Leylin raised his head from the table and flashed a calm, inviting smile. The sudden charm in his expression caught Queen Crista off guard, freezing her in place for a brief second. Yet, watching him remain casually seated without offering a shred of royal protocol made her posture turn instantly awkward.
'Wasn't Lucian Alister supposed to have white hair?' Crista thought in confusion, studying the black-haired man before her. But seeing Blair Welbring and Lita standing obediently at his sides, she kept her questions to herself.
Blair's expression made it entirely obvious that she cared nothing for the Queen's presence. She maintained the detached, freezing demeanor of an ice queen, her presence easily rivaling if not overshadowing Crista's own.
Beside her, Derick stood rigid in his gilded armor, his gaze fixed forward, though his eyes occasionally darted toward Blair with a conflicted look.
Noticing the absolute lack of respect shown toward the Queen, Crista's personal guards bristled, their hands dropping toward their weapon hilts and demonic manifestation brimming through them.
Before a fight could break out, Crista raised her hand, silently dismissing her men, before looking at Leylin to clear the room as well.
Leylin gestured toward the empty seat opposite him. Crista stepped forward, and Lita immediately moved to her side, pulling out the heavy chair to help her aunt sit down.
The royal guards gritted their teeth in frustration as they turned on their heels to leave the room.
Leylin caught the venomous glares they directed at his back and simply shook his head. He then met the eyes of Lita, Derick, and Blair, gesturing for them to clear the hall.
His gaze lingered on Blair for a moment, catching the cold light in her eyes as she watched the guards depart.
Leylin smiled faintly, understanding her intent immediately. Blair had been in a foul mood for weeks, and venting her irritation on these soldiers was fine by him.
"Derick, it seems you have annoyed my disciple again," Leylin remarked casually.
"I... Master..." Derick stammered, his face freezing as he searched for words.
"Go," Leylin waved his hand dismissively. "I have no interest in the gossip of lovebirds. Let her vent her mood, otherwise I will have to send a letter of commendation to your father for your service and arrange a funeral."
Derick bowed stiffly and hurried toward the exit, making sure to keep a wide, careful buffer behind Blair.
Lita lingered near the table, visibly torn. The first interaction between the man she loved and the Queen who had acted as her mentor and elder sister had gone terribly.
She cast a pleading, desperate look toward Crista, then turned back to Leylin with wide, puppy-like eyes before reluctantly stepping toward the side garden exit. She wanted nothing more than for the two to reach an understanding.
Leylin chuckled softly at her expression, while Crista suppressed her own irritation, fully aware of how delicate her position was.
Unlike Lita, who had hesitated before walking away in the opposite direction, Blair moved without a moment's delay. She turned sharply, exiting through the exact same hallway the Queen's royal guards had taken.
Crista kept her eyes locked on Leylin, though her tone grew cold. "She is a fierce girl. Aren't you worried she might suffer at the hands of my personal guard if she provokes them? Even if they know she carries high backing, a cornered rabbit will still it's full strength."
She paused, the structure of Leylin's earlier words suddenly echoing in her mind. 'Disciple? Lucian and Blair should be fellow disciple.'
Crista froze, staring at Leylin with sudden intensity. "Wait a minute... You called her your disciple. Are you... the esteemed one behind Lucian?"
A chill ran down her spine. The man before her looked far too young to be a powerhouse for an ancient hidden noble house. Yet if he truly was the master behind House Greg, Lucian Alistair and Keith Henry, her guards were walking into an absolute disaster.
Her soldiers knew nothing of Blair's true background, and their arrogance as royal protectors would only drive them to escalate.
Crista immediately reached for her communication talisman to warn her men to yield, but seeing Leylin reclining comfortably in his seat without the slightest concern, she hesitated.
"Suffer a loss? Blair? Against your men?" Leylin let out a brief, genuine laugh. "Queen Crista, I do not mean to sound arrogant, but your guards do not possess the ability to scratch her. Blair can eliminate all of them on her own. Even if she couldn't, there is someone with her who ensures her safety, I doubt anyone in the your Empire has the strength to harm her so no, I am not worried about her in the slightest. What you should be worried about... is your men."
Leylin took a slow sip of his wine, finally taking the time to properly evaluate the Queen.
She was a tall, attractive woman in her mature prime, carrying a natural poise suited to her royal status. Yet beneath that exterior, Leylin could clearly detect the exhaustion, dread, and creeping despair weighing on her mind.
Crista took a deep breath, forcing her composure back into place. "How may I address my Lord here?"
"I am no Lord, and my name is irrelevant to our discussion," Leylin replied flatly. Bound by her soul oath, Lita had never revealed his real identity, leaving Crista to assume he was simply Lucian's mysterious patron. "The only matter worth discussing is your current situation."
Over the past five years, the political struggle for the imperial throne had turned disastrous for the First Queen. Crista had suffered consecutive setbacks, losing key assets, financial networks, and high-ranking military supporters. A string of high-risk gambles had failed, while her rival, the Fourth Prince, steadily consolidated power across the nobility.
The conflict had reached a breaking point. With the wider war on the borders intensifying and culminating in the total annihilation of a neighboring vassal empire, King Austin Felineca had grown impatient.
He was demanding a rapid resolution to the succession dispute to stabilize the domestic front.
If the Fourth Prince took the throne, Crista's fate was sealed. While she might avoid public execution, her faction would be purged, House Raiz would be suppressed, and her son would face constant assassination attempts. Worst of all, the King had begun shifting his favor toward the opposition, meaning he would offer her no protection when the purge began.
Leylin cared nothing for the throne itself, which was why he had ignored local court politics for years. His preparations to leave for the Four Great Dynasties were complete, and he intended to step into the core of the world's power struggles to reap the ultimate benefits. However, before departing, he planned to resolve Crista's crisis.
This was not charity. It was a transaction of mutual benefit.
For five years, Crista had consistently supplied him with rare alchemical materials, experimental specimen, and high-grade resources. Even when her faction was bleeding gold and losing territories, she had never cut his supplies, despite heavy criticism from her advisors.
Her backing had saved Leylin hours of mundane labor, allowing him to advance his research without interruption.
Leylin was not shameless enough to abandon an asset that had served him so reliably, especially when fixing her problem required minimal effort on his part.
"I will not waste your time," Leylin said, setting his wine glass down. "In exchange for your continuous support over the years, I will resolve your predicament. The preparations are already complete. By tomorrow morning, I will drop the severed head of your opposition at your feet. By the end of the week, the King will issue a formal decree establishing your son as the next Emperor."
Crista sat dumbstruck. Shock gave way to a surge of anger, assuming the man was mocking her desperation.
"My Lord should not joke about—"
"There is no need to deliberate whether I speak truth or nonsense. A single week is all the time you need to wait," Leylin cut her off, rising from his chair and stepping toward the double doors. "Little Queen, you severely underestimate my capabilities."
Leylin pushed the heavy wooden doors open.
Outside in the stone corridor lay a slaughterhouse.
All eight of the Queen's elite royal guards were dead on the floor. Their mangled bodies were twisted in unnatural angles, pooling dark crimson across the masonry.
Standing amidst the corpses was Blair. Her silver hair and pale robes were entirely spotless, not a single drop of blood staining her clothes. She looked down at the carnage with absolute coldness, emitting the natural, crushing prestige of a higher-dimensional lineage. Beside her, Derick stood with a helpless expression, hurriedly whispering into her ear.
"And you also underestimate my disciple," Leylin added with a smirk, looking back at the pale Queen. "The same way this garbage was cleared without making a sound... your enemies will be left broken and dead."
Without waiting for her response, Leylin stepped over and walked down the corridor to join Blair and Derick, leaving Queen Crista staring in stunned horror at the massacred corpses of her strongest guards without a single sound.