Michael glanced around the room and offered a small smile.
"There's no need to worry about the barrier. I've found a way."
At those words, even Sigmund's eyes widened.
But Michael ignored their questions and continued.
"For the coming war against the Holy Empire, we intend to deploy 300 magical beasts, 1,000 knights, and 200 mages. Given the circumstances, no infantry will be mobilized. What are the other kingdoms' thoughts?"
Having already explained the plan to Princess Astrid and Duke Capone, he spoke without hesitation.
The other monarchs, stunned by the sheer scale of Lania's military strength, were left speechless.
Had they known this force came solely from the Crasus Territory, not the entire kingdom, they would have been even more shocked.
Then, King Henry III of Elonia, who had been briefed in advance, spoke up casually.
"Hmm… I take it the royal marriage is close. Seeing Duke Michael speak on behalf of Crown Princess Astrid says as much."
Michael scanned the room calmly and replied with composure.
"Ah, I may not have mentioned this. The troops are being drawn from my nation—not Lania. I am the rightful heir of the Kingdom of Xerxes."
A soft smile crossed his lips as he looked around the room—and then came the final blow.
"And here, today, I assert my claim."
Everyone who hadn't already known froze in shock.
The rightful heir to the lost Kingdom of Xerxes?
What was this, a bolt from the blue?
But Michael's expression was solemn.
The sphinx and dragon perched behind him held their gazes reverently, adding to the gravity of the moment.
Sigmund's eyes shifted to the banner hanging behind Michael.
So that explained the two banners on Lania's side.
The emperor's violet gaze met Michael's red one—not with mockery, as he did with others, but with recognition.
Grand Duke Maximilian—no, Crowned Prince Maximilian—sighed inwardly.
'So that's why Lania insisted on a continental summit…'
His eyes drifted to the silent Emperor Oswald of the Pamir Empire.
The territory of the fallen Kingdom of Xerxes spanned part of the Pamir Empire and the Argo Mountains.
If Oswald wasn't protesting, then some form of agreement must have already been made.
Or perhaps Oswald's capture and the death of the Pamir Emperor had been Michael's doing from the start.
According to continental law, a royal descendant may restore a fallen kingdom if they reclaim its territory and gain approval from one empire and three kingdoms.
Judging by the current mood, it was clear that the Pamir Empire and Elonia had already sided with him.
Suddenly, a memory surfaced in Maximilian's mind—one he'd nearly forgotten.
Back when his duchy had narrowly escaped a locust plague, he had purchased fertilizer from the Zirac Company.
He had signed a strange contract with their merchant.
'Later, our company's master may request a favor. The fertilizer can only be sold if you agree to honor that favor in writing.'
'A favor? Without knowing what it is?'
'It will not harm your duchy. Think of it as something like… confirmation of bloodline.'
At the time, he hadn't thought much of it.
He assumed the company's owner was either a lesser noble or a fallen aristocrat trying to buy back their title with gold.
No one had seen a royal house restored in over a thousand years—he hadn't even considered that possibility.
Not that it would've mattered anyway.
When facing a calamity like a locust swarm, he had been desperate enough to grovel for a solution.
'Now that deal has come back to bite me.'
It was clear now—Michael was the true master of the Zirac Trading Company.
And the magical contract they had signed, binding him to keep his promise at all costs, could not be undone.
Judging from the expressions of the other monarchs, they were in the same boat.
Sigmund, too, recalled something his chancellor had mentioned—and sneered.
The chancellor had signed the agreement in his place, but a contract was still a contract.
Strictly speaking, Sigmund's consent wasn't even required.
From the pale expression on Oswald's face, it was obvious—he had known all along.
'So the rumors about his cunning were true. I never even saw this coming.'
Maximilian lowered his head.
'I still have much to learn. I need to be more ruthless. At this rate, I'll be swallowed whole by these people.'
His eyes moved toward Queen Guinevere and Alphonso II, who were leisurely enjoying tea and sweets.
'Fools like that should not sit atop Pasha's leadership.'
He'd heard the saying many times—"A promising sprout is known from the moment it breaks soil."
And Alphonso II, like his mother, was dull and weak.
The boy still clung to his mother's skirts—pathetic for someone expected to be king.
Maximilian looked inward for a moment.
'Am I clouding my judgment with ambition for the throne?'
He placed a hand over his chest and searched his heart.
No—he felt no such desire.
If anything, he would prefer to stay far from such a burdensome seat.
'If it's for the starving and suffering people… I will give everything I have.'
From across the table, Michael watched Maximilian's flickering expression with quiet amusement.
'I wonder… is he truly without ambition?'
Who could remain unmoved in the face of power?
With a composed expression, Michael pulled a document from within his coat and placed it openly on the table.
His face, angelic like the mural behind him, looked devilish in this moment.
The contract spread open across the table bore the royal seals of numerous nations.
Doubt gave way to certainty.
In a slow, measured tone, Michael spoke.
"I believe there's no need to belabor the point. Is there anyone who objects to my restoration of the Kingdom of Xerxes?"
No one raised their hand.
Sigmund stared at Michael with a gaze filled with hungry fascination.
The emperor of the Celeste Empire, who had long sat atop the world, looking down from his throne with disdain, was now wholly fixated on a single man.
All thoughts of belittling Michael had long since vanished.
Neither his imperial title nor his reputation as the butcher who slaughtered his own family could compare to what now captivated him.