Crossover: Monthly Character Templates in the Multiverse Chat Group — Chapter 84

Chapter 84: Anasa Returning Home

“I-idiot, I don’t need your help!”

The morning light filtered into the room, catching the slight, uncontrollable tremor in Wiš’adel’s legs. She pushed Frez’s extended hand away with a stubborn huff, attempting to stand on her own. The moment her weight shifted, her knees buckled. She hit the floor with an undignified thud.

Frez stood over her, arms crossed, a thoroughly amused smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t you just say you didn’t need my support?”

“Shut up!” Wiš’adel glared daggers at him. She hefted her Ancestor Launcher, the heavy barrel nearly jabbing him right in the nose. “Why do you have so much to say? Hurry up and carry me.”

“Yes, yes, Your Highness.” He leaned down and scooped her up into his arms.

She grumbled, weakly thumping his chest in a token display of dissatisfaction, but the fight had completely drained out of her. She had talked far too big last night, and the resulting ‘lesson’ had left her utterly exhausted. Right now, she desperately needed water and rest.

After depositing her gently onto the throne, Frez turned his attention to the mounting pile of administrative affairs. Sorting through the reports, a particular dispatch caught his eye. During his absence on the campaign, the Anasa had arrived. To avoid unnecessary friction with the local populace, the nomadic tribe had set up camp in the desolate wilderness surrounding Kazdel City.

The scouting reports indicated that the Anasa had strictly maintained their ascetic way of life. They had migrated across the harsh wastelands, herding their horned beasts and Tuber Beasts every step of the way. The grueling journey had claimed a significant portion of their livestock, but the survivors pressed on with singular purpose. They had come solely to pay their respects to the Enlightened One of the Sarkaz.

“Send a notice,” Frez instructed his guards. “Invite their Elders to the palace.”

He returned to his paperwork. With the golden, cubic intelligence of the Void Archives assisting him, his processing speed bordered on the inhuman. The towering stacks of documents vanished into completed piles long before the Anasa delegation even reached the city gates.

When the Anasa Elders finally entered the hall, their appearance struck a familiar chord. They bore horns identical to the Sarkaz, but floating behind their heads were distinct Black Halos—the very same phenomenon that had once accompanied the ancient Demon King, Quilon.

As they approached, a matching Black Halo materialized behind Frez’s head, radiating a quiet, solemn authority. The Elders immediately moved to drop to their knees, their faces etched with absolute reverence. Before their knees could touch the stone floor, an invisible, gentle force caught them, lifting them back to their feet.

“There is no need to kneel,” Frez said, his tone even. “What brings you here?”

“Respected Great Being,” the lead Elder spoke, his voice weathered like the desert wind. “Your disciples have come to offer our worship.”

The Anasa were a unique branch of the Sarkaz—those who had entirely let go of their worldly obsessions. Rather than agonizing over the future or mourning the past, they anchored themselves solely in the present, treating the endless desert as the entirety of their world. To them, all physical things eventually faded, but the spirit remained eternal. Upon entering reincarnation, a soul simply returned to the world in a new form. Life, death, illness, aging, and survival were not tragedies to be fought, but merely the natural, flowing order of heaven and earth.

Even their perception of Oripathy completely defied the norm of Terra. They did not view the infection as a curse. Instead, they believed the Originium crystals growing on their bodies served as a divine channel, allowing them to feel the raw emotions of the world itself. The jagged crystals breaching their skin and the agonizing flare-ups were simply the physical echoes of Catastrophes scarring the land. Whenever a tribesman suffered an acute Oripathy attack, the rest of the tribe would gather around them, sitting in absolute silence, hoping to shoulder a fraction of their kinsman’s pain through sheer, quiet solidarity.

They were a simple, frugal people who found quiet joy in their unity. Had they not sensed the sudden resonance of the Anasa Enlightenment Method radiating across the wastes, they would never have organized such a massive migration back to Kazdel.

“Why the need for worship?” Frez shook his head slowly, stepping down from the dais to stand before them. “You have already found liberation. You must let go of your attachment to the self. You were freed long ago, no longer chained by the collective lingering spirits of the Sarkaz. You forged your own path. You established your own lives.”

“But Mahasattva,” the Elder replied, bowing his head. “You are the Enlightened One among us. The one of great wisdom. It is only natural that we seek your guidance.”

“No. I am not a true Enlightened One.” Frez kept his voice calm, devoid of any pretense. “I merely wield the power of one. When you bow to me, you are not truly bowing to the man standing before you.”

It was the truth. He only possessed the raw power of the Quilon: Mahasattvasthavira Empowerment. He didn’t actually comprehend the deep enlightenment behind it. The gap between his pragmatic, modern mindset and the extraordinary mental state of the ancient Mahasattva was impossibly vast. He was, at his core, a mortal walking the earth; the Mahasattvasthavira Empowerment belonged to a being who had already transcended it.

“I am still struggling across the sea of suffering,” Frez added, his gaze drifting toward the high windows. “Unable to break free from the tragic miseries of this land.”

The Elder looked up, his ancient eyes searching Frez’s face. “Mahasattva… is there an end to this sea of suffering?”

“The sea of suffering is boundless,” Frez answered, adopting a look of quiet compassion, “but suffering itself will eventually come to an end. Everything I do is so that one day, the Sarkaz—and this entire land—can finally break free from this endless cycle.”

The Elders took a collective step back, lowering themselves into a deep, synchronized bow. “Enlightened One. Great Sage. Demon King of the Sarkaz. Please, grant us permission to live upon these lands.”

“Life in Kazdel is incredibly harsh,” Frez warned.

“We have long since adapted to hardship,” the Elder replied without hesitation.

A faint smile touched Frez’s lips. “Then welcome back. Kazdel will always welcome its wandering children home.”

The Elders felt a deep sense of relief. In truth, life in the ruins of Kazdel wasn’t much different from the unforgiving deserts bordering the Yan Empire. Along their migration route, they had witnessed the sprawling canals the new Demon King had carved out for his people. Finding fresh water and fertile oases here was actually far easier than surviving in the Yan wastelands.

“Go,” Frez dismissed them gently. “The Sarkaz will not treat you as enemies. The Anasa are, and always will be, a branch of our bloodline.”

Frez’s decree swept through every corner of Kazdel by nightfall. Once the local populace learned of the Anasa’s origins, any lingering tension evaporated. Discovering that these ascetics were the descendants of the very Sarkaz who had followed Quilon on his legendary eastward migration, the locals embraced them with open arms.

Though the citizens of Kazdel had little wealth to offer, they possessed strength and solidarity. Hundreds volunteered to help the newly arrived Anasa construct their homes and set up their camps. In return, the Anasa brought out the finest preserved goods and rare desert spices from their caravans, sharing everything they had with their passionate kinsmen. Around roaring campfires, they sat together, laughing and sharing stories like brothers reunited after a lifetime apart.

With the Anasa settled, Frez finally found the time to visit Vina. The Aslan girl had been kept in comfortable, yet strict, confinement ever since her arrival in the city.

“How have you been holding up?” Frez asked, stepping into her quarters.

Vina sat by the window, her posture rigid. “I’ve been surviving. Demon King… when exactly can I leave?”

“Leave?” Frez chuckled softly. “You’ll have to wait a while longer. You are free to move about within Kazdel’s borders, however. My people will protect you.”

“Protect?” Vina sneered, her eyes narrowing. “You mean monitor.” She wasn’t foolish; this so-called protection was nothing more than glorified surveillance.

“It genuinely is protection,” Frez corrected, his tone turning serious. “The Sarkaz aren’t nearly as xenophobic as they used to be, but if an outsider like you runs around blindly in the lower districts, you will be killed.”

Vina’s current combat strength simply wasn’t enough to guarantee her safety here. She could easily bump into some grizzled mercenary who had survived three different great wars. Even with the naturally high physical stats of an Aslan, crossing blades with Kazdel’s blood-soaked veterans would only lead to a swift, brutal death.

“Relax, Vina,” Frez said, leaning against the doorframe. “I made it perfectly clear from the start: I only need your identity. Beyond that, I won’t make any excessive demands of you. I’ve already struck an agreement with Gawain. Once my objectives are met, you will be completely free, and he will escort you out of Kazdel.”

At the mention of Gawain reaching a deal with the Demon King, the round, leonine ears atop Vina’s head twitched sharply. The fight slowly drained from her posture, and she slumped back in her chair, her gaze turning incredibly weary. “I just want to live a stable life.”

“I know,” Frez replied softly. “But you were born into the Victorian Royal Family. You never had a choice.”

Vina looked up, her golden eyes locking onto his. “When do you plan to make your move?”

“There’s no rush. I still need time to digest my recent gains.”

In truth, it wouldn’t take much longer. The massive spoils of war, the heavy investments from the Shapeshifter’s network of wealthy merchants, and the substantial loans secured from Theresa and Kal’tsit were all scheduled to arrive soon. Once those resources flooded into the city, Kazdel would truly take flight.

Calculating the days in his head, Frez realized it was also time for his system template to refresh.

I wonder what kind of broken abilities it’s going to hand me this time, he thought, a spark of genuine anticipation lighting up his chest.

The hours ticked by. Right as the clock struck midnight, a familiar, ethereal chime echoed in his mind. The character template interface flared to life, its digital text rewriting itself in real-time.

[Character: Himmel (Warrior of the Era of Frieren)]