Sylas’ eyes opened slowly.
He had been awake for a while, and these so-called “heavy injuries” weren’t all that heavy at all. Although his healing factor had taken a large hit after he formed his Tier 2 Runeweaver Eyes, it wasn’t to the point that it was as useless as it had once been. He was still in a decent State of Wealth situation.
Plus, the Sylphs were almost amusingly weak. Sylas had grown so used to fighting humanoids and beasts with shocking talent, graded at the FF- and beyond ranges even on a scale of the Skai 11331 Galaxy as a whole, that he had forgotten that the vast majority were made up of such inferior beings.
The Sylphs had once been the bane of Sylas’ existence. One of the earliest tragedies he could remember was almost losing his life at the hands of a Level 15 who couldn’t even use their full array of abilities.
But now, they felt like child’s play. Their E-Grade Aether was so poor that Sylas was able to crush their existence with ease, allowing his wounds to heal quite well.
If not for keeping up appearances and suppressing his own healing factor with his Will, he would have looked as fresh as a daisy already.
‘The D-Grade didn’t show up. There’s still a possibility that this is because they’re too prideful to raise a finger against me, but it also means that there are good odds that I am correct.’
“Oh. Look. The fool is awake.”
Sylas looked up but couldn’t see much in the darkness. His hands and legs were splayed outward, the former chained above his head while he sat on the floor. His legs were spread as well, his ankles chained to opposing walls.
It seemed that they had purposely chosen the most uncomfortable position for him.
The chains were entirely unnecessary, but he was being made an example of, it seemed.
“Who is speaking?” Sylas asked calmly.
“Oh? You can do something other than roar like an idiot? Who raised you? What’s between your ears but muck and teenage stupidity?”
Sylas didn’t reply immediately, listening to the chatter that ensued. It was mostly one wave of insults after another, but they seemed more frustrated than angry, as though they really couldn’t believe that Sylas would do something so reckless. It was more than just a little bit ridiculous to them.
Maybe if Sylas was a D-Grade, then it would be fine for him to storm in like this. He was so powerful at the F-Grade — couldn’t he just wait a little bit?
But when they thought about how difficult it was for their Race to progress without being Overlords, they sighed and shook their heads. Maybe this really was just the best chance they would get.
“Do you know the path forward?” Sylas asked after everyone finally finished ramming into him, their frustrations being borne out one after another.
There was no reply. But that lack of a reply was exactly what Sylas wanted to hear. If there was confusion, then he might really be in trouble.
Sylas hadn’t had many conversations with Nosphaleen about her family, but the ones he had had stuck out in his mind. She often spoke about her hatred of the Dogons and how they were traitors to their people and Earth.
These things seemed relatively benign on the surface — it was only natural for a group of beings to do this. Passing down stories was part of keeping a culture alive, and giving them a common enemy to hate would be part of keeping their hope kindled and alive.
There was a reason Nosphaleen had been willing to do anything it took to leave that Dungeon, even if it meant becoming an entirely different Race and even ultimately becoming adjacent to a slave. It wasn’t as though she could do anything to defy Sylas right now — the suppression of a Vipermancer on a Serpentes was far too great.
That was all well and good. It made perfect sense.
Until it suddenly didn’t.
One of the first things someone should do if they were raising tigers in their homes was strip them of their sense of identity. If the Sylphs had even the slightest bit of intelligence, they shouldn’t allow the Clypsians a sense of self at all.
What made them Clypsians — what gave them hope, what they would strive for in the future — these were all things that should be wiped out, or at the very least not be so clearly laid out to a woman as young as Nosphaleen.
But Nosphaleen spoke about these things as though it was all just second nature to her, as though she had been considering these matters ever since she was a child and she never missed a single story.
Were the Sylphs really so incompetent…?
Or could it be that the Clypsians had their own methods of hiding things from the eyes of the Sylphs, of passing on information without the knowledge of their captors, and raising up their geniuses to not forget the pride of what it meant to be a Clypsian…?
The answer to Sylas was obvious.
There was no point in asking Nosphaleen directly. If she had known, Sylas would know already. It was clear to Sylas that Nosphaleen had likely still been too young to be privy to the full range of secrets that her people were hiding.
But Sylas had a feeling that these Clypsians would know.
“Point me there,” Sylas said calmly.
Once again, there was no reply.
Sylas knew that he was being too straightforward. It smelled of conspiracy, enough that these wizened old men and women here might even think that all of this was a setup.
In a Race of people, there would always be bad apples, and those bad apples would turn their backs on everything their people had built just for the slightest leg up.
Sylas’ identity was always mysterious. How could an F-Grade appear amongst their Race with such power without them having any knowledge of it? What if Sylas was only so strong because he had received the support of the Sylphs in the first place?
Was he their pawn? Sent here to weed out the final strands of hope they had?
It seemed that only this could be the case.
So, Sylas did the one thing that could convince them otherwise.
He showed them the first few lines of his status screen.
—
[Name: Sylas Grimblade]
[Species: Human Simioid (E)]
[Affiliation: Legacy 7777; Progenitor of Earth; Golden Grove Elder]
—
Progenitor of Earth.