With a long sigh, Miaomiao shook her head, her emerald eyes reflecting the dim, flickering light of the waterway. After glaring at Marcus for a few moments, she finally gave up, muttering under her breath.
[Fine, fine. Your parents didn't pass down their legacy properly, so this isn't entirely your fault.]
Michael intervened gently, diffusing the tension. "Alright, that's enough, Miaomiao. Let's not be too harsh on him. Marcus, think carefully about what we just experienced. Didn't anything seem strange about that being?"
Marcus tilted his head, contemplating the question, and slowly nodded. The being's peculiar behavior—singing out of nowhere, swimming in circles within the lake—had indeed struck him as odd.
[Well… yeah, I guess.]
Michael patted Marcus's wing reassuringly. "Exactly. That unpredictability is the point. If we had carelessly voiced what we wanted, who knows how he might have reacted?"
Even so, Marcus mumbled, still unwilling to let go of his fascination with treasures.
[But… what if we'd managed to get something amazing?]
Before Michael could respond, Miaomiao sprang onto Marcus's head, furiously batting at him with her paws.
[You big dumb lizard! Can't you use your brain for once? What's the point of treasure if it means risking all our lives? Do you think it's worth gambling your life for a few shiny trinkets?]
Marcus deflated, his head drooping in defeat as he muttered a reluctant apology.
[Alright… maybe you're right. I guess I'm just a dumb dragon after all. Even that old one figured out I didn't inherit the full legacy.]
The stark difference between Marcus's initial confident demeanor and his current humbled state was striking. Perhaps moved by his contrition, Miaomiao perched on his shoulder, patting him with a paw.
Michael decided to lift the mood. Pointing to the opal pendant around Marcus's neck, he said warmly, "No need to beat yourself up, Marcus. We'll all grow stronger together, alright? By the way, that pendant you got today really suits you."
Brightening at the compliment, Marcus nuzzled against Michael's shoulder, nearly toppling him over. Miaomiao promptly scolded Marcus for his overenthusiasm, and the group settled back into their familiar rhythm of lighthearted bickering.
As Michael watched his companions tease one another, he glanced at the prize he held—a flawless white gem bestowed upon him by the ancient being. It radiated a powerful aura, a potential lifeline for a moment of great peril. Alongside it was the imperial seal of the Pamir Empire, a potent tool for securing Oswald's loyalty.
Reflecting on their recent encounter, Michael shivered. The being's presence was unlike anything he had faced before—a level of power and mystique that reminded him of his harrowing confrontation with an external god's true form in his dreams.
'The world is vast, and there are still many monsters lurking in its shadows,' he thought grimly. 'Even my grandfather Alfred… he's far stronger than me.'
The thought of his grandfather brought a smile to Michael's face, but it was soon replaced by a contemplative frown.
'If Grandfather and that creature fought… who would win?'
He couldn't answer. A chill ran down his spine. What kind of being was his grandfather, truly?
Shaking off his unease, he refocused on his companions. No matter Alfred's past, Michael reminded himself, they were family. That was enough.
The Kingdom of Pasha stood in stark contrast to other nations. Unlike the fertile plains of Elonia and Lania, Pasha was a land of dense, mountainous forests and harsh terrain. Though its lands were still more arable than the Pamir Empire, the kingdom faced its own struggles.
Within the opulent summer palace of Pasha, an equally challenging family discussion was unfolding. The polished marble halls gleamed in the sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows.
"O elder brother," a voice called, filled with both concern and determination.
The air within the luxurious summer palace of Pasha Kingdom was tense. Geneviève, the Dowager Regent, spoke with a voice colder than the frozen depths of Lake Pasha in midwinter.
"I hear the Pamir Empire's grand army has crossed our borders and begun pillaging. What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.
Guinness, the kingdom's chancellor, nervously scratched his nose, avoiding his younger sister's piercing gaze. Once a fortunate upstart who had secured a chancellorship through his connection to the late King Alphonse I, Guinness now found himself cornered by his formidable sibling. He chuckled awkwardly, attempting to deflect her wrath.
"Ha-ha, is that what you're worried about? There's no need to panic, Geneviève. Count Ronaldo has already mustered troops to defend the borders."
Geneviève's sharp eyes grew even colder. The mention of Ronaldo—whose so-called "bravery" had resulted in a string of defeats—only worsened her mood. With a sharp thud, she slammed her palm on the gilded table in front of her.
"Ronaldo? That so-called valiant general you recommended? He's lost every engagement and nearly ceded half our borders! I just received this dispatch!" She hurled a sealed letter across the table.
The elaborately embossed letter fluttered before landing in pieces, scattering across the room's opulent golden furnishings. Even official correspondence bore the hallmarks of Pasha's extravagant aristocracy, reflecting the ruling class's parasitic exploitation of their serfs.
Fuming, Geneviève continued her tirade. "Let's just hope that fool hasn't sold out my precious Alphonse in his incompetence. Are you seriously telling me to trust the kingdom's fate to that man?"
Her cutting words left Guinness sweating profusely. His appointment as chancellor owed more to his sister's influence than to any personal merit. Lacking both military acumen and political foresight, his greatest talent lay in extracting wealth from the serfs to fill his coffers. Ronaldo's appointment as general had, unsurprisingly, been secured with substantial bribes.
Geneviève eventually softened her tone, a faint flicker of pity crossing her face as she watched her brother cower. Despite her ire, she knew Guinness wasn't wholly irredeemable. She decided to change tack.
"What about asking Maximilian Grand Duke to return from retirement?" she suggested, her voice laced with reluctant pragmatism. She gestured towards the portraits adorning the walls, her expression tinged with dissatisfaction.