Knock, knock, knock…

"Lord Lucian, Lady Ria, are you awake?"

It was Chris, speaking from the other side of the door. His voice carried a hint of mockery:

"Sorry to interrupt while you're… busy, but your guests are waiting."

That bastard. He's doing this on purpose, isn't he?

Lucian replied curtly.

"If you don't want your salary cut, I suggest you keep those kinds of comments to yourself."

As if anything happened between me and that kid… Tsk.

"Ahem… my apologies, Your Majesty," Chris muttered, clearing his throat.

Even a dragon cares about his paycheck, huh…

"Good thing they didn't leave right away. I fell asleep before I could get their signatures on the contract," Lucian said, stretching.

Chris replied smoothly.

"Which is exactly why I led them to the reception hall."

Typical dragon behavior…

But is that really what being a dragon is about? Being considerate?

"So, you must've seen the invention. What do you think?" Lucian asked as he buttoned his jacket.

He was slipping into his imperial uniform: a sharp black military-style outfit with gold embellishments, ornamental chains, and a crimson royal cape lined with white fur speckled in black. His shoes gleamed with a polished shine.

"Yes, Your Majesty… It's remarkable. Though the process behind it is… a bit odd," Chris admitted with a trace of hesitation.

"Hmmm… Good." Lucian smiled, visibly pleased.

If even a dragon's impressed, I can't wait to see how the humans react.

He picked up the contract from the table in his room.

"This is only the beginning."

"The beginning?" Chris echoed.

"Shall we?" Lucian said, reaching for the door…

But it didn't budge.

Chris stepped forward and opened it for him like it was routine.

"Tsk. Don't expect a thank you," Lucian grumbled.

"None needed. Ah, one more thing… Your Majesty, the emissary from the Tenth Empire is also waiting in the reception hall."

Lucian's eyes widened.

"You mean Boris Zand came while I was asleep?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. He arrived about an hour after you dozed off. Given the late hour, he chose to wait in the imperial lounge."

"Hmmm… Very well. At least this way, I'll know where things stand."

Everything hinges on this exchange.

If it goes south… I'll have to rewrite every last one of my carefully laid plans.

Lucian had spent nearly a week crafting an intricate plan to restore the Thirteenth Empire.

Each branch of that plan depended on the success of another, forming a web so precisely woven that the failure of a single thread could unravel the entire design.

And yet, if new improvements were added to this carefully structured framework, the potential gains could multiply tenfold.

Lucian—or rather, Xavier Lancaster—was exactly that kind of entrepreneur. Calculating. Meticulous. Ambitious.

---

A few minutes later, Lucian stood before the grand doors of the imperial reception hall, a folder in hand.

The two guards stationed there gave a small bow as he approached, then quickly pulled open the heavy golden doors.

"His Majesty, Emperor Lucian!" one of them announced with solemn formality.

Inside, Azrael Itharion and Boris Zand immediately turned their gaze toward the entrance.

A short man in a custom-tailored imperial suit stepped forward with calm, measured steps. Behind him followed an older man dressed in a sharp black butler's uniform—elegant and discreet.

As the guards pulled the doors closed behind them, they cast a final glance at Lucian.

This man… he created magic without magic.

Though not a word was spoken, a strange sense of pride stirred within them.

Clack. The doors shut.

"Good afternoon, esteemed guests," Lucian greeted them, flashing a radiant smile.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lucian," Azrael replied, visibly tired as she shook his hand.

"Greetings, Your Majesty," added Boris Zand, offering a slight bow before doing the same.

Chris, ever composed, inclined his head respectfully. The two visitors returned the gesture with matching courtesy.

"Please, have a seat," Lucian said, motioning toward the chairs.

Everyone took their place around the large meeting table—except for Chris, who remained standing beside Lucian, hands clasped behind his back.

Lucian took his seat at the head of the table—the central position—while his two guests settled on the left side of the room, far enough to maintain formality, yet close enough for direct, unfiltered exchange.

"Since Azrael arrived first, I'll begin by settling our business. You don't mind, Boris?" Lucian asked, his tone composed.

"By all means, Your Majesty," Boris replied as he took a calm sip from his teacup, eyes closed, as if the matter had nothing to do with him.

"Sign here," Lucian continued, handing the documents to Chris, who in turn passed them neatly to the archmage. "Once that's done, our collaboration becomes… official."

Collaboration? Boris raised an eyebrow, the word echoing in his mind.

Wait... he's collaborating with an Archmage from the Fifth Empire?

What kind of collaboration? Was he trying to curry favor with the Fifth? No… that didn't make sense. That empire barely acknowledged the existence of the Top Six, let alone the Thirteenth. So why...?

In a single sentence, Boris Zand found himself flooded with a hundred questions.

It wasn't just the fact that Lucian was exchanging documents with a mage from the Fifth Empire—it was who the mage was. Azrael Itharion, one of the continent's most revered archmages, not only appeared to be cooperating… but from the way he had greeted Lucian, it seemed the two were on good terms.

Unthinkable. Even more so for the Northern Empires, which most of the continent viewed as little more than forgotten backwater territories.

Azrael took the documents without hesitation—and signed them without even reading.

That alone deepened Boris's confusion. Even Lucian cast him a brief, surprised glance.

"Mr. Lucian," Azrael rasped, his voice hoarse, "may I conduct a few experiments and test some theories to improve… that? Will the price remain the same?"

Ah… So that's what he's after, Lucian thought, a knowing smile curling at the corner of his lips.

"You won't need to. The enhancement plan you're envisioning… I've already mapped it out.

What we did yesterday was merely a preliminary test—nothing more than theoretical validation."

Azrael said nothing. The man, once lively and enigmatic, now sat still and withdrawn. His body bore the signs of deep fatigue—dark circles under his eyes, a slouched posture. Unlike swordsmen, archmages rarely subjected themselves to such intense physical strain. Two, maybe three days at this pace… even a ninth-tier mage would hit his limit.

But at Lucian's words, Azrael's eyes widened. His lips trembled slightly before he murmured:

"It's enough… even if… it's going to cost me a… for…tune…"

Then, without warning, he collapsed onto the table, plunging into a deep, silent sleep.

So did his disciples.

Boris was no longer just confused. He was stunned.

A ninth-tier archmage… collapsed?

At the feet of a kid with no magic, no swordsmanship?

And all that after a simple negotiation?

What the hell is going on here?

And they're talking about… experiments?

Boris straightened instinctively. This was no time for complacency.

I suspected back then that he was different from the rumors… but now, it feels like I'm standing before a true emperor.

"Chris, escort Azrael and his disciples back to the guest chamber," Lucian ordered calmly.

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

Without protest, Chris lifted Azrael onto his back and headed for the exit.

That bastard… He could just teleport them with his draconic magic, couldn't he? Lucian thought, frowning. I suppose he's trying to avoid drawing attention. Clever.

"Well then, emissary of the Tenth Empire, Boris Zand. Welcome," Lucian said, his voice smooth, his professional smile perfectly in place.

"Thank you for the warm reception," Boris replied, offering a pleasant expression.

That sm… That's the same smile he used when he completely played me!

"Since we're both busy men, let's get straight to the point," Lucian proposed.

"Absolutely," Boris agreed. "I've already reported the key details from our first meeting to His Majesty the Emperor—including, of course, the infamous sum of three trillion."

He finished the last sip of his tea with measured calm.

"I must admit, your rationale for requesting three trillion Velts was… perfectly sound, all things considered," Boris added.

"Exactly," Lucian replied, his smile unwavering.

"But…"

"But?" Lucian echoed, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"We really can't approve that sum," Boris confessed with an apologetic smile.

Lucian didn't respond right away. He simply exhaled through his nose, the smile still frozen on his face like glass.

"These matters are, of course, classified, so I can't go into detail… but according to this year's projected budget, there's no feasible way we could transfer three trillion Velts," Boris explained.

Lucian narrowed his eyes.

"It'll be possible next year, won't it? We'll negotiate then."

"In truth," Boris said, his tone shifting slightly, "we'd like to begin now. Immediately, if possible. Because of the impending war between the empires… So please, we ask for your understanding."

He bowed his head slightly, the weight of diplomacy hanging in the air.

Sigh.

"Hm… I understand. Then let's go with two trillion."

A stunned smile tugged at Boris's lips. His eyes widened in disbelief.

It… it actually worked? He'd been so firm the last time. So he really is that desperate for money?

Of course, it was all a bluff. A calculated move to test the boundaries. Even if this sum would strike hard at the Tenth Empire's coffers, they could survive until next year… by tightening the belt. Well, the people would. The elite would go on living in opulence, untouched, unfazed.

"But on one condition," Lucian added, his expression as unreadable as ever.

At that, Boris cleared his throat and shifted back into a formal tone.

"What is it?"

"All territorial rights revert to my empire… should you ever abandon the land. No fees. No claims. No reimbursement."

Boris studied him for a moment, then let out a soft, incredulous chuckle.

"That's all?"

"Yes. That's all."

Ah… Boris mused, amused. They couldn't exploit it themselves, so they assume we can't either. How charmingly naive.

Thanks to the silent work of an embedded clerk, the Tenth Empire had already surveyed the region. The verdict had been irrefutable: a vein of precious stones lay hidden beneath the surface, waiting to be torn from the rock. The climate was harsh, yes—but irrelevant.

There would be no settlements. No investment. Just extraction. Quick, discreet, lucrative.

"Then we have a deal!" Boris said brightly.

"Excellent. I'll draft the contract for Emperor Gaius Niketas to sign. The druids will see it ratified."

"Take your time."

-

--

Ha… Lucian thought, a silent smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

Well played, Zand. But sadly… you chose the wrong enemy.

Enjoy your stay in the Leviathan's maw. The arc is near… and you've already taken center stage.

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