At first, Michael had merely piqued Sigmund's curiosity.
A man who tamed a dragon and a sphinx.
A legendary marksman and a brilliant strategist.
A hero among the mighty warriors of the continent.
That interest was simple fascination.
After all, anyone could shine for a moment—but few maintained their brilliance.
He tracked Michael's every move.
During today's summit, he deliberately provoked him—showing disrespect, acting dismissively, all to test the young man's composure.
'How long can he endure such behavior?'
But Michael had received every slight with calm acceptance.
He did not get angry, nor did he show even a flicker of reaction.
There was no fury or arrogance in his eyes—only clarity, like still water.
The other kings were speaking, debating, commenting… but none of it reached Sigmund's ears.
His attention remained solely on Michael.
There was weight in Michael's words.
A quiet, commanding presence that could only come from true strength.
The confidence to lift others without lowering himself.
Sigmund smiled slowly.
He couldn't help but acknowledge it.
No longer was this a game of measuring strength.
He now desired something more—to stand beside Michael, not opposite him.
He no longer saw Michael as a mere strong man, but as someone who could truly shape the future of the continent.
He had stopped testing him.
Michael had exceeded every expectation.
Sigmund didn't understand his own emotions.
He had always been alone.
None could challenge him, none could hold his attention.
His life had been one of decisions made from a throne above kneeling vassals.
No one had dared to meet his eyes on equal terms—until now.
Michael was different.
For the first time, Sigmund had found a match.
Someone who looked at him not with fear or reverence—but with equality.
It was an unfamiliar sensation, and for the first time in his life, Sigmund was confused.
He wanted to talk to Michael, truly talk.
To share a drink—his favorite wine.
But Sigmund didn't recognize what this feeling truly was.
He had no name for it.
He didn't realize that what he felt… was the longing for friendship.
Because he had never known a friend.
Michael, for his part, ignored Sigmund's burning stare.
'What's with this lunatic and that creepy look?'
From behind Michael, Alfred observed Sigmund with a cool gaze.
'I've seen eyes like that before.'
The memory came rushing back—years old but still vivid.
Eyes blazing like wildfire, filled with obsession and madness.
It was just like Glorhue, a figure from Alfred's distant past.
Alfred's eyes shifted between Sigmund and Michael.
The memories he had buried deep now surfaced with vivid clarity.
Yes—Glorhue had once looked at him like that.
It had been during a similar continental summit, many years ago.
Glorhue, still young, had looked up at Alfred with eyes brimming with indescribable emotion.
There had been awe. Obsession.
And most of all—overwhelming loneliness.
At the time, Alfred hadn't understood what that gaze truly meant.
Or perhaps… he had understood, and simply turned away.
His fingertips trembled faintly as memory overlapped with present.
'If I had been more attentive back then… would things have turned out differently?'
No, he shook the thought away.
Fate was not something that could be changed with mere regret.
The path Glorhue had walked had been decided long ago.
Regardless of Alfred's choices, the end would have remained the same.
He turned his gaze back to Sigmund, carefully analyzing his expression.
This time, it was different.
Glorhue's eyes had been twisted by hostility and foul jealousy.
The glow of a soul darkened by hatred.
Intense to the point of madness, yes—but absent of envy or rage.
All he saw was a desperate yearning. A deep longing.
Alfred inhaled quietly.
The past was not the present.
Sigmund was not Glorhue.
And Michael was not himself.
'There were rumors he was insane… Seems they were exaggerated.'
Alfred dismissed his interest in Sigmund.
There was no need to interfere.
This man was nothing like Glorhue, who had truly been evil.
Sigmund was simply a young man, still burning with raw emotion and unpolished dreams.
Alfred studied him quietly.
'He must've endured many wounds in his youth…'
There was fragility in those eyes—something missing, something aching.
Why did he look at Michael with such desperate intensity?
Maybe it was admiration.
Or maybe something else entirely.
But one thing was clear:
Sigmund's gaze did not carry the corruption that had once consumed Glorhue.
Glorhue had been broken.
He had descended into darkness, imprisoned by his misery, and eventually destroyed everything around him.
His gaze had been poisoned by jealousy and a desire for destruction—
And that had ended in tragedy.
Sigmund's eyes held none of that darkness.
Though Sigmund's gaze was intense to the point of obsession, it wasn't born of malice.
Rather, it stemmed from a deep yearning—to be acknowledged.
A desperate desire to find his place in the world, perhaps through Michael.
"This is a good thing," thought Alfred, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again.
"Even my grandson needs someone he can truly open up to."
Michael had always been quiet and independent.
Strong, intelligent, and never one to rely on others.
But no human can live alone forever.
Clinging too tightly to strength, without pause, eventually leads to being consumed by it.
Alfred knew this truth better than anyone.
Though Astrid was by Michael's side, love and friendship were different things.
And so, Alfred let go of the murderous intent he had quietly harbored.
Had Sigmund truly been a threat, Alfred would have tracked him after the summit and eliminated him without hesitation.
But now, he saw there was no need.
The young emperor wasn't lost yet—just momentarily adrift.
Still entirely unaware that his very life had once hung in the balance, Sigmund continued to gaze at Michael with glowing eyes.
Like a sunflower drawn toward the sun.
The summit dragged on with little progress, eventually ending without any meaningful results.
Despite hours of discussion, no one could come to a concrete decision.