulating deliberately and in sync as if eager to blend into her essence. The nearby air seemed to echo her aura, like the world itself acknowledged her and embraced her composure.

For a spell, all stayed hushed, yet abruptly, her contemplation ceased.

A subtle hint of bewilderment surfaced on her features, faint but clear. Her eyelids lifted gradually, her ruby-hued gaze returning to the world, gleaming with serene insight and profundity.

Her mouth opened just a bit as she uttered, her voice even and composed, 'There is no need to hide. Show yourselves.' Her manner stayed mild and utterly unconcerned, as the brief perplexity that had flashed across her look disappeared in a flash.

She had detected an abrupt aura, an unexpected force, which sparked her prior puzzlement. No one ought to learn of this site. The hidden nature of this world had held firm for years without any breach.

However, now that it was uncovered, delaying served no purpose; facing the trespasser right away proved wiser. Should it be an individual who chanced upon this realm accidentally, or one in need of aid or treatment, she would mend them and then relocate her world elsewhere in the Acarnis Galaxy.

Issue resolved.

Once those words escaped her, the trespasser—or intruders—answered her call.

The very fabric of reality flickered, the void wavered as if the weave of creation had been jostled, and in the instant that followed, twenty Eleven-Winged Angels materialized in the airspace over the garden. Their enormous wings stretched wide as if destined to command the firmament, emanating a domineering aura. Their forms radiated pristine white and golden light while a sacred energy emanated from them, saturating the skies with a crushing godly force.

However, none among these twenty Eleven-Winged Angels uttered a sound—no, they dared not—since directing the mission was an entity that surpassed any power any of them could aspire to.

A Twelve-Winged Angel.

For the shortest instant, Irene’s demeanor wavered, but merely for that blink; soon after, her expression restored to utter serenity.

Naturally, she was familiar with the Angels. Naturally, she knew of the galactic clash, a fight her offspring, her grandson, and her spouse had waged just days prior. Reports of that clash had spread rapidly across the immense spans of the Acarnis Galaxy.

She skipped that gathering because her spouse, Collins, warned it could turn perilous. And truly, it had escalated to extreme hazard.

'Oh Lower Being, Rejoice, For You Are Now Under The Presence Of I, Solvarion Sylthorin Aethryx. You May Kneel Before Me As I Address You, Oh Lower Being.'

The Twelve-Winged Angel declared in a steady voice that blended haughtiness with a strange kindness, as if he viewed his statement as an act of grace instead of superiority.

Irene showed no response; she stayed put, positioned in the garden, serene and detached.

Yet that serenity merely graced the exterior, for inside her thoughts, myriad ideas and strategies swirled swiftly. Schemes assembled at speed, scenarios reviewed in quick succession.

For instance, how had the Angels located this spot?

That query by itself stirred grave concern, but the chief issue weighing on her was wholly different. The link she attempted to forge with her kin failed to connect.

Not a single time.

She wasn't naive enough to misinterpret its implication. These Angels had evidently severed all channels of outreach, probably via some obscure power or holy relic. Thus, she found herself isolated here, encircled by foes.

Observing Irene's lack of reaction to their commander's arrival, the other Eleven-Winged Angels scowled. Their former sacred looks and soft grins faded in an instant, contorting into evident fury and outrage. After all, how could a lesser entity disregard a Twelve-Winged Angel? A figure at the pinnacle of their Galaxy.

'What are you here for?' Irene inquired at last, her voice level, disinterested, and wholly unperturbed amid her predicament, as if dread and demise carried no sway in her soul.

And indeed, they held none. Though not a fighter or one who trod warzones, Irene had beheld innumerable demises over her existence. She had seen souls fade in her embrace, despite her fervent efforts to preserve them.

Moments arose when individuals perished before her cures concluded. Instances where her strength fell short. Yet those marked her novice phase, when she yet grasped the essence of healing. Indeed, she couldn't arise one morning with the instant power to rescue every soul that sought her.

She wasn't divine; she was simply mortal.

Nevertheless, she felt sure the Angels arrived with intent. They wouldn't single her out without cause. But she could already surmise their motive.

It stemmed either from her son, Michael, or her grandson, Anthony. Those pair possessed a knack for stirring chaos wherever they ventured.

'How Dare You Question An Apex Of The Divinora Gala—' One Eleven-Winged Angel started shouting in wrath, his tone brimming with fury and scorn.

Yet before he could complete his outburst, the Twelve-Winged Angel, Sylthorin Aethryx Solvarion, merely lifted a single hand—a minor, casual motion that promptly hushed the Angel.