The air inside the royal chamber grew unbearably heavy the moment Arre spoke. His words did not rise in volume, yet the weight of his presence pressed down like a storm about to break. The courtiers trembled, their breaths short, as if an unseen hand had clutched their throats.
King Cross stuttered, his voice quivering, "W-What do you want from us? What does your empire expect of my kingdom? We already stand under the shadow of another empire. How can I possibly accept such a demand?"
Arre's expression remained cold, unreadable. His gaze swept the hall like a blade. "Refuse them."
The command dropped like thunder. Silence. Faces blanched. Men who had survived a dozen wars felt their knees weaken. Even Cross himself froze as if lightning had struck him.
"That… that is impossible," the king whispered, forcing the words through dry lips.
Arre leaned forward, his voice as calm as it was merciless. "Then you know why we are here. To seal the agreement."
Cross's eyes narrowed. "Agreement? What agreement are you speaking of?"
Before Arre could answer, Ito stepped into the gap, his tone slick and sharp. "Your kingdom will now stand as a branch of Black Eye. Not a vassal. Not an ally. A part of us."
The king's face went pale. "How can such a thing be possible? Even if I agreed, what of the safety of my people? Of my family?"
Arre rose from his seat. The subtle movement alone made the room shiver. Ito unfurled a parchment behind him, the ink shimmering faintly as if bound with some otherworldly seal.
"Sign it," Ito said flatly. "Your safety is ours now. Your land is no longer yours—it is our territory."
Arre's gaze locked onto Cross, a stare so alien it was as if another reality pressed into this one. Under that gaze, the king's resolve shattered. His hand, trembling like a condemned man's, reached for the quill and scrawled his name across the parchment.
A faint smile tugged at Arre's lips. He turned to Eliza and gave a signal, subtle and strange. And just like that, his form blurred into the air, dissolving as if water slipping between fingers. He was gone.
Eliza's shoulders slumped in relief. She quickly checked her clothes, half-expecting to find herself drenched in sweat. She was not. But the fear remained. She had never felt such terror—not even from Ren.
Stepping forward, Eliza waved toward the bloodied corpse sprawled on the floor. "Hmph. Had he chosen kinder methods, this boy—" she gestured to the body cleaved in two, "—wouldn't have needed to die. But let's put that aside. Let us discuss… benefits."
King Cross swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak. "What is it that you truly want? What is your purpose here?"
Eliza paused, then smiled thinly. "From this land, we will begin building our empire."
"Empire?" A voice rang out—Ferox, a general, stepping forward in disbelief. "Are you mad?"
All eyes turned to him in horror. But Eliza did not flare with rage. She simply tilted her head and answered, almost gently, "Mad? Hardly. You will grow used to it."
The softness of her reply shook them more than anger would have. They had expected blood. Instead, she let her form shimmer, her body twisting back into her true self—an elf. Gasps echoed through the hall. Faces drained of color. The Elven form she revealed was one recognized across the continents, the very image of knights long thought extinct.
At that moment, Cross and the others realized the death they had witnessed was nothing but a play. Eliza's presence alone confirmed the nightmare truth—Black Eye was not merely powerful. They were inevitable.
Eliza let out a sigh of relief, stretching her limbs. "Ahh… much better. Staying in that human form so long was suffocating. Now that we've claimed shelter, what more could I ask for?"
Her eyes swept the room. "Since we will build our empire here, you must remain loyal. To defy us is to choose ruin. Though, truth be told…" Her cheeks flushed faintly, her ears glowing red. She lowered her gaze for the briefest moment. "…Master Ren alone could bring down an empire."
The words slipped almost like a confession. Few caught it, but Ito did. His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion blooming.
---
Meanwhile, in the forest...
Michael's carriage stopped by the riverside. The team climbed down, greeted by the damp air and the steady roar of water. They had come for one reason—hunt the giant crabs that lurked in the shallows. Enough of them could feed and fund the group for two or three days.
It did not take long.
The monsters revealed themselves, shells gleaming, claws snapping, each nearly four meters long. Chris, Lewis, and Catherine charged forward with excitement, blades flashing. Michael lagged behind, clutching a simple wooden staff.
This was his first fight.
He steadied his breath, recalling the training that lingered faintly from another's memory—Alex's skill. But his body was not as sharp, not as trained. Each movement was heavy, clumsy. Still, he fought, applying tactics he remembered in pieces. A lucky strike cracked through one crab's shell.
Victory was within reach—until his foot slipped.
A claw surged toward him, ready to crush his ribs into splinters. Panic flooded his veins. His mind screamed: Chris, save me…!
At the last moment, someone slammed into him from behind, shoving him out of death's path. Michael stumbled, gasping, as Chris raised his sword into a stance none of the others had seen before. His voice rang out in a tongue half-forgotten, half-mystical:
"Dorogn atr 'nisling bel…!"
(Dragon Art — Finishing Strike.)
The air roared. Power exploded outward, raw and undeniable. The crabs shuddered under its weight. Even those too far to see felt the pressure as if the earth itself acknowledged the strike.
The team froze. None needed to be told—something terrifying had just been unleashed.
From the trees, Lily and Niha arrived, Niha keeping her distance, her eyes wary.
Lily ran forward, alarmed. "Michael, are you alright? If Chris hadn't been there…"
Michael forced a laugh, though his heart was still hammering. "I—I was panicking. Honestly, I was praying Chris would save me. And then…"
Lewis chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, well. Seems you're the Man of Imagination after all."
Michael blinked. "…The what?"
Lily slapped Lewis on the shoulder. "Idiot, don't confuse him. He doesn't even know!"
Michael frowned. "Wait—who is that supposed to be?"
Lewis smirked, lowering his voice as if sharing forbidden knowledge. "A legend. A fool among fools… and yet greater than gods. His power was imagination itself. Whatever he imagined became real. No god, no monarch, no legend could surpass him. They say only the Creator Himself could destroy him. But no one even knows if he truly existed… or if he was just a myth."
Chris's brow furrowed. "I've never heard of him."
Lily shrugged. "We studied the tale back at the academy. Just old folklore. No one had the time to take it seriously."
Catherine's eyes softened. "I heard of him too… from my mother. She said he was powerful, strange, but also foolish. The King of Fools, she called him."
The thought of such a title broke the tension.
Michael laughed. Then Lewis. Then Lily. Soon, the forest echoed with their laughter, as if the terror of moments before had never happened.
But deep within Michael's chest, something stirred.
The words lingered—Man of Imagination—and for reasons he could not explain, the name felt disturbingly familiar.