"The lives of tens of millions versus the life of a single person—this is a comparison so simple that even an idiot who can't count would understand the answer. I believe we can all agree on the conclusion, can't we?" Lord Borugan cast a glance at the pale-faced Prime Minister and sighed. "On a personal level, I don't wish for this outcome either. But when weighed logically and in terms of value, this is the only choice. I'm sure you understand that as well..."
"And even if he refuses, he won't escape his fate when the Black Star's judgment falls. Given that, wouldn't it be better for him to die as a hero, remembered for generations? You should persuade him in that direction."
Persuade? Persuade him to die? No matter how great a hero one might be, death was still death.
Seated in the carriage on the way back to the ducal estate, the young Prime Minister's mind was a blur, a storm of thoughts colliding and surging within her.
She was the only one who truly understood why he had gone to the Whispering Forest that day. If anyone was to bear responsibility, she felt it should be her. But unfortunately, there were many things in this world that could not be changed simply by one's will.
The fragment of the World Tree Leaf within her had barely fused at all. Both Elder Lloyd and the Pope had concluded that only a body fully merged with the powers of the World Tree Leaf and the Sunwell could succeed.
She had caught the subtle shift in Lancelote's gaze when he spoke. That talk of how capturing him by force was "impossible"—it was nothing more than a way to lower her and his guard. As someone in power, a leader herself, she recognized such tactics all too well. She had no doubt that once she left, they would devise a plan that included her, one that she would have no power to resist.
The reason was simple—she was not just a woman; she was the Prime Minister of the Empire.
Thoughts of duty, of responsibility toward the people and the nation, had once been the ideals that supported her convictions. But now, all she felt was exhaustion—an exhaustion that seeped into her very bones, weighing her down, crushing her beneath its weight.
"Leave me alone, I want some time to myself." Dismissing the guards and the secretary, she returned to her bedroom alone.
She sat in a daze for a while before opening the wardrobe. From the bottom shelf, she took out a set of clothes. They were somewhat worn but meticulously clean. Wrapped within the clothing was also a sword—a slender Anka sword.
She picked up the sword, feeling the grip that she hadn't touched in a long time. Stepping forward, she thrust, turned, and gracefully twirled the blade in the air, weaving a series of beautiful sword flowers. Only when a slight sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead did she finally stop, exhaling a long breath as she gazed at the outfit spread out on the bed. The tattered, unremarkable adventurer's attire seemed so out of place in the luxurious surroundings, yet it stirred a deep nostalgia in her. She couldn't help but feel the urge to put it on, leave everything behind, and never again concern herself with the empire's safety or the fate of the world…
A sudden knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts. Anger flaring, she shouted toward the door, "Go away! I said I didn't want to be disturbed."
"Is that so? My apologies, then." The person outside not only refused to leave but instead pushed the door open and walked in.
"You!!" Elaine's pupils shrank sharply, and she instinctively raised her sword. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect the one walking in to be Marquis Inham. But what shocked her even more was the person following behind him—Sandru.
She did not call for the guards. If these two truly intended to make a move, no guards would be of any use. Moreover, for these two—who were supposed to be sworn enemies—to appear together at this moment, their purpose was certainly not just to deal with her.
"Gentlemen, I hear that the Black Star has emerged. As necromancers, shouldn't you be elsewhere? Or have you come to see me for some other reason?"
"Of course, we have a reason. Tell me, what exactly happened in the Glory Fortress?" Inham asked, his gaze fixed on Elaine. At this moment, he looked frantic—his hair and clothing were in disarray, his usual composed and elegant demeanor nowhere to be found.
"Isn't it obvious? Your necromancers' artifact, the Black Star, has finally been claimed." The Prime Minister responded while rapidly calculating her next move. Now that the Necromancer King had emerged, these two, as necromancers, were undoubtedly her enemies. How should she handle them? How could she find a way to alert Commander Roland?
"Don't be evasive. Answer me—who took up the sword hilt?" Inham's voice was hoarse, his bloodshot eyes filled with urgency. His facial muscles twitched, as if his barely restrained emotions could erupt at any moment. He was nothing like his usual self. "Don't force me to pry open your head and extract the memories myself. This is the last shred of patience and civility I have left."
"Just say it, little girl. He has already used this method to question many people. Unfortunately, even those who managed to escape from Glory Fortress seem unable to see exactly who grasped the sword hilt. At least, I now know it wasn't the person I feared it would be…" Sandru appeared far more at ease than Inham. "But I'm curious as well. Lancelote and Magnus must have seen clearly, right? It would be troublesome if we were to ask them directly, so we have no choice but to trouble you instead."
Elaine let out a soft sigh, gazing directly at the marquis as she spoke calmly, "It was your son."
"What…?" Inham's voice trembled.
"Congratulations. The one who became the Necromancer King is your son. At least, that's what Magnus and Lancelote told me. At this point, I don't see any reason for them to lie to me."
"How is that possible..." Inham's voice trembled, and soon, his entire body began to shake. It wasn't that he hadn't heard clearly—his eyes had been fixed on Elaine's lips, catching even the slightest muscle movements. He had heard every syllable, every vibration of the words, and, most importantly, this answer had already been lurking in his heart, on the verge of surfacing.
When Jarvis had failed to use the teleportation scroll to go to Alrasia, Inham had already felt an ominous premonition. Then, when he received no word of Jarvis from any of the survivors fleeing Glory Fortress, he had begun to expect this outcome. Yet, he simply couldn't believe it. He had personally ridden a gargoyle to approach the undead army advancing toward Dehya Valley. He had also sent his Eagle Eye puppets to scout ahead. But whether it was the puppets—created through necromantic magic—or himself, all had nearly lost their sanity under the oppressive aura of the Dark Star. He had tried every possible means, and now, hearing the truth with his own ears shattered the last fragments of his hope.
Sandru furrowed his brows upon hearing the news. He seemed as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he remained silent.
Inham threw his head back and let out a heart-wrenching wail. When he lowered it again, his face was streaked with tears. The emotions that had been on the verge of erupting just moments ago vanished, leaving behind only emptiness. Even the light of life seemed to drain from his eyes, replaced by utter desolation. In just a single breath, he seemed to have aged decades.
The chaotic sound of footsteps grew louder. A group of guards rushed in, and surrounded Sandru and the Marquis. The intrusion had already been noticed when they showed up, and now, the guards were pointing swords at them, and one mage even preparing his spells.
"The Robe of the Ghost King is of no use to you anymore. Return it to me," Sandru said calmly.
Without a word, Inham removed the long robe draped over his shoulders and tossed it to Sandru.
"What do you plan to do now?" Sandru asked. Neither of them spared a glance at the surrounding guards and their drawn swords, as if they were nothing but air.
Inham shook his head slightly but still remained silent. Instead, he unfurled a teleportation scroll. The guards shouted in unison, ready to strike at any moment, but his gaze remained hollow and lifeless.
"Stand down. Let him leave," Elaine commanded with a wave of her hand. Even in her dazed state, she knew these guards were no match for him.
A blue light shimmered, and Inham's figure vanished from the room. The guards stood there, staring blankly at the remaining Sandru, then at their Prime Minister, unsure of what to do. They were not entirely incompetent; at the very least, they could sense that these two were beyond their ability to handle.
"Mr. Sandru, is there anything else you need?" Elaine asked, her eyes fixed on him.
"Little girl, the Pope and Lancelote came here to find you. I doubt it was just to tell you that you're all on the brink of destruction," Sandru said. "Even the elves took part in your meeting. Surely, you've come up with something. I'm a bit curious about that."
At that moment, Sandru finally cast a glance at the guards glaring at him, bristling with tension. "Tell these people to get lost."
Elaine remained silent, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. The surrounding guards grew even more tense, yet none dared to act recklessly.
"Even if you don't say it, I can probably guess," Sandru spoke slowly, his gaze fixed on her. "You should know that Magnus doesn't necessarily know more than I do. After all, I'm the one who has been guarding the sword hilt for so many years." He paused before adding, "Since I've come to ask you directly, you should understand why. Just like Inham said earlier—don't lie to me, and don't brush me off."
After a long silence, Elaine let out a deep sigh and waved her hand at the guards in the room. "All of you, leave. And… these two are my honored guests. There's no need to panic. Furthermore, no one is to speak of their visit today."
A moment later, Sandru nodded heavily, his expression grim. "As I expected… those people…"
Elaine looked utterly exhausted. That short explanation had drained all of her energy. "I don't care anymore. I don't have the strength to deal with any of this," she muttered. "Go tell him—he needs to run, find a way to escape the continent, flee to the Far East…"
"Where is he now?"
"The Whispering Forest. He went to seek the elves' help in healing Grutt. Lancelote has sent a few people to watch over him."