He had always been fond of mortal experiences—a fact not exactly a secret to those who truly knew him.
He delighted in enjoying everything life had to offer, yet held himself to merciless standards when it came to responsibility. He was a paradox in constant rotation—oscillating between absolute relaxation and ruthless severity. But to those who understood him even better, it all came down to whether or not he had activated his Stigmata. There was nothing surprising about it. Most people preferred him in his mortal state, though even without the Stigmata, his personality was already riddled with contradictions—witty and cutting, emotionally dense and deeply perceptive, all existing in one person. No one could predict when he'd suddenly utter something piercing enough to split open your chest and tear at your soul. His expansive vocabulary allowed him to start with the tiniest detail, weaponizing the listener's native language to deliver crushing psychological blows—deciphering his words often required navigating the brutal tangle of obscure customs and overwhelming vernacular.
To many, he appeared differently. But if you haven't read this book yet, you might simply see him as a volatile tyrant, a self-tormenting ascetic, a ruler who sacrificed everything for humanity, or a coldly fair king. A thousand people might have a thousand different versions of Hamlet—and who is Hamlet, you ask? A character written by a playwright named Shakespeare who lived in the first millennium. The Royal Palace Library keeps some of his manuscripts, shelved beside plastic toy robots. You younglings really ought to read more instead of loitering on those boring little planets trying to kill aliens locked in zoos.
Either way, in his non-Stigmata state, he was actually pretty likable.
I mean—so long as it wasn't a work situation. Hard to imagine, isn't it?
I know this book was banned from publication. You ask why I wasn't arrested by the prestigious Imperial Guard? Why I know all this? Well, of course, it's because I once stood by his side and survived both his fists and his curses. What's prison compared to that? I don't think it's worse—in here, at least I can hit back and not get punished. That's how I ended up with this esteemed position. I know people will misunderstand. No, no rank is too noble to avoid prison. I got beat up simply because he thought this book contained some "inaccuracies." Like, say, his supposed romantic escapades.
Can't deny—he's one charming bastard. Tall, strong, with one hell of a face.
You ask his name? Can't you read the cover, you idiot?
[Excerpt from Kamar-Taj Steward's Memoir: The Beginning and End of Arcanum, interview published in The Daily Post, Issue No. 103,620, written in the year 5014.]
[Breaking News: Our correspondent reports that the Daily Post journalist responsible for the interview has been identified as an alien infiltrator and has now been detained by the Ministry of Justice. Loyal citizens of the Empire, stay vigilant against extra-dimensional and extraterrestrial sympathizers! Report suspicious activity to the Ministry of Justice immediately! Boltrifles are good for mental health!]
"You promised me that one day there would be a child with the Malik name."
"Yes, but not now, and not like this."
Stephanie stood a full forty centimeters shorter than Solomon, but that didn't stop him from admiring the swimsuit tan lines she had worked so hard for—at the risk of developing skin cancer. According to her, it took layers of sunscreen and someone regularly pouring water over her to keep her from overheating.
"Like watering flowers," Solomon quipped. He could picture rows of women in swimsuits sprawled on the beach under blazing sun, with someone patrolling by with a spray bottle. Maybe someone hoped something would grow there—but at best, only sunglasses and forgotten flip-flops got unearthed.
"That was a private beach. The Malik family owns a seaside estate there. I had a servant with me—some university girl, a vassal's daughter. But the effort was worth it, wasn't it?" She boldly showcased her body to the Arcanist, making sure to highlight how time had etched itself on certain parts. It was the only point on which she agreed with her father—that she was nearing the biological limit for childbirth. It was time to think about continuing the Malik line.
"We can cure cancer."
"You know that's not what I mean!" She had experienced firsthand how adept the Arcanist was at playing dumb. "You're not thinking of using gene engineering, are you?"
"Maybe—but not entirely," Solomon shrugged. "I don't even know if I can have children with a mortal woman."
Furious, Stephanie threw on one of Solomon's lavish, gold-trimmed crimson robes, letting her original clothes fall to the floor without a care. The robe hung on her like a sheer nightgown, barely held together without even a sash. Before Solomon could stop her—not that he was really trying—his irate Minister of Internal Affairs stomped off in high heels and flickering golden light, storming back to her quarters.
The android responsible for security coughed twice, then wisely swallowed its opinion under Solomon's gaze—its exaggerated expression worthy of a third-rate actor in a second-rate play. No way was it going to get caught up in a pack of squabbling girls. Solomon shot it a glance and made a zipping motion across his lips. Whether Stephanie would keep quiet or not, he had no time to worry. He didn't believe the android would disobey, either.
He stepped through a portal and dropped straight into his manor's wine cellar—accidentally knocking over a pile of Cheshire Cat's stashed toys and interrupting Pegasus, who was trying to gnaw a cork out of a bottle. The dim cellar erupted into chaos—squealing bouncing toy balls, dead-eyed plush robotic fish, and a flurry of feathers.
"Master!" Dana materialized like a ghost in the cellar. She sidestepped the panicked Pegasus dashing for the door and expertly kicked away a flopping robot fish that tried to jump at her, appearing in front of Solomon just in time to catch his coat. Clearly, the moment he activated the portal, the synthetic mind-link had informed her of his arrival point.
"Let me enjoy a whole day of gaming for once," he said. "And remember to bring back the alchemy golem later. I want to see what class it covered today."
"You made the golem go to class again," Dana replied dryly. "Tony Stark called today. He said he needs to speak with you."
"Then let him keep looking. Have you ever seen me return a call?"
"Next is a message from the witches. 'Dear, can you do me a favor?' The specifics are: prepare two gowns. Your adoptive mother Athena is apparently throwing a gala, so both witches need something tasteful to wear."
(End of Chapter)
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