"I can't suspend my disbelief. Vince, falling so easily to pirates? How did it happen?"
King Rolland of the Holfort Kingdom was genuinely speechless. He glanced at Mylene, who sat nearby, lost in her own deep thoughts, and pressed further.
"What do you make of this, Mylene? The nobles are howling for blood. Demanding the royal family take action. But have they sent a single soldier to aid the cause? Not one. What a drag."
He leaned back, exhaling sharply. "I never thought they'd be this useless. Fanoss has already provoked us openly—sheltering those pirates, declaring the Duke was slain by their hand, harassing our borders, even capturing territory. This can't continue."
"We should act, Rolland." Mylene's voice was steady, measured. "Whether the nobles help or not, we need to move. At the very least, we must deter Fanoss from going too far and protect the Royal Family's image before it's tarnished beyond repair."
Rolland rolled his eyes.
"And how much money will we burn in this endeavor? How much manpower?" He gestured vaguely, frustration seeping through. "If we move, we weaken ourselves. The nobles will take advantage. They'll grow even more audacious in their disrespect toward the Crown."
He sighed, heavy with regret.
"That brat. How annoying."
His fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne.
"If Vince were still here—still breathing—he would have managed the Redgrave household properly. He would have shared the burden with us. Instead, that brat not only slaughtered our loyal knights, but closed down Elf Island entirely. Hiding behind some flimsy excuse about a pirate attack."
Mylene said nothing.
She simply listened.
"Vince already agreed to revoke his son's position," Rolland continued, bitterness creeping into his tone. "He was going to send the boy to the Academy. Force him to make friends. Build bonds. Learn to stop acting like a godsdamned sociopath."
He laughed—a short, humorless sound. "Useless now. Vince is dead. And that brat has no one left to control him."
The truth of it hung in the air, unspoken but undeniable.
If Aqua were not ruthless enough—if he had hesitated even once—he would have been stripped of his heirship.
The hidden laboratory beneath Elf Island, his painstaking investigation, all of it would have been rendered obsolete. His father had no interest in digging up ancient secrets. Neither did the Royal Family.
To them, Elf Island was nothing more than a glorified brothel business—profitable, convenient, and better left undisturbed.
It might have been temporary.
A setback.
But in the game of Samsara Tower, temporary meant dead.
The moment he was kicked out of the succession, he would have lost everything—his resources, his influence, his ability to operate.
He would have been reduced to nothing but his system, scraping and clawing just to survive.
That was why the game had been set to Extreme Difficulty.
Vince Redgrave would never have antagonized the Royal Family. Under sufficient pressure, he would have folded without hesitation. Sent Aqua to the Academy. Humbled him. Reined him in.
But Aqua's decisive action changed everything.
Vince was dead.
And now Roland had no leverage over the Redgrave Family. The new head was not close to the Crown. Worse—he was hostile.
The game had shifted.
And the King knew it.
Rolland furrowed his brows, irritation flickering behind his lazy demeanor.
As king, this was the first time he had felt something slip beyond his control.
And he didn't like it.
Yes, he was lazy. He made no apologies for it. Mylene handled the day-to-day governance, and he was content to let her.
But laziness was not the same as indifference.
He had been comfortable precisely because everything had always been within his grasp.
The nobles postured. The borders grumbled. But the machine of the kingdom turned as he willed it.
Now?
Now the second most powerful house in the kingdom was drifting away from his influence.
The strings he had once pulled so effortlessly were fraying.
And Rolland didn't like it one bit.
"What if the source of it was Vince's own son?"
Mylene voiced her suspicion carefully, weighing each word. There was something strange about that man—Aqua Redgrave. She couldn't quite articulate it, couldn't pin down the exact shape of her unease. But the timing was too perfect. The benefits flowed too cleanly in his direction.
The old duke had intended to revoke his son's position. Then, suddenly, he was dead.
Even when she had threatened him directly—warned him that his status was precarious, that his father's patience had worn thin—Aqua had remained utterly unfazed. As if everything was still under his control. As if her words were nothing but wind against stone.
That was what made him suspicious.
Rolland rolled his eyes.
"Stop with your conspiracy theories, Mylene. Be rational." His voice carried the tired exasperation of a man who had heard one too many court gossips. "He is Vince's son. I attended the funeral myself. I saw him there—caring, protective, close with his sister. How could a man who loves his family murder his own father?"
His voice rose slightly, a rare edge creeping in.
"Do not say this again. Never. No discussion."
Mylene lowered her gaze and nodded.
"I will not speak a word of it again, Rolland."
"Good." Rolland's satisfaction was immediate. "It's completely unnecessary. And it would bring more harm to the Royal Family than good."
He shifted seamlessly, dismissing the topic like swatting a fly.
"Now. Back to our previous discussion."
His tone hardened, his eyes glinting with a familiar mixture of cunning and calculation.
"I don't want to send troops. But the Royal Family's image cannot be tarnished." He leaned forward slightly. "Since this is Redgrave's problem, let Redgrave solve it. Tell Aqua Redgrave he is authorized to marshal and lead troops in the kingdom for a campaign against the Principality of Fanoss. The Royal Family grants him the chance to avenge his father's death."
A thin smile crossed his lips.
"As for whether the nobles will answer his call—or hide their troops at home—that's his problem."
"But Rolland." Mylene's voice was tight. "This will push him further away from us."
Rolland smiled wider.
"No, Mylene. This will bring him closer."
He settled back into his throne, satisfied with his own cleverness.
"Doesn't he like Erica? I heard he even proposed to her. Willing to offer her the position of main wife, no less. And Erica likes him in return." He waved a hand dismissively. "Just pick a—"
"I don't agree with this."
Mylene's interruption was sharp, her composure cracking.
"Erica is not a broodmare. And he is not a good choice for a husband." Her voice trembled with barely contained anger. "He is a cruel man, Rolland. I doubt Erica would have a single happy day married to someone like him."
Rolland looked at her.
He smiled.
But his eyes did not.
"You spoke of him as if he murdered his father. Now you call him a cruel man." His voice was soft.
Dangerous.
"I don't know what prejudice you hold against him, Mylene. But I am not asking for your permission."
The words hung in the air like a blade.
"Tell Redgrave the king wishes to meet him. My decision is final."
Mylene bowed her head, just slightly. Just enough.
"Yes, Rolland."
She turned and left, her footsteps measured, her expression carefully blank.
But inside, her heart burned cold.
This would be the worst decision her husband had ever made. She could feel it in her bones—a certainty as solid as stone.
And she would never allow her daughter to marry such a cruel man.
Whatever means necessary.
She would never, ever allow it.
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