Prince Henry's hand trembled as his cup shattered on the floor.
"Damn it! You—how bad is it?"
Michael's personal guard bent forward. "The skin around my lord's neck was completely burned away, but his flesh and veins remain intact. It is… only superficial, not life-threatening."
Murmurs rippled through the hall. One of the stronger guards muttered what everyone else was thinking:
"After all that time in his grip… the fire never touched deeper than the skin? He released precisely when the surface was gone?"
A heavy silence fell. The conclusion was unavoidable.
The level of control over his power is terrifying.
Henry ground his teeth until they creaked. "Send Michael to Tinley's residence for treatment… and as for that Caesar—" His eyes narrowed at the door through which the boy had left, his voice dripping with venom.
On their way back, John spoke nervously:
"Caesar, forgive me for not intervening… you must have sensed the level of those guards. They were far above me."
"It's fine, Uncle. I understand."
"But still—wouldn't it have been wiser to just leave it alone? You've drawn the ire of a prince and his circle! That could be dangerous for us here…" John's face was pale with worry.
Caesar's reply was calm, almost disdainful:
"Why should I allow myself to be insulted? If the one mocking me were truly stronger, I could endure. But since he was weaker, why should I give him face?"
John's heart skipped. He called a prince weaker without even testing blades…? Such arrogance… or such certainty?
Trying to change the subject, Caesar asked, "Uncle, what's the state between our kingdom and Dolivar? It can't be too bad if we're holding a tournament here."
John sighed. "Not terrible, but not peaceful either. Skirmishes are frequent along the borders. The last major clash was fifteen years ago—between Duke Everen on our side and Duke Tinley on theirs. It ended quickly, neither side gained land."
Caesar raised his brows. "You call that not bad? Wars less than two decades old?"
"Politics between kingdoms is endless," John muttered. "Best we keep quiet and return to the residence before you stir another storm."
At the Burton residence, John reported everything to Saint Billy.
Billy stroked his chin, frowning. "Strange… was it a deliberate test of your strength? Perhaps they wanted to gauge you for the tournament."
"I don't care," Caesar shrugged. "Whatever comes, I'll burn it away."
Billy laughed. "Good. Even without Prince Henry's word, you're under official invitation. They won't dare act rashly. Go rest. Tomorrow we'll head to the city hall for the tournament briefing."
"Uncle, we overheard the prince mention something called the Hunting Event," Caesar added.
Billy's eyes widened. He shot to his feet. "What?! The Hunting Event? Impossible!"
"Is something wrong, Uncle Billy?" Caesar frowned—he rarely saw his uncle lose composure.
"…No. Let's not jump ahead. We'll know tomorrow." Billy sank back down, rubbing his forehead.
Caesar bowed and left. John followed, but Billy's sharp voice stopped him.
"Not you, John. Stay."
When the door closed behind Caesar, Billy's gaze hardened.
"I heard Caesar's account. Your name never appeared. Were you in the bathroom when this happened?"
John stiffened. "No, I was there. I… just didn't interfere."
Billy's eyes narrowed. "Are you an idiot?"
"I—I stayed quiet to avoid provoking them further. Those guards were far stronger than me!"
Billy's voice cut like a blade:
"You were appointed as Caesar's guardian. Not to enjoy strolls and free meals, but to shield him—even if it meant dying in his place. You should have stood before him the instant trouble sparked! Even if he ignored you, you should have bought him a chance to escape.
Instead, you hid behind silence. That silence was cowardice."
John swallowed hard, his cheeks burning with shame.
"I'm sparing you punishment this time only because of your blood tie to Robin. But this is your last chance. Fail again, and you won't stand before me alive. Now get out."
"…I understand." John bowed deeply and retreated, his steps heavy with disgrace.
A few hours later, the capital's great dome-shaped city hall blazed with light, guarded by saints and elites. The streets thrummed with life—crowds of mortals and low-level cultivators craned their necks just to glimpse the legendary geniuses parading toward the hall.
The Burton expedition arrived in full. Among them walked Saint Billy at the lead, his presence commanding respect.
By coincidence, the Black Sun royal family's entourage was also at the gates. Prince William Marley, one of the most senior and powerful of the royal sons, stood waiting impatiently.
"Hah! Billy Burton," William greeted with a curt smile, "what a surprise."
Billy laughed loudly. "Your Highness, I didn't expect to meet you here either!"
William barely acknowledged him before turning to bark at the guards.
"Is your damn inspection finished yet?!"
The chief guard smiled coolly. "One more moment, patience is a virtue. Aaand… done. You may enter now."
"Tch. Bastards of Dolivar." William spat on the ground and strode past with his retinue.
The guard turned back, still smiling, and asked, "Who's next?"