"Just place your hands on it and let your mana flow."
Drawing in a steady breath, Sol followed the instruction.
The crystal sphere instantly flared with a deep golden glow, brightening the room. Numbers started rising at a startling pace until—
Gasp!
Both Chloe and Camelia cried out in shock.
Capacity determined a person's potential more than almost anything else.
As Sol stared at the values climbing, he recalled a conversation he once had with Edea.
---
"What are the chances of someone being born with a capacity of 10?"
"About ten percent."
"And with a capacity of 100?"
"Barely 0.0001%."
---
For centuries, Mars held the highest recorded capacity at an astonishing 350. News of his measurement had shocked nations.
But compared to Sol's?
They would faint.
500 CP.
An ordinary S-rank stood around 100 CP. Sol's mother Blaze, a direct descendant of Tiamat—the dragon of pride—had 150 CP.
"Unbelievable!!"
Camelia shrieked happily and leaped into Sol's arms, overflowing with excitement. With this result, the wager she had made with the goddesses gave Sol the opportunity to contract a Phoenix no weaker than Blaze—and still leave him enough capacity for others of similar caliber.
Sol hugged her back but his expression was distant. For the first time, he had finally surpassed his father in something.
But should he feel joy? Pride?
He exhaled slowly, reining in his emotions.
His aunt had reached incredible heights with almost no capacity. Even with his higher potential, it didn't guarantee he would exceed Mars.
He couldn't let himself become arrogant. This was only the beginning—there was still so much left to learn.
Putting aside Chloe's stunned face, he leaned in, kissed Camelia, and lifted her into a princess carry. Edea had warned him that in roughly 48 hours he would go through absolute hell, so he needed to finish his business with Camelia beforehand.
He still had some spanking to deliver, after all.
While Sol and Camelia enjoyed their time together, Lilith was nursing a headache as she sat at the head of a round table in the conference room, facing four nobles.
For reasons only Mars knew, he had insisted that this meeting room—where the court and highest-ranked nobles convened—must have a round table.
It was a ridiculous choice, placing the king on equal footing with the lords rather than above them. But Mars had never cared much for noble customs.
Sigh. Big brother really had strange ideas, Lilith thought as she listened to the never-ending speech of a black-haired man dressed in white and gold, radiating confidence.
"My Queen, as you are aware, last night an important ritual took place at the Castitas Church. Based on what happened the last time it was performed, we can already guess its nature and its consequences. I suggest we begin negotiations with the church to choose a new Holy Daughter. Until then, the oversight of the church should be entrusted to Elsmere Gorfard."
"I object!"
The speaker frowned. "And why, Duke Travers? Elsmere is the highest-ranking church member now that both Daughters are gone."
The objector was a round, cunning-looking man who smiled broadly at Lilith.
"Ahem. Your Majesty, our priority should be reorganizing the entire church. I admit Duke Gorfard's intentions are good, and I acknowledge Elsmere's rank, but she is far from a fitting temporary replacement for the former Supreme Daughter. What if—"
Lilith made no move to interrupt. Reclining slightly, she watched the two men bicker. Instead of her usual revealing attire, she wore a red qipao that emphasized her curves.
Everyone knew why the men argued so fiercely, but she didn't care enough to intervene yet.
"Enough. Don't embarrass yourselves before Her Majesty."
The voice came from an elderly man with an eyepatch and a long white coat. Despite his age and silver hair, his muscular frame was unmistakable. This was Duke Highland—legendary for his military feats and the longest-serving Duke, having already held the title during Sol's grandfather's reign.
Gorfard and Travers stopped with a huff. None of them feared Lilith's authority as queen, even though they knew she could kill them effortlessly.
In this world, a monarch's true power came from their blessing, not their personal strength.
This was why the Peaceful King ruled at age ten after Jupiter died, and why Neptune remained king despite being little more than a puppet.
Lilith had no blessing. She could only sit on the throne because she had sworn to return it when Sol matured. Otherwise, divine punishment would have killed her.
Her greatest stabilizing ally was Camelia, whose control over the church had been absolute.
But now—
"Duchess Milaris, what do you think?"
Gorfard asked nervously. He dared speak boldly to Lilith because she was reasonable. The Duchess, however, was anything but.
Covered entirely in black—heels, dress, veil—combined with her black hair and eyes, Milaris seemed like a living shadow. Since Mars's death, she had worn no other color.
She remained silent for a long time before finally fixing Gorfard with a mocking stare.
"You truly believe that Camelia's authority can be divided up just because she lost her blessing? Tell me, Gorfard—have years of peace dulled your wits? Or were you always this stupid?"
Everyone flinched. Gorfard's face flushed with anger.
"You—!"
Mana surged around him—
But—
"Me, what?"
He was immediately crushed under the avalanche of aura she released. His pressure was nothing next to hers. Her dark eyes shifted into glowing scarlet.
"So? Do you want war?"
Her tone was flat, almost bored—but everyone knew better.
She's having another episode, they all thought with dread.
No one doubted that if Gorfard uttered one more wrong word, she would declare war on his entire house.
Sweat poured down his face. His pride and logic clashed violently. He searched the others for help, but Duke Travers was smug, Duke Highland emotionless, and Lilith still lounged in her seat as though this was all irrelevant.
The tension kept rising. Milaris looked ready to erupt. Finally, Gorfard bowed his head—
"Enough."
The single word shattered both pressures instantly.
If Gorfard was a child before the Duchess, the Duchess herself became as insignificant as a small girl under the overwhelming power Lilith released.
All eyes turned to her.
Lilith.
The War Maiden. The Saint of the Sword. The battlefield's demon.
"You're squabbling like children over scraps, when we have real dangers to focus on."
Milaris's eyes faded back to black. The others straightened their posture. They didn't respect her authority as queen, but they respected her strength—especially now that Camelia's blessing was gone.
At this moment, Lilith was the strongest person in the kingdom—discounting the witches.
Lilith continued calmly,
"Duke Highland, news of Camelia's loss of blessing has definitely spread to every nation by now. Normally it wouldn't matter during peaceful times. But there's one issue."
She waved her hand. Mana surged, forming a large map, similar to the one Edea had shown Sol. Only this time, all the markers glowed green except two.
One was Gluttony Foss, the land of Echidna.
The other—
—The Wratharis Republic.
Everyone immediately understood.
"So the Wolf King has finally decided to bare his fangs."
Lilith nodded at Duke Highland's mutter.
"The current Wolf King is nothing like his pacifist predecessor. He's a warmonger. Now that we've lost a critical war asset, he won't let this opportunity slip."
A heavy silence filled the room. Political infighting became meaningless when a kingdom-threatening war loomed.
"How long?" Duchess Milaris asked flatly. Her lands bordered Wratharis—she would be the first to face the invasion.
"Winter is approaching. Even beastkin can't wage war in harsh cold. And the Supreme Daughter of Patienta won't allow reckless action. So the estimates are—six months at the earliest, eight at most."
Lilith spoke with eerie tranquility, though beneath it, something wild simmered. A madness even more intense than Milaris's.
It had been far too long since she set foot on a battlefield.
And it seemed her sword was about to drink blood again.