Melusine, Become my Noble Phantasm!

Lucius set down his wine glass, curling his lips as he watched the ladies chatter about matters that belonged solely to them. Some young girls even approached him directly. His expression said it all: Boring.

Yawning softly, he pushed away a girl who was draped over him. What was the difference between these eager girls and the women he would seek out when he pleased? To him, they all wore the same mask of false charm—utterly dull. His queen would never be like this.

He paced slowly through the manor, pretending to leave. He could have turned and walked out immediately, but the old councilors' feelings mattered. His strength was in battle, not politics, and he needed their backing to keep the empire stable.

Several girls tried to intercept him, hoping to become his consort, but his fierce purple-red gaze sent them retreating in fear. He felt equal parts satisfaction and disdain.

Once alone, the hard edge in his face softened. Leading such a vast empire was no easy task—especially with so many crises to solve and a revival to accomplish.

He had allowed local lords autonomy to stabilize internal affairs, but the empire's problems were deep. It could take decades to restore order. And with constant harassment from the eastern steppes, foreign campaigns might be the better way to unify the realm and divert unrest at home.

Though all of Rome spoke of Sword Emperor Lucius, few understood the crushing pressure he bore.

"Find a queen? How tedious. Fighting is far more enjoyable. Women only slow down the pace of war."

As he turned to leave, a figure in navy blue caught his eye. Lucius swallowed the words he'd just spoken. He wanted to smack himself. Maybe the reason he'd avoided a queen was simply that he hadn't met the right one yet.

Lucius was blunt and impulsive—if he wanted something, he went after it. Straightening his clothes, he followed the lone figure.

Judging by their attire, the person had come for the party, yet walked alone down a side corridor—away from the main hall.

That made it all the more interesting.

Unlike his predecessors, Lucius valued uniqueness. He planned to visit the eastern front himself and meet the Hun king—called the Whip of God by the Senate elders.

God? He did not believe in the Christian deity.

The magic sword he wielded symbolized the power of the continent's magic, blessed by Flora—the goddess of flowers in Roman myth.

If the God's whip was about to strike, let him, a believer in Roman gods, be the one to sever it.

Aslan remained alert, but Lucius was no ordinary man. His aura was difficult to detect if he chose, especially with Aslan's attention divided.

Lucius didn't follow Aslan directly. Instead, he ordered the manor's servants to bring a list of attendees. From this, he identified the name of the girl missing from the hall, then quietly tailed Aslan along his path.

Melusine set down her food and left the hall quietly. Though she didn't know the emperor's purpose here, his absence from the hall was a dangerous variable. She wouldn't let Aslan face the threat alone.

If the emperor discovered Aslan, she'd whisk him away immediately.

She remembered Aslan's warning—the emperor was among the strongest men alive. And Aslan, dressed in a skirt, was at a disadvantage in a fight.

Dragons treasured their hoards fiercely. She would be careful—very careful.

Meanwhile, after gathering information with magic, Aslan located the gems and metal debris.

As expected, he cared little for the gems themselves. The true prize was the metal wreckage.

He was surprised to find the metal kept in an underground warehouse.

If his guess was right, the manor's owner was foolish to store such valuable metal so carelessly. The metal was the true source of the gem's power.

Whoever kept this safe could produce countless enchanted gems.

"The underground warehouse... this must be it."

Aslan took a kerosene lamp hanging nearby and lit it. The smell of dust hit his nose. This place was clearly neglected, only footprints suggested recent visitors.

At the end of the passage, a heavy wooden door reinforced by a steel frame blocked his way.

He extended his fingers, magic condensing at their tips.

The wood softened, his fingertips leaving glowing marks as he inscribed a string of fairy words.

"The gate is open."

The door's locks clicked and disengaged. It slowly swung wide.

Aslan stepped inside.

The warehouse's contents filled his vision.

-End Chapter-

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