As for opening the economic circle… that was going to be a problem.
This world didn't understand patents yet. The rule here was simple: whoever can copy fastest wins.
But even if I wanted to push for innovation, it was too early.
If any nation advanced too far, too fast—the Army of Heaven would descend.
A million angels attacking from the sky, crushing every town in their path.
That was why the Western Nations avoided electricity, avoided gas, avoided steam engines.
Anything that looked like modern technology would trigger divine extermination.
But inconvenient?
Not quite.
Magic filled the gaps that science couldn't reach.
Fashion rivaled Japan's.
Food preservation was strangely advanced.
Buildings—fortresses, citadels, towers—were crafted with magic techniques modern engineering could never replicate.
People lived comfortably.
Plenty of food.
Plenty of clothes.
Plenty of shelter.
Living in the cities was… surprisingly civilized.
If there was a problem—
It was that Vesta and Gabil's research, Kurobee's equipment, and the magitrain were now partially known across nations. Even the bearded Laquian councilor knew about the train. Word was spreading.
Someone had been leaking our developments.
The issue wasn't that they knew.
The issue was that they wanted to steal it.
Correction—stealing was fine.
What angered me was that they tried to use "international cooperation" as an excuse to seize our inventions first.
"You must bring the train line to the Duchy of Laquia before anywhere else!"
"How absurd! Atem-dono, the Republic of Zamund is your rightful partner. Eterna should prioritize us!"
"Silence! No one asked the nations to squabble like children! Can't you see His Majesty Atem is already troubled?!"
If that white-bearded councilor hadn't intervened, the entire meeting would've collapsed.
Opening the market was fine.
But I wasn't about to hand technology to everyone like charity. If they treated Eterna like some convenient errand boy, they'd expect us to solve every minor issue for them.
And judging from their behavior, I had been right to worry.
Even though frustration pricked at me, the conference had to continue.
The last condition—military force—needed careful thought.
Hinata had advised me beforehand.
So I reviewed Souei's intelligence.
Someone wanted to exploit Eterna's military strength under the banner of "shared defense."
Therefore, we would exploit them instead.
Eterna would take full authority over the Great Jura Forest.
They wanted us to deter monsters. That was fine.
We planned to do that anyway.
Hinata and I already decided:
Eterna would defend the Great Jura Forest.
The Holy Knight Order would protect the deserted lands.
Eterna would pay for its own defensive force—something the council loved to hear. The smoother the continent ran, the easier trade became. Peace was profitable.
Many nations feared the Eastern Empire.
To them, Eterna's defense was a lifeline.
Realistically, if anything happened, Eterna would take the first hit.
So clearly, the council hoped to use us.
Fine.
We would turn it into an advantage.
Smaller nations wanted us to use our extra military force to protect them. Even if monster numbers had dropped, surprise attacks were always possible—especially aerial threats. No nation could skimp on their defense budget.
Someone had to pay the patrolling soldiers.
Monster subjugation required money.
If the council couldn't act fast enough, taxpayers would foot the bill.
You could only file extermination contracts with the Freedom Association after the monsters appeared—too late for prevention.
The Western Holy Church sent the Holy Knight Order only to nations that adopted Luminism.
But their numbers were limited.
Their territory was wide.
They were stretched thin.
That's where we came in.
Every nation would pay Eterna's defense fee.
We would gladly accept any request.
And in doing so, Eterna would become a cornerstone of regional defense.
Money in our pockets.
Influence on the continent.
Two birds with one stone.
If the Empire ever invaded—
Call it lucky or unlucky:
Eterna sat directly in their invasion path.
We'd have to fight them anyway.
Better for the Western Nations to stand behind us willingly, not fearfully.
To make that happen, the difference in strength needed to be absolute.
They needed to believe resistance was pointless.
Only then would they leave their defense to us.
If they couldn't win against us—
they would rely on us.
As the councilors continued arguing and shouting over each other, the speaker finally announced the end of his explanation.
"—These are the conditions for Eterna's inclusion in the council. Your Majesty Atem, do you disagree with any of the items?"
If I said nothing, it meant acceptance.
I cared nothing for the councilors' opinions.
But I would not allow a single vague clause to bind Eterna.
If we agreed lightly, they would exploit us later.
We intended to use the council—not be trapped by them.
Normally, these conditions would be written down for us to review.
Their refusal to do so was deliberate.
Another provocation.
A childish one.
Fortunately… I had Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom.
Solarys recorded everything word for word, analyzing every clause instantly.
It even used my own hands to write notes.
"I have reviewed every item," I said calmly. "And I have written down doubts and alternative proposals. If the council accepts them, we have no objections."
I handed the document to Benimaru.
He stepped forward and delivered it to the speaker.
The speaker faltered.
"—What?"
I agreed with the overall conditions.
But I revised several points so Eterna could benefit from the very traps they laid for us.
Solarys recorded everything.
Every word.
Every nuance.
The speaker had been underestimating us—monsters, after all.
When he saw his entire speech copied exactly, in perfect precision, his face turned pale.
Red-ink revisions marked clear corrections, leaving him unable to pretend ignorance.
He couldn't escape.
Not this time.
"All parties may speak up if there is any issue," I said.
If they rejected our proposal, we'd simply refuse the council's invitation.
If the public disliked it, we would adjust our diplomacy and deal only with nations willing to treat Eterna properly.
"No… there is no problem," the speaker said stiffly. "However, I ask for time to discuss Your Majesty Atem's revisions."
Ah.
So he wasn't entirely foolish.
He realized we weren't easy prey.
He raised no objections—only requested time to study the document.
Strange, considering they refused to give us the same courtesy.
But arguing here would gain nothing.
How did things turn out like this?
The table that had been kicked into the air hung there for a moment, as though time itself hesitated. Hinata's glare fixed on me — sharp, cold, accusing.
So you finally did it.
She didn't say the words, but I felt them all the same, pricking through my chest like needles.
The table came crashing down with a thunderous crack.
Before it could fully hit the floor, I brought my heel down on it.
Wood exploded into splinters.
I wasn't going to brood over spilled wine or shattered furniture.
I crossed my legs in the chair, every movement deliberately composed, radiating authority. I scanned the councilors, all pale-faced, trembling, unable to even swallow properly under my gaze.
Internally, I sighed.
To be honest… I held back for a long time.
People called me calm. Mature. A role model for Eterna.
They praised my restraint, my self-control, my ability to remain composed even when dealing with Milim's chaotic energy.
But—
What happens when a patient king is provoked by a flock of greedy, spineless men?
They get exactly what they invited—
a table shattered at their feet.
After the outburst, there had been a three-hour intermission before the meeting resumed. And that was when the real problems began.
The councilors—those same men who couldn't even meet my eyes—dared to bring me a document titled Petition. Judging by the speaker's exhausted expression, he wasn't behind it. But I had no time to pity him.
I skimmed through the contents.
Most of it was pure lunacy.
Item One:
The magitrain must be built to the Kingdom of Ingracia first — and Eterna must pay all construction costs.
Item Two:
Eterna must supply high-grade equipment to strengthen the Western Nations' armies.
Item Three:
The Eterna Labyrinth is a "treasure of humanity," therefore the council must supervise its operation.
Item Four:
Eterna must pay a yearly tax.
And for "safety reasons," only humans could serve as Eterna's representative in the council.
And so on.
They had truly gone insane with their demands.
My rationality shattered in exactly three seconds.
An impressive feat, really — making me angry in less time than it takes to breathe.
This wasn't a treaty.
This was an attempt to collar Eterna like a pet.
If I ever signed such garbage, I might as well abandon coexistence altogether.
I rose slightly, letting my presence spread through the hall like a pressure drop before a storm.
"So," I said quietly, "you look down on me?"
A few of them flinched visibly.
"I allow anyone to speak freely in my presence," I continued, voice still low, steady, dangerous. "But tell me—who gave you the impression that you may demand anything of the King of Eterna?"
Silence.
Shuna stepped forward with a soft smile — too soft.
"His Majesty Atem has asked a question," she said sweetly. "Please answer. Now."
Her polite tone cut deeper than my anger.
The councilors sagged under the combined pressure, sweating rivers.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, voice calm and absolute.
"You all seem to have misunderstood something fundamental. Eterna intends to build a vast economic zone. We intend to join the Western Council. Not because we fear humanity — but because we refuse to stand against it."
Time had frozen.
The splintered remains of the table still hovered in the air like dust trapped in amber. Atem's boot rested on what was left of the final plank he crushed, fragments scattering across the marble floor like the bones of something that had offended him.
Hinata was still glaring—not at the table, not at the room, but at him—her eyes sharp and cold, as if she were silently questioning how things had escalated this far.
But Atem… Atem sat there with the dignity of a king who had been insulted in his own palace.
And now—
the mortals would feel the consequences of their arrogance.
Atem slowly leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other with perfect composure, as if the chaos around him were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
The councilors dared not breathe.
Then Atem lifted his hand—only slightly.
And that alone was enough.
Atem Releases His Aura
A pulse of energy rippled through the room—
silent, invisible, absolute.
Every candle flame bent sideways.
The air grew impossibly heavy, thick like molten iron.
The ground let out a long, trembling groan.
The walls quivered.
The marble floor cracked beneath their feet as a deep, unnatural vibration rolled through the hall—like the heartbeat of some ancient beast waking up.
The humans froze instantly.
Their breaths locked in their lungs.
Their eyes widened as all color drained from their faces.
Veins bulged at their temples as instinct screamed at them in primal terror:
DANGER.
Atem hadn't even released one percent of his power.
Just enough to remind them what he truly was.
A being far beyond their comprehension.
A being who could end them by accident.
Several councilors dropped to their knees. One collapsed completely, hands clawing at his throat as if drowning in invisible pressure. Another began shaking so violently his chair clattered against the stone.
Even the more seasoned officials—warriors, nobles, politicians—felt their souls recoil.
A few tried to speak.
None could.
Hinata stiffened beside Atem. Even with her strength, even with her unshakable resolve, she felt the force pressing down on the room. Her eyes narrowed—not in defiance, but in recognition.
This is the real Atem.
The one nobody should provoke.
Solarys whispered faintly in Atem's mind—"If you continue, they will die."
Atem ignored the warning.
Just for a moment.
He let the fear soak into them, sinking deep, carving itself into their memories so they would never dare forget.
Then he spoke.
Atem's Voice Shakes the Hall
"You fools…"
The sound wasn't loud.
It was calm—too calm.
And that made it far more terrifying.
"How dare you."
The room seemed to shrink around his words, as though reality itself recoiled from displeasing him.
"You believe you can make demands of me?"
His aura cracked like thunder—
several councilors screamed without meaning to.
Atem continued, voice dripping with cold authority:
"Me willing to join your council is a favor to you. A blessing you did not earn… yet I offered anyway."
He stood, shadows curling behind him like living smoke. His presence seemed to fill the entire hall.
"Do you not understand the difference between our power…? Between our existence?"
His eyes glowed like molten gold, brimming with divine judgment.
"I could erase every one of you with a snap of my fingers."
One man whimpered.
Another fainted.
"And if I wished," Atem continued, stepping forward, his footfalls echoing with unnatural weight, "I could take every one of your precious countries. Your armies, your treasures, your lands—"
He raised his hand, palm open.
"—all of it."
The pressure increased.
Glass in the room began to crack.
A chandelier swayed violently.
A councilor vomited from sheer terror.
"And yet…"
Atem lowered his hand.
"…you dare present these insulting demands to me?"
His gaze swept over them like a blade.
"Shall I show you despair…?
Shall I demonstrate the difference between a mortal council and a true sovereign?"
His voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
"Or will you finally regain your senses…
and remember.
Your. Place?"
No one could look at him.
No one could speak.
Every councilor bowed their heads so low their foreheads pressed to the floor.
Every single one trembled.
Hinata watched in silence.
Not afraid—she had long accepted Atem's overwhelming power—but disappointed in the humans who forced him to show it.
Solarys stirred again in Atem's mind, its tone almost amused:
"They finally understand."
Atem exhaled quietly.
The aura receded—but not completely.
Just enough for them to breathe again.
Just enough to remind them that he allowed them to.
The room remained deathly silent, waiting for Atem's next words.