He cautiously crossed the chamber, trying his best not to let his footsteps echo. Yet, no matter how careful he was, the sound reverberated through the vast space, making him wince. After what felt like an eternity, the base of the throne came into view. A dazzling chandelier overhead reflected light onto the gemstones embedded in the throne, making them sparkle brilliantly.
The Emperor, Siegmund, lounged on the throne in a seemingly relaxed posture. Though his demeanor appeared idle, an air of menace surrounded him. The throne itself was a testament to his taste—lavishly adorned with gold and jewels, designed by Siegmund himself to be unparalleled in magnificence.
Siegmund swirled the wine in his goblet lazily, his eyes scanning the trembling guard before him. "Tch, they're all the same," he mused, observing James's fearful demeanor, reminiscent of a frightened dog. Irritated, Siegmund hurled the goblet, its contents splattering. The guard's startled reaction amused him, though his face betrayed no emotion.
From the Emperor's perspective, the world seen from his throne was devoid of color—everything appeared insignificant. "What a tiresome existence," he thought.
James, staring at the wine stains on his trousers, dropped to his knees in a frantic bow. How could he dare meet the Emperor's gaze? Such an act demanded death as penance. As James struggled to decide how to apologize, Siegmund's voice cut through his panic.
Relieved that his hesitation hadn't cost him his life, James quickly began his report, eager to finish and leave the chamber as swiftly as possible. Sensing James's desperation, Siegmund smirked mischievously. "Shall I kill him?" he wondered, then dismissed the idea—it was too much trouble. Killing this one would mean recruiting another guard. Half-listening to the report, Siegmund's gaze wandered.
The newly refurbished audience chamber, reconstructed to erase traces of his ancestors, was breathtakingly grand. Towering marble columns bore intricate carvings, and gilded walls displayed murals chronicling centuries of the Empire's glory. Each mural depicted figures resembling Siegmund, their jewel-encrusted accents glittering under sunlight streaming through the windows. These murals, a display of both beauty and vanity, only deepened the chamber's oppressive atmosphere.
Lately, Siegmund's pastime was dismissing his retainers, drinking alone in the chamber, and mocking the legacy of his predecessors. "If only I could place my second brother's mummified head right here in the center," he thought with a cruel smile—a smile so beautiful yet so terrifying that James involuntarily shuddered again.
From the palace gardens, the vibrant green leaves shimmered under the sunlight, and the distant chirping of birds exuded tranquility. Yet, amidst such peace, the Emperor was a storm of violence and cruelty. As Siegmund contemplated methods to eliminate his brother who had fled to Guanghuiseong, his attention returned to the ongoing report. This report intrigued him—it was about someone who had caught his interest.
Siegmund had heard of Michael's exploits and found them fascinating. Michael's sheer strength was one thing, but his clever stratagems were unparalleled. His latest scheme was particularly ingenious: bribing the captured crown prince to uncover secrets, assembling a group of reclusive master swordsmen, and plotting to strike at the Emperor. It was a masterstroke of cunning, akin to achieving a goal without lifting a finger.
Siegmund's eyes glimmered with curiosity. "Who is this Michael?" he wondered. "I'd like to meet him." Turning to James, who awaited further orders, Siegmund spoke.
"Spread the word to all Masters and knights ranked Grade 5 and above in the Empire. I'm eager to see their expressions when they respond."
James hurriedly complied, bowing briefly before leaving the chamber. Spending too much time around the capricious Emperor was a risk he dared not take.
Alone once more, Siegmund rested his chin on his hand and murmured, "Michael... Michael. What sort of man are you? I'm dying to find out."
On the peaks of the Drago Mountains, a white-haired mage and a knight had teamed up to subdue a Grade 3 beast, a Behemoth. The knight, his muscular frame belying his advanced years, shouted boisterously.
"Now, surrender! If you become my beast, I'll treat you well!"
The Behemoth, a creature of intelligence as well as power, let out a roar filled with both fear and rage. It wanted nothing more than to crush the human who had disturbed its rest and demanded its servitude. Yet, the beast knew it was outmatched. The knight's skills were formidable, but the mage protecting him and striking from a distance was the greater threat.
Finally, the Behemoth collapsed with a despairing cry.
[...Keep your word, human.]
The old knight grinned as he stroked the Behemoth's mane.
"Of course, of course! I swear on my honor as a Grade 3 knight, you'll be treated well. Isn't that right, Faust?"
The mage, his white hair contrasting with his stern expression, cast a displeased glance at his longtime companion.
Faust found himself glaring at his old friend Aaron, now filled with regret. Dragging him out to tame a high-grade beast, as if possessed by some whimsical desire, was frustrating beyond words.
"Do as you please. But what's gotten into you? You never even glanced at magical beasts before, and now you want one so badly? You're acting like a mad old man."
Despite the scolding, Aaron grinned sheepishly, scratching his head as if embarrassed. "Well, I heard about a strange young lad who goes around with not one but two Grade-1 beasts. They say he commands a sphinx and a dragon at will. When I heard that, I couldn't help myself—my blood started boiling."
Faust scoffed, unimpressed. "And for that, you woke me from my meditations after all these years? Hah! If you were so envious, you should've gone after a Grade-1 beast yourself."
Aaron quickly averted his eyes. The thought of capturing a Grade-1 beast was too daunting. Unlike other beasts, Grade-1s were highly cohesive within their species, making them nearly impossible to capture. Even if they were alone, success would still be uncertain.
Despite their bickering, the two had been friends for decades. Faust, eventually relenting, helped Aaron finalize his contract with the Behemoth. Watching Aaron treat the Behemoth like a mere pet elicited an incredulous chuckle from Faust.