Of the nobles who remained, there was hardly one who hadn't benefited from his actions.
He was not just a man of war—he possessed political savvy, leadership, and undeniable charisma.
Even the nobles, proud as they were, had no choice but to acknowledge him.
None would dare oppose Michael and Astrid—at least not openly.
Through the purges of the Northwest and the South, Michael had already proven his political prowess.
Those measures had enabled the kingdom's long-awaited reforms and reinforced trust in his leadership.
It also allowed the central government to solidify its power.
All obstacles had been cleared for Michael and Astrid to jointly seize control.
Duke Capone's face bloomed into a deeper smile.
"Perhaps the day they marry… will be the day we proclaim an empire."
Michael already ruled over Crasus, a portion of the Northwest Sector, the plains of Elonia, and the lands beyond the Argo Mountains.
In terms of territory, he did not fall behind any existing empire.
He had wealth, military power, and a stable social order.
Most importantly, he and Astrid had the support of the people.
Across the continent, nobles and royals mimicked Michael's fashion, and products from his lands were being bought up in a frenzy.
Culturally as well, they already held influence.
Capone cast a knowing smile at Michael.
"My judgment wasn't wrong after all."
He no longer worried about the identity of the Lania Kingdom being swallowed.
The people remained the same.
The royal family remained.
With the death of Prince Randolph, the patrilineal line had already ended.
Only one thing was changing.
It wasn't just the name of a nation—it was its form.
This wasn't just a symbolic shift.
It was the birth of a vast empire, uniting diverse peoples and territories under one banner.
As Capone's cheeks flushed and his breath quickened from both wine and emotion…
A familiar voice cut through the air.
"I see everyone's enjoying themselves."
It was Emperor Sigmund, the man who had already tasted what it meant to rule an empire—now stepping into their midst.
Emperor Sigmund's gaze settled on the spot where Michael and his companions were dining.
By imperial standards, it was a modest hall—hardly fitting for a royal delegation.
But truthfully, it wasn't nearly as humble as Sigmund made it out to be. The marble floor was carved with intricate patterns, and golden candle sconces on the walls bathed the room in a warm, gentle glow.
Compared to other royal quarters, it might even be better appointed.
Still, for someone as wealthy as Sigmund, everything about it felt inadequate.
A white curtain fluttered softly in the night breeze by the window. Sigmund's eyes shifted to the garden beyond.
"At least the view is tolerable."
Duke Capone exchanged glances with Princess Astrid.
Silver cutlery remained neatly arranged on the table, and the dishes still held warmth.
Yet no one could focus on the meal any longer.
Sigmund had arrived—unannounced.
He stood silently by the window, his black formal robe embroidered with gold thread, posture perfectly upright—an image of imperial dignity.
His eyes were fixed on Michael.
Duke Capone glanced anxiously at Alfred.
'If that old man decides the emperor has ruined dinner with his grandson and throws a fit…'
Even imagining it made his back go cold.
But Alfred acted contrary to expectations.
Without a word, he stood and subtly motioned to Capone and Astrid.
Capone, who had been praying for an exit, gladly followed suit.
Astrid rose with practiced grace.
Michael, calm as ever, stood to bid them farewell, bowing slightly in apology.
"Forgive me, Princess. It seems I must speak with this man for a while."
Astrid smiled faintly and touched the back of Michael's hand.
"No need to apologize. I'll see you tomorrow."
Sigmund gave a slight nod of acknowledgment as they departed.
At the very least, he maintained that much courtesy.
Once they were gone, Sigmund hesitated.
He stood before Michael, shoulders stiff, a mixture of resolve and uncertainty flickering in his eyes.
He couldn't name the emotion gnawing at him.
He had weathered countless battles and made brutal decisions throughout his life—
but now, he found himself at a loss for words.
Even he wasn't quite sure why he had come.
This wasn't about politics.
Had Michael been a woman, things would've been simpler.
He would've made his interest clear, given gifts, even tried to seduce.
But the emotion he felt now was of an entirely different nature.
He was drawn to a person, not for power or gain, but for something he couldn't quite name.
Sigmund had been born the heir to an empire.
He didn't wait for acknowledgment—he seized it.
He had never shown his true self to anyone.
To him, people had always been tools.
But here he was, hesitating.
His fingers twitched slightly.
He averted his eyes, trying to seem unaffected—but even that felt awkward.
Part of him feared looking foolish.
Yet he remained rooted in place.
"If not now… I may never get the chance again."
Sigmund stared at Michael—afraid of revealing himself, yet secretly hoping to be seen.
"Would you care to move somewhere more comfortable? This isn't a great place for a proper conversation."
At last, Michael broke the silence.
Just what Sigmund had been hoping for.
He gave a simple nod.
Michael stood, and Sigmund followed wordlessly.
Their footsteps echoed softly through the long corridor.
Palace servants watched from a distance but dared not approach.
When the doors opened, the cool night air drifted in.
They walked quietly along a hallway adorned with carved columns, soft candlelight, hanging tapestries, and towering portraits.
A few attendants bowed as they passed.
Soon, Michael turned down a side corridor.
He remembered there was a small reception room here.
A servant standing nearby opened the door in a rush, flustered.
Just as Michael recalled.
Inside was a quiet, cozy parlor—leather couches, a low table, and a well-stocked liquor cabinet.
The breeze from the window kept the room fresh.
It was the perfect space for a private talk.
Sigmund glanced around once and then sat quietly.