The door closed.
Not slammed.
Not hurried.
It shut with quiet finality—the kind that followed a king's decision.
Atem had already left.
And with that single act, the balance of the room collapsed.
For several long seconds, no one spoke.
Benimaru stood frozen, his hand half-raised as if he had meant to say something and forgotten what it was. His throat felt dry. He had stood on countless battlefields, faced Demon Lords, Saints, and monsters beyond human reason—but what he had just witnessed surpassed all of that.
That wasn't intimidation, he realized.
That was sovereignty.
Shuna's hands trembled faintly as she steadied the tea tray. Her breath came shallow, controlled only by years of discipline. She had seen Atem angry before—but never like this. Never with such absolute restraint. Never with power so perfectly contained that reality itself had bent without breaking.
Shion hadn't moved at all.
Her usual bravado, her fiery presence—gone. She stared at the space Atem had occupied, eyes wide, as if trying to understand what she had just felt pressing against her instincts.
If that pressure had been directed at me…
The thought didn't finish.
Diablo alone was smiling.
Not mockingly.
Not smugly.
Reverently.
His crimson eyes gleamed with unrestrained devotion.
Magnificent…
To make Guy Crimson kneel without words.
To bind a True Dragon without chains.
This is my king.
Outside, footsteps faded.
Guy Crimson had left.
Rain and Misery followed him in silence, their usual composure fractured. Neither dared look back. Not once.
And then—
Only Velzard remained.
The Frost Dragon still stood near the table, unmoving, pale fingers resting lightly against the chair she had never sat back in. Her breath was steady, but her thoughts were anything but.
Impossible…
Her mind replayed the moment again and again.
The binding.
The pressure.
The way her soul—her soul—had been caught and held as effortlessly as snow in a clenched fist.
She slowly turned her gaze toward the others still in the room.
Benimaru noticed first.
His posture straightened instinctively.
Shuna followed, heart tightening.
Even Diablo's smile softened—his instincts screaming that something decisive was about to happen.
Velzard inhaled once.
Then spoke.
"…May I ask something?"
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
Everyone froze.
Benimaru answered first, though his voice was rougher than he intended.
"Y-Yes, Lady Velzard?"
She inclined her head slightly—not as a superior, not as an equal.
But as someone making a request.
"Could you… arrange a meeting for me?"
Silence.
Shuna blinked.
Shion stiffened.
Diablo's eyes widened—just a fraction.
"…With Lord Atem," Velzard finished.
The words hung in the air.
Benimaru felt his heartbeat thud once, hard.
"You wish… to meet him?" he asked carefully.
Velzard nodded.
"Yes."
Her eyes lowered briefly, unfocused, still half-lost in thought.
"There are things I must confirm for myself."
Shuna swallowed.
"Y-You mean… after what just happened…?"
Velzard's lips curved faintly—not a smile, but something close.
"Precisely because of it."
Diablo finally spoke, voice silk-smooth and
reverent.
"He does not grant audiences lightly."
"I know," Velzard replied.
Her gaze sharpened—ancient, intelligent, and utterly serious.
"That is why I am asking."
No arrogance.
No demand.
No trace of draconic supremacy.
Only resolve.
Benimaru exhaled slowly.
"I… cannot promise anything," he said honestly. "That decision belongs to Lord Atem alone."
Velzard inclined her head again.
"That is acceptable."
Shion found her voice at last, quiet and awed.
"…You're not angry?"
Velzard looked at her.
"Angry?" she repeated softly.
Then, after a pause—
"No."
Her hand pressed lightly to her chest.
"I am… humbled."
That single word sent a chill through the room.
The Frost Dragon straightened, her bearing regaining its regal composure—but something had changed. The overwhelming certainty she once carried was gone, replaced by something far rarer.
Respect.
"If Lord Atem refuses," Velzard continued, "I will accept it."
Diablo's smile widened, delighted.
As expected of my lord… even dragons seek his judgment.
Benimaru nodded once.
"I will convey your request."
For several heartbeats after Velzard's bow, no one moved.
It was as though the room itself was waiting for permission to breathe again.
Benimaru was the first to recover. As the commander of Eterna's armies, he was trained to respond to the impossible—but this was not a battlefield problem. This was a matter of kings.
"…I will inform Lord Atem," he said at last, voice steady through sheer force of will. "Until then, please remain here as our honored guest."
Velzard inclined her head once more.
"That will be sufficient."
She did not sit. She did not wander.
She simply stood there, composed and silent, like a glacier that had decided—of its own accord—to pause its advance.
Shuna carefully set the teacups down, her movements precise, practiced. Only those who knew her well could see how much effort it took to keep her hands from shaking.
So this is the presence of a True Dragon…
No—she corrected herself almost immediately.
No. This is the presence of someone who has met Lord Atem… and lived.
Shion crossed her arms, jaw clenched.
She hated this feeling.
Not fear—she had felt fear before. This was something worse. The realization that there existed a realm of power so far beyond her that even anger could not reach it.
Boss…
Her eyes burned.
Just how far ahead are you?
Diablo, meanwhile, looked positively euphoric.
He clasped his hands behind his back, posture immaculate, crimson eyes shining like a fanatic beholding a miracle.
"So," he said lightly, breaking the tension with deliberate audacity, "a True Dragon requesting an audience."
Velzard's gaze flicked to him.
For the briefest moment, the air dropped several degrees.
Diablo did not flinch.
Instead, he smiled wider.
"…How quaint," Velzard said coolly.
Diablo bowed just enough to be polite—and no more.
"Praise from you would be excessive. I am merely delighted."
Benimaru shot him a sharp look.
"Diablo."
"Kufufufu… yes, yes," Diablo replied, unbothered. "I know. This is serious."
Serious was an understatement.
Velzard turned away from them, eyes drifting toward the corridor Atem had vanished down. Her thoughts churned, faster now that the immediate pressure was gone.
Guy Crimson… bound.
My power… silenced.
My soul… restrained.
Her fingers trembled once before she stilled them.
Veldanava…
Is this the world you left behind?
She had believed herself prepared for anything.
She had been wrong.
Elsewhere—far from the stunned silence of the parlor—Atem walked alone.
The corridors of Eterna parted before him, wards recognizing their sovereign and softening their presence instinctively. Lamps dimmed slightly as he passed. The world itself seemed to lean away, giving him space.
Solarys remained silent.
Not because it could not speak.
But because it understood.
Anger that deep did not need commentary.
Atem's steps were unhurried, but every stride carried weight. His cloak whispered against the floor like the echo of judgment.
Three days, he thought.
Guy will move. Or he will be erased.
There was no doubt in his mind. No hesitation. No question of ability.
The game had ended the moment it dared to
include him.
Atem stopped before a balcony overlooking Eterna.
The city below glowed—alive, orderly, thriving. His people. His kingdom. Not pawns. Not pieces.
Lives.
He rested one hand against the stone railing.
"Never again," he said quietly.
The words were not a vow.
They were law.
Atem closed his eyes briefly.
Then—
A presence approached.
Measured. Controlled. Respectful.
Benimaru knelt several steps behind him.
"My lord," he said. "Lady Velzard requests an audience."
Atem did not turn.
"Does she," he replied calmly.
"Yes."
A pause.
The wind shifted.
Atem opened his eyes, crimson-gold light flickering briefly within them.
"…She may wait."
Benimaru's breath caught—but he bowed deeply.
"At once."
As he withdrew, Atem remained where he was, gaze fixed on the horizon.
A True Dragon wished to speak.
Very well.
This time—
She would learn what it meant to stand before a king.