“It doesn’t matter what method you use. Bring someone who can match me. Whether you unite the power of the six families, or on the contrary, tear each other apart, or… find one divine object that I haven’t found. Use any means necessary to find my worthy opponent, and then we will determine the protagonist of the prophecy through a fair contest.”

Though disguised as a plausible opportunity, everyone knew. Magnus was now urging them towards an obvious predetermined answer.

Either abandon their vain desires early and submit to him, or struggle in vain trying to find an opponent.

Now factions were completely meaningless.

The six greedy heads will divide among themselves to find a way to survive, and tear at each other’s flesh.

That was precisely the scene Magnus wanted and desired.

Among them, the shrewd and cunning ones will be the first to prostrate themselves at his feet and swear allegiance to Magnus, but those who cannot let go of their desires until the end will try to find the divine object.

The one divine object Magnus couldn’t find, what he truly craves, the sword of King Iker…

A chilling light flickered in Magnus’s eyes like a half-burnt wick, then faded again.

He slowly curled up the corners of his mouth and smiled brightly.

May they not let go of their desires and struggle. And thus find what he craves and offer it whole to his jaws.

Whatever it may be, the choice was up to each individual.

Werner Fondo fainted. It was an unbelievable, shocking sudden news that astounded everyone.

The unusual stance of the family heads, and the somehow gloomy atmosphere.

An eerie sense of impending war covered the sky of Fondo, as majestic as a temple.

After the meeting, all the family heads became busy. Merche and Carla could not even catch a glimpse of Mariette’s skirt.

All they could see were dozens of messenger birds flying in and out of Mariette’s quarters almost every day.

The birds flying with their wings nearly broken fanned inexplicable anxiety.

But a few days later.

An unexpected guest arrived. Carla, who was cracking walnuts for fun while chatting idly, was the first to see the guest’s face.

“Prince San, Your Highness…?”

She opened her mouth and stood up abruptly.

“No, Your Highness, what brings you here…”

“I came to see Lord Merche. Where is he?”

Just then, Merche, who was coming out with some snacks in her arms, witnessed the scene.

Though puzzled, she greeted the royal with proper etiquette and slowly walked towards San. San spoke to Merche as if commanding.

“My lord. Walk with me for a moment. I have something to say.”

Unable to refuse the prince’s proposal, she followed him.

But San was too taciturn to have called her out to talk, and at times he couldn’t hide his perplexed expression.

As the two approached a dark building and reached a secluded room at the end. Merche stopped in her tracks, ceasing even the mechanical responses she had been giving all along.

“Your Highness.”

“…Speak.”

“Is the person who wishes to see me beyond that door?”

“……”

San said nothing, but that reaction itself was an affirmation.

“It’s just my guess, but this doesn’t seem to be what Your Highness desired.”

“I… Haa. I’m sorry.”

His face was clearly that of someone who had been forced to come, so it evoked sympathy rather than anger.

“There’s no need to apologize to me. If Your Highness has also been coerced by someone, then it’s not Your Highness’s fault.”

The identity of the person who had disguised himself to summon her was roughly apparent. She had already gauged him on the way here.

Magnus Fondo. The man who now bore the name of Iker.

She had expected such a day would come ever since she learned that he was collecting divine objects and was the culprit who tried to kill her.

Only the timing was a bit earlier than Merche had anticipated.

She took a deep breath, and exhaled again. And when her mind was calm, she opened the door without hesitation.

“Welcome. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Prince Magnus, Your Highness.”

“Oh my. Don’t be so formal. We’re old acquaintances, Lord Merche.”

Though they were acquaintances, it felt unfamiliar as if seeing a different person. The appearance of the attendant who used to serve Louis could no longer be found in him.

The current Magnus was dignified and very relaxed. He gestured for Merche to come closer.

“I’ve heard. That you might be royalty. Perhaps we’ll end up living together in the palace?”

“It’s just an unproven rumor.”

“Lies. You have the power too. Enough dominance to survive against Basilisk and Leviathan.”

“…What is it you wish to say to me?”

Instead of answering, Magnus turned his body and leaned back on the couch as if lying down. He spoke without looking at Merche.

“Do you think you’re royalty?”

He tilted his head to the side and met her eyes.

“Why do you think I tried to kill you?”

“……”

“Lord Merche. You know too. That you’re not royalty.”

He calmly recited the details of the background check he had done on Merche.

That Merche was not the biological child of the Ashtad couple, that there were no records of her in any orphanage and no birth records remained, and…

“You look like a twin of King Iker.”

It’s a fact unknown to most royals, but the portrait of King Iker in the palace is a fake fabricated by the royal family.

Magnus closed his eyes and recalled the old portrait hanging in the palace.

A handsome man with black hair and green eyes, wearing a cloak with luxurious patterns, with an appearance that was hardly human and rather eerie.

Since the first king, almost all royals born had black hair.

With a few exceptions like Magnus, nearly 80% had black hair and green eyes.

However, in reality, King Iker’s appearance was far from this typical royal look that everyone imagined.

Perhaps if he hadn’t left behind any treasures, later generations might never have known his true appearance.

Fond of the six loyal ministers who served him, he secretly distributed various treasures to them during his lifetime, one of which was a portrait of himself.

It was passed down to the head of the Ardor family at the time and of course, it is still hidden in a secret room of the Ardor family.

Magnus’s confidant infiltrated the place and confirmed the portrait. The appearance of King Iker depicted in it was…

“Blonde hair and blue eyes. A strikingly beautiful face.”

The tip of his upright index finger pointed at Merche.

Blonde hair and blue eyes, an exotically beautiful woman caught on his fingertip.

“No matter how I look at it, you seem to be the protagonist of the prophecy. What do you think?”

It was a terrifying situation in a way.

The person who had already tried to kill her once was now pressuring her frighteningly, so anyone would be intimidated and scared.

However, Merche felt her blood run cold instead.

Perhaps it was a struggle. An effort not to feel fear towards the opponent. She brainwashed herself as if exerting all her strength.

Calmly. Figure out what the other party wants.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to kill you. And I have the power to do so.”

A blade was pressed against her throat. Merche held her breath.

“I have two of the three divine objects of King Iker. Thanks to that, I’ve gained something far superior to your dominance.”

He suddenly raised his upper body. His feet, free from the couch, slowly approached Merche.

“My lord. Do you want to protect Benenum and Rude Lupinus?”

“…I want to protect them.”

“Even though you don’t have the power to do so?”

As soon as his hand landed on her shoulder, her knees buckled. While suppressing a groan, Merche sensed it.

Dominance, the very power she had been using to suppress and control other divine beasts.

It felt as if an enormously heavy rock was crushing her entire body.

Knowing that gritting her teeth would damage them, she barely managed to endure by exerting strength throughout her entire body.

“Merche.”

“……”

“You can’t beat me. While you were playing house and giggling in Benenum, I was diligently gathering information and finding divine objects.”

“What… do I need to do… for you to spare my people…?”

“Well. What could you do to make this murderous intent towards you subside…”

Magnus’s eyes narrowed.

“Like you said before, it wasn’t your place from the start, so you wouldn’t try to take it at the expense of harming Rude Lupinus. Your words irritated me then, but thinking about it now, that’s it. That’s what I want to hear.”

The pressure on her body intensified. Her knees touching the floor felt like they were being crushed, and the scratches from her clenched nails drew blood.

Still, Merche reached out and grasped Magnus’s trouser leg.

If her hand slipped, she would grasp his shoe, and if it slipped again, she would crawl to grasp his shoelace.

Now she understood. What he wanted.

“The throne… is not my place.”

In an instant, the oppressive force disappeared. Magnus looked at her with piercing eyes.

“…Is that so?”

“It was never my place from the beginning. Until the day I die, I will not covet it, and I will live crouched outside of your sight.”

“Indeed. You’re smart, Merche. You know how to find a way to survive on your own.”

He smiled lightly and patted Merche’s head a couple of times.

“Good. If you do that, I won’t touch the people you care about. Instead… stay within my sight, not outside of it. In Benenum, where I can always observe you. That way I can confirm that you haven’t changed.”

No matter what she heard, Merche never questioned.

She obediently agreed to all his words, then slipped out of the secret room, suppressing her presence.

Her steps towards her quarters were filled with urgency, and her expressionless face was mixed with complex emotions, making it difficult to read her true feelings.