Chapter 170
The Marquis of Langham? What a joke.
The Dark Maga would inevitably fall under the influence of the Destruction Maga, and the plan was to forcibly make Mysaak the heir apparent.
But then, unexpectedly, that slippery bastard Christian ruined everything.
“How dare he.”
At that moment, Grand Duke Vessen’s eyebrows twitched in irritation.
Suddenly, the door to the head of the family’s study swung open, and a woman entered, dropping to her knees.
It was Presia, Mysaak’s mother.
“Father! Please! Kill that damn Christian, my son Mysaak’s sworn enemy!”
Gone was the pale beauty she once had.
Her face was gaunt, her hair unkempt and brittle.
Seeing his daughter in such a broken state, Grand Duke Vessen frowned deeply.
“I never granted you an audience. Leave.”
“Please…! Father, I beg you!”
She was losing her grip on reason.
This wasn’t the first time.
Since returning to the Destruction Maga, Presia had been in this near-mad state.
“Escort her out.”
“Let me go! Ahh! Father! Father… please!”
As Presia’s screams faded away, Vessen’s frown deepened.
He wasn’t the type to be sentimental about family ties.
But a father is still a father.
Seeing his daughter repeatedly fall apart only fueled his anger toward Christian.
“I can’t act rashly.”
Christian was now the heir apparent.
He couldn’t be touched without cause.
But that didn’t mean there was no way.
“No need to get my hands dirty directly.”
Vessen’s eyes darkened.
He knew the power dynamics within the Dark Maga well.
Though Christian had been flamboyantly named heir apparent, in reality, he was standing on thin ice.
“He’ll be killed by the Marquis of Langham sooner or later. I just need to lend a hand.”
The plan was simple.
Vessen summoned one of his sons.
“You called, Father?”
One of Vessen’s sons, barely twenty years old.
Considering Vessen was nearly seventy and his other children were long grown, this son had been born quite late.
Vessen especially favored this young son, and for good reason.
“Do you know the name Christian, Philip?”
“Yes, of course I’ve heard of him.”
Philip, the young prince of the Destruction Maga, smirked.
“He’s touted as a genius. I’m curious how great he really is, but isn’t it just a lot of hot air?”
His tone was dripping with disdain.
And rightly so.
Philip himself was considered a prodigy within the Destruction Maga.
Despite being born late, his terrifying growth rate had already put him ahead of his older siblings.
He had reached the fifth rank before turning twenty, and at this pace, he might reach the seventh rank before thirty.
A true, genuine genius.
To Philip, Christian—the so-called genius of the Dark Maga—seemed laughable.
“He’s all bluster. Claims to have reached fifth rank just two years after leaving his reckless youth? Even a dog wouldn’t believe that nonsense.”
No one in this world could reach fifth rank in just two years.
There were endless other exaggerated rumors too.
That he defeated a fallen star in the Gold Cross, that he neutralized a demon from the Mystic Maga.
Such tall tales need to be taken with a grain of salt.
“Why bring up that braggart now?”
“You have a task.”
“Could it be?”
“Yes. You’re to put him in his place.”
Vessen’s voice turned cold.
“His investiture ceremony as heir apparent is coming soon. Use that opportunity to thoroughly humiliate him. Make sure he never dares to hold his head high again.”
The twelve great Maga families effectively ruled the Maga Empire.
When an heir apparent’s investiture ceremony took place, dignitaries from all over the empire would attend.
While it was a celebration, it was also a chance to scrutinize the next head of the family.
In other words, all eyes in the empire would be on Christian that day.
And if he were publicly humiliated?
The fallout would be enormous.
His honor would be in the gutter, and his succession to the headship could be jeopardized.
No one would accept a disgraced man as their leader.
“Especially the faction opposing him within the family won’t stand idly by.”
In the Dark Maga, that faction was led by the Marquis of Langham.
If Christian were to suffer a terrible disgrace at the investiture, Langham would gain the justification to strike him down.
A simple scheme to eliminate Christian.
“That’s a welcome order. I’ve been wanting to show that frog in the well what a real genius looks like.”
“Make no mistake, it must be a humiliating blow.”
“Of course. Ah, I have a clever idea. May I ask a favor?”
“What is it?”
“Allow me to bring Kashmir, the hunting dog from the collateral branch, as my attendant.”
“As your attendant? Why?”
Kashmir was from a collateral branch but was still a prince.
Why would he want to serve as an attendant?
“I’ve heard Kashmir has some kind of friendship with Christian. I plan to use him to create an interesting situation.”
Philip smiled slyly.
“As you wish, Lord. Christian will be dragged through the mud in front of everyone. He won’t be able to hold his head up again.”
Thus, deep within the Destruction Maga, a sinister plot targeting Christian was set in motion.
But that wasn’t all.
Far to the south of the Maga Empire, near the border adjacent to the Central region, stood a small castle.
A picturesque scene straight out of a fairy tale.
More focused on aesthetic beauty than defense.
This was the Demon King’s Castle, home to the Blue Stream Demon King.
Despite being the lair of a feared Demon King, it was far from desolate.
Dark spirits chattered in the gardens, and finely dressed attendants and maids moved about.
Deep within the castle, a grotesquely beautiful elf woman, her body bound in chains, smoked a long pipe attended by a youthful servant.
“Your Majesty, a letter has arrived from Princess Yulian of the Dark Maga.”
The elf butler handed over the letter with utmost respect.
Interestingly, the butler was a White Elf, a member of the allied races, not a Dark Elf.
“Open it.”
The Blue Stream Demon King, Aria, passed the letter to her attendant.
After the servant unfolded it, Aria smiled faintly.
[As you instructed, preparations are underway.]
A single chilling sentence followed.
[The bloodshed will proceed as planned.]
A grim hint that Yulian was plotting something within the Dark Maga.
“Hmm, but I’m uneasy. That Christian prince is suspicious.”
Aria’s gaze darkened.
Of course, what Yulian was planning was beyond the capabilities of a mere fifth-rank like Christian.
It was a plan to drown the entire Dark Maga in blood.
Yet Aria had a hunch.
Christian was not someone who could be explained by common sense.
“If that weren’t true, he wouldn’t have been able to neutralize Patera of the Mystic Maga.”
Exhaling smoke from her pipe, Aria murmured.
“I’ll have to lend a hand too. To achieve my own goals, the Dark Maga must fall.”
A puzzling statement.
Why was she hostile toward the Dark Maga?
As the Demon King, she was the imperial envoy of the Maga Empire—more of a caretaker than a ruler.
Her private hostility toward the Dark Maga was incomprehensible from the empire’s perspective.
Nor did she bear any particular grudge against them.
In fact, she respected the Dark Maga for their steadfastness and refusal to lean toward the Apostles.
Her actions were driven solely by her own “purpose.”
“I have no choice.”
Aria spoke to her elf butler.
“Contact the Marquis Goras of the Extreme Poison Maga. Tell him I agree to his previous request.”
Marquis Goras.
A mid-level eighth-rank prince and deputy head of the Extreme Poison Maga.
He was the second-in-command, rivaling the head, Duke Huam, for control of the Extreme Poison Maga.
Her eyes grew cold.
“Let him toy with the Dark Maga as he pleases.”
Finally.
In a place no one expected, there were those who spoke Christian’s name.
Far to the north.
The northernmost territory of the Maga Empire.
The domain of the Mystic Maga.
Deep underground, a group engaged in a cryptic conversation.
“…Christian, huh.”
“Could he be the prophesied one?”
“Not yet… it’s uncertain.”
“I can’t accept it…”
“We need to watch a little longer…”
And so, around Christian, a new storm began to brew within the Maga Empire.
Meanwhile, at that time, Christian was—
“Ugh.”
…holding back vomit.
Why the sudden nausea?
There was a reason.
Jupien stood beside him, looking at him with pity.
“You really are a baby. You get like this just from one drink.”
Because he had drunk alcohol!
In other words, Christian was suffering from a hangover.
“This can’t be. Is this really my limit?”
Last night.
When it was time to leave, they had a farewell party.
A drinking party naturally broke out, but as usual, Chris—the underage one—was only given ginger ale.
“You can’t waste fine liquor on a rookie who doesn’t even know how to drink. Just stick to your ginger ale,” the Marquis of Schuppen teased half-jokingly, half-seriously. Chris bristled.
“I can drink! I just got drunk quickly because it was my first time,” he retorted.
“Oh? Is that so? Hey, bring out the pitch-black dark wine!”
For reference, the drink Chris had passed out from earlier was Black Star Liquor, a mild brew with about 10% alcohol.
But the pitch-black dark wine the Marquis now presented had an alcohol content of over 40%.
‘…Am I really supposed to drink this?’
Chris swallowed hard as he stared at the cup brimming with the dark liquid, instinctively feeling a wave of panic rising. Yet, everyone was jeering at him without exception.
“Drink up, young master!”
“It’s not even that strong!”
“You have to be able to handle this much to be called a grand master!”
The five commanders were egging him on, their shouts dripping with the feeling of “Let’s see you get wrecked.”
In truth, that was exactly how they felt.
“He’s impressive, admirable, and worthy of respect… but also so damn annoying!”
Especially Sanin, who had knelt before Chris earlier, threw out this not-so-subtle provocation.
“I’m disappointed. I thought the young master I respect would knock back a drink like this in one gulp.”
Then Jupien, standing nearby, delivered the final blow.
“Want me to drink it for you? You’re still just a kid.”
Fuming, Chris downed the cup in one go—and that’s how he ended up looking like this.