Entering Apocalypse in Easy-Mode-Chapter 464: Meeting The High Council

Clyde walked toward the castle, boots striking the stone with steady weight.

The towering spires loomed ahead, casting long shadows across the marble steps that led to it.

His eyes drifted to the side gate, remembering the exact spot where two guards had died by his hand. Their mistake had been trivial. At the time he had been ruled by anger that burning from within.

The high council had tried to humble him and Vernik —that self-righteous and smug — had poured oil on that fire.

Clyde snorted, amused by the memory now. Trouble always followed him or perhaps he was the trouble. Either way, he grinned.

"This will be a mess," he muttered under his breath. "But this place needs to be ready. Even if I have to break a few bones to make it happen."

He pushed open the castle’s outer gate and stepped into the grand yard and the building of blackstone and glowing crystal that hummed with enchantments. It was quiet for now.

Then he saw them.

Two guards in dark armor flanking the inner door, halberds in hand while standing tense.

Their eyes locked on him and immediately widened.

"Y-you!" one of them stammered, his voice cracking.

The air seems changing. His presence filled the yard like a pressure wave. The aura he carried was different now. The guards felt his aura to he older, colder, and heavier. There was sttange power in his gaze.

They remembered what he did. Everyone in this place probably did. The man who had once been welcomed as the mortwl who suffered same fate like them but then feared.

Clyde didn’t break stride.

"I just want to pass. You don’t want to stand in my way. Trust me."

His voice was low and sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. His eyes gleamed like polished obsidian.

The guards looked at each other. Their knuckles whitened around their weapons. One swallowed audibly and the other slowly stepped aside, lowering his weapon.

They weren’t cowards. But they weren’t suicidal either. They couln’t possibly be punished because they let him enter. Because one way another Clyde will still enter.

Clyde gave them a single nod, then passed through the grand doors.

The halls beyond were dim and vast, filled with silence and watchful statues. Magic power was always present here.

He could feel the minds above stirring. The council was aware of his presence her now and already gathered. Clyde was sure that his steps toward their chamber was being monitored, measured, judged.

No doubt Vernik would be there, ready with barbed words and that smug little curl of his lip. But this time Clyde came not to fight, but to demand. Which, to be fair, maybe also lead to a fight.

He marched up the spiral staircase, his hand brushing against the railing where vines of magic energy twisted like silver veins.

With each step, the pressure of the place increased. Like the fortress itself was trying to push him out.

It wouldn’t succeed.

He reached the tall double doors of the council chamber and raised his hand.

He didn’t knock.

He pushed them open with a crack of force and strode in, cloak trailing behind him like smoke.

The high council turned in their chairs. There were seven figures of them present now.. And there on the far left Clyde sae Vernik, draped in crimson, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Clyde.

The chamber fell into an uneasy silence.

"I’m not here for war. Relax," Clyde said. "But we have a problem that’s coming fast. You all need to help me solve it."

His gaze swept across them, icy and resolute.

He stood at the center of the chamber, arms at his sides, waiting for replies.

"You just came here suddenly after vanishing suddenly as well," the elf said. His voice calm but edged with something harder beneath. "Why don’t we talk first before you throw more demands at us?"

The man sat in the center chair shows that he was clearly of importance. He was tall, lean, with a long, silver-threaded beard and pointed ears like Maethion’s. A fellow Elf, Clyde assumed.

His robes shimmered with runes of age and rank and his smile was the kind that had teeth hidden beneath courtesy.

Clyde tilted his head, studying the elf. He’d never seen him before. Well, actually he never met most of the council, just Maethion, who had helped him.

Vernik the thorn in his side, and Madri, the brown-skinned sorceress who had also watched him with wary eyes and contempt from the start.

"I don’t have time for that," Clyde said flatly.

"Oh, you have time," the elf replied, smile tightening. "Or you’ll make it."

Clyde exhaled slowly, barely containing the urge to cut through the formality. But he nodded once. "Fine. What do you want to talk about?"

The elf leaned back slightly, fingers steepled.

"You’ve caused chaos in the higher realm, Clyde. And now you come here, threatening this place."

So they knew. Of course they did.

Spies, watchers, and whispers—they had plenty of them in the higher realms. And the higher beings certainly broadcasted his face across their realms. He was no longer a rogue with a cause. He was a rebellion and an unknown monster.

"Yes," Clyde said simply, without shame.

The elf’s eyes narrowed, tone growing sharper. "Then tell me something, Clyde. Where did you get that kind of power? Because if we’re going to destroy the higher beings, we’ll need it too. Or have you forgotten the very reason this sanctuary exists?"

A silence followed.

Yes. The Fortress was a hideout that built from the broken hopes of those who had survived the Selection Stage and escape. A place meant to house dreams too dangerous to exist elsewhere. A place born to oppose the gods.

But Clyde had walked so far beyond that purpose now and he didn’t know if this council could be trusted with what he had become.

"I trained," Clyde said.

The elf raised a brow.

"Bullshit," Vernik spat from his corner, arms folded. "No one trains and comes back with enough power to crush a god alone."

Clyde didn’t even glance at him.

"I will listen," the elf continued, tone growing colder, "to whatever you have to say. But only if you tell me the truth. The source of your power, Clyde. Where did it come from?"

Clyde looked at the elf, then let his gaze sweep across the room.

"You misunderstood something. I’m not here to negotiate. I just came and said what I wanted to do. Your rejection won’t mean anything to me," Clyde said with cold tone.

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This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦