SANCTUARY [Nobledark | Progression | Apocalypse]

After gaining an overview of Larsus and Mythris, two Demigods of the Sanctuary Enclave, Henry faced his greatest challenge: finding information about Socrost, a name that seemed not to exist in modern history.

He began a silent investigation of his own, almost in desperation. He went through the archives of the Investigation Bureau, searching all the secret files and intelligence reports, but the name Socrost was a blank space. There were no records, not even the smallest note, of a sorcerer with that name in this Seventh Epoch. This was absurd. A Rank 7 Demigod couldn't possibly have no records at all.

He searched for documents related to legendary sorcerers, especially those who specialized in mental magic, a rare and little-known field. He devoured books on the history of the Epochs and ancient wars, hoping to find a small clue, a familiar name. Finally, after many days of searching, in a dusty, old chronicle of the Sixth Epoch, an era that had ended a long time ago, he found a passage about a legendary sorcerer.

The passage told of a reclusive sorcerer, a man with extraordinary power, who appeared briefly in a great war between nations. He did not side with any faction but used his power to end the war quickly by directly affecting the minds of kings and generals, making them forget their hatred and ambitions for war, and willingly sign a peace treaty. That sorcerer was called Socrost - The Psyche Sovereign - by the people of that time, with reverence and respect.

Socrost, the name and the ability to control minds, completely matched the sorcerer he had met in the Spiritual Domain. But then, when he read the next line, a feeling of disbelief and absurdity washed over him. The chronicle stated that the event occurred in the Sixth Epoch, more than 5000 years ago.

"That's impossible..." Henry breathed. "5000 years?" He was well aware that even a human Demigod, who could possess earth-shattering power, had a limited lifespan of a maximum of four hundred years. That number was too small compared to 5000 years. His first thought was that it was a coincidence. Could there be two different people in two different eras who had the same rare name and possessed the same rare type of magic? The probability was almost zero.

Other theories began to emerge in his mind, each more terrifying than the last. The first thing he thought of was that "Socrost" was not a name but a title, a position passed down from generation to generation, like the Popes. But why would a title be associated with such a special type of mental magic? And why were there no other records of other "Socrosts" throughout those 5000 years?

There was another, even more unsettling possibility: Socrost was not human. He could be a spirit, an ancient entity, a dragon in human form, or some long-forgotten immortal race. If so, the members of the Sanctuary Enclave were not just talented humans but also non-human entities.

But for Henry, the most unbelievable and terrifying possibility was that Socrost was a human, that he was one and the same. That he had actually lived for 5000 years. This would mean that the Sanctuary Enclave not only possessed great power but also held secrets that could challenge the laws of life, death, and time. They had the ability to extend life far beyond the limits of a human Demigod.

Henry leaned back in his chair, feeling dizzy. The mystery of the Sanctuary Enclave was not solved; it had become thicker and more terrifying. They were not just silent protectors. They were exceptions, perhaps they even had beings who stood above the most basic laws of the world of Tehra.

Mythris, Larsus, Socrost... each of them was an extraordinary being, a person with power and influence that could change the world. And he, Henry, had somehow been connected to them, had become a part of a game whose complexity and danger he was only just beginning to understand.

When he pieced all this information together, a picture of the Sanctuary Enclave began to form in Henry's mind, clearer and more terrifying than ever. It became clear to him that the Enclave was not just a group of six Demigods operating alone. They were masters of manipulation and strategy.

Laurent - the "shadow" of the Enclave. He used the identity of a traitor, a man who was dead to the world, to operate in the underworld, linking up with Black Societies and controlling political conspiracies from the shadows. He was the sharp sword, carrying out the dirtiest tasks without anyone knowing.

Mythris - the "light" of the Enclave. He built an image of righteousness, a hero recognized by the whole world. He publicly founded and led a powerful military alliance that had a political influence on many nations. The Celestial Accord, nominally an independent alliance, was in reality a tool for the Enclave to carry out public actions and intervene in large-scale wars when necessary.

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Socrost - the "mystery" of the Enclave. A being who transcended the laws of time, a man who held ancient knowledge and mental magic that no one could match. He was the keeper of secrets, the storehouse of knowledge, and the one who performed the most intricate magic.

Henry leaned back in his chair, feeling dizzy. The Sanctuary Enclave was not just an organization. They were a force that could manipulate the world from both the shadows and the light. They had spies, ancient sorcerers, and a powerful army of righteousness. He felt the greatness and the terrifying nature of the organization he had joined. He also felt the burden on his shoulders become heavier. Larsus was the shadow, Socrost was the mystery, Mythris was the light. Each had a role and a position.

"So what is my role?" Henry wondered aloud, his hand unconsciously touching the Sanctuary Seal on his chest. With his Mystic Sense and the choice of the Lifestream, a certainty settled upon him: his role in this game would be anything but simple. And he had to quickly find that role before the play of fate truly began.

That question was a stone thrown into the calm lake of his heart, creating countless ripples of doubt. The mystery of the Sanctuary Enclave and its members was getting deeper and more complex. The truth was humbling: what he had discovered was merely a grain of sand in the vast desert of this world's secrets.

The wind howled through the icy peaks of Iskadra. From the highest lookout of the fortress, carved from ancient black ice, Laurent looked down in silence. At his feet, The Deadland stretched out before him, a vast and lifeless white shroud. No living creature dared to set foot here, where even the air seemed to freeze with despair. But amidst that deadly silence, a paradoxical miracle was burning.

Beneath the fortress, nestled in a valley shielded by giant ice mountains, was a city. Not a ruin or a small village, but a real city, large and vibrant. Thousands of torches, forges, and the faint light from countless windows flickered in the darkness of the deadland, creating a sea of warm light that defied the harshness of the snow and ice. That was Frosengard, the last legacy of the Frost King, a city built and maintained by a miracle. Laurent could see small figures moving in the streets, hear the ringing of hammers from the workshops, and smell the scent of pine smoke in the cold air. Life still stubbornly grew here, an unyielding flame in the frozen wasteland.

Deep inside the Iskadra fortress, there was a special room not carved from ice. The warm granite walls were carved with ancient Runes that emitted a soft blue light, forming a giant recovery matrix. The air here was warm and filled with a pure energy, a complete opposite of the deadly cold outside.

In the middle of the room, a young man named Guison was sitting cross-legged on a stone bed, meditating with his eyes closed. His body was naked from the waist up, revealing countless old and new scars, but even more impressive were the purple veins that still pulsed faintly with every breath, a sign of a body that had just endured an unimaginable energy pressure.

The heavy stone door opened without a sound. Laurent and Seere entered. Laurent walked closer, the coldness on his face seemed to soften. He looked at the young man, a rare complexity flashing in his gray eyes.

"Guison" Laurent said, his voice low. "I have to bother you again. I apologize for making you bear such a great burden. Each time like this is a huge toll on you."

Guison slowly opened his eyes. His eyes were clear and calm, with no hint of resentment, only absolute respect. He struggled to stand up, intending to kneel, but Laurent raised a hand to stop him.

"My Lord," Guison said, his voice a little hoarse but firm.

"Please don't say that. It is the greatest honor of my life to be able to serve you and our plan. This damage is nothing."

Seere stood with his arms crossed, looking at Guison with an expression that was both respectful and a little cold, practical.

"It's because you are the strongest under Lord Laurent that you have to take on this role," he said. "You are the only one who can bear that power. I just hope... your body can hold out until the end."

Guison just gave a faint smile. "I will not disappoint anyone."

In the Spiritual Domain, Socrost and Laurent sat across from each other at an invisible chessboard.

From Socrost came a thought that felt like an ancient river, flowing with the contemplation of millennia. "The recent events in Aerion have made you the most famous person in Tehra, Laurent. The powerful kingdoms of Zephyros and Klariz now see you as a sworn enemy. What are you preparing for them next?"

Laurent replied with a confident smile. He moved an invisible pawn on the mental chessboard. "Caelvorn has always been a painful thorn for Celestarch. As for Loren, although we have to be careful with Lyreth, it's not too difficult." Socrost's blue light shifted, showing his thoughtful expression. "It seems that the day when half of the forces of Tehra form a giant alliance to march on Iskadra to destroy Laurent and your Black Societies is not far off now."

Laurent just gave a faint, unfeeling smile that hid a bitter irony. "Isn't that what I and the entire Cabal are waiting for?" His thought cut through the silence. "The day when Iskadra is destroyed, and the Cabal disappears from this world forever. Won't that be interesting?"