Karion's challenge was over.
That left one name.
So then—what about Frey?
Benimaru's voice stayed calm, but the words carried weight.
"Frey-dono also fought Adalmann and his unit."
I narrowed my eyes.
"And?"
"She didn't lose. But she didn't break them either."
"Good," I said flatly. "That's how it should be."
Benimaru nodded, and Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom unfolded the memory feed in my mind like a cold banner in the wind.
At first glance, it looked like Frey had every advantage.
She opened with a field—Magic Interference—a fifty-meter radius where magicules shuddered and refused to obey. The air itself felt "wrong," like the world's mana had been gagged.
It was stronger than the interference wave that once came from Charybdis.
That should've crippled Adalmann's rhythm.
It even reached for his Necronomicon—
and then it failed to finish the job.
Because Adalmann wasn't relying on raw casting anymore.
He'd been rebuilt into a guardian of my Labyrinth.
He shifted instantly—Holy Magic became structure, not "spellwork." His Holy Cannon wasn't meant to win; it was meant to force movement, to herd Frey's flight lines into predictable angles.
And the moment Frey tried to exploit her real weapon—those claws—
Benimaru's earlier warning echoed in my mind.
"The trouble is Frey-dono's claws. They disrupt the body's magicules. Once they grab you, it's like your skills and magic are sealed."
Yes.
Those claws were dangerous.
Mythical-grade danger.
But that only mattered against prey.
My guardians were not prey.
Frey lunged for Wenti, aiming to seize and ruin her from the inside.
Wenti didn't panic.
She accepted the contact—then triggered layered defense like overlapping plates of living steel. The disruption crawled across her, tried to silence her… and got caught inside containment layers that were built to endure ultimate-level pressure.
Frey pulled back immediately.
Smart.
She changed tactics—took the sky, turned it into a hunting ground, and tried to grind them down from above.
That's where Albert moved.
He didn't hesitate. He leapt—straight into the kill zone—forcing Frey to commit.
And Frey wanted that.
She twisted in the air, wings cutting the wind like blades—
Only for Albert's counter to arrive first.
Not because he was faster.
Because he was synchronized.
Adalmann's pressure forced Frey's timing. Wenti's presence narrowed her lanes. Albert didn't "chase"—
He struck where she had to be.
The clash tore up the sky.
Feathers scattered.
And Frey retreated again—cleanly, instantly, refusing to trade pride for damage.
The conclusion was simple:
Frey couldn't destroy Adalmann's unit.
Adalmann's unit couldn't pin Frey down long enough to finish her.
A brutal truth for both sides.
A perfect result for the Labyrinth.
Benimaru exhaled.
"If this were outside… with civilians… it would've been a disaster."
"That's why it happens here," I said. "Here, the world can be honest."
Benimaru gave a short nod.
"She didn't challenge Zegion."
I wasn't surprised.
Frey had already seen what Zegion did.
She wasn't foolish.
But she still had pride as one who ruled the sky—so she chose a different opponent.
"She fought Apito."
"Of course she did," I said, voice low. "A battle of flight."
Benimaru's expression tightened.
"And she didn't break Apito either."
That was the important line.
Because in another story, people would say Frey won by a landslide.
But not here.
Not against my guardians.
The footage showed Apito's control—her positioning, the way she shaped the air around Frey like invisible threads. Frey was the more experienced fighter, yes. Cunning. Efficient.
But Apito was a guardian of Atem's Labyrinth.
A piece of the King's defense.
Frey could outfly her at times, outthink her in moments—
but she couldn't crush her.
Not decisively.
Not permanently.
In the end, Frey withdrew—wings beating hard, eyes sharp, choosing to conserve strength rather than bleed it away against a wall she couldn't topple.
She did not "lose."
But she did not "win."
And she did not "destroy."
That was the Labyrinth's verdict.
I let silence sit for a second, then spoke with calm authority.
"Karion and Frey are strong. But strength alone doesn't take my board. Not when the pieces are mine."
Benimaru's mouth curved slightly.
"That's exactly it."
I stood, coat settling over my shoulders like a mantle.
"Then we proceed as planned. You're in charge of Sare and the others."
"Yes, sir," Benimaru replied. "Let's see if they can even get past Adalmann's unit."
"They won't," I said, not cruel—just factual. "Not yet."
And that prediction proved true later.
Sare's team chose to train with Apito rather than challenge Adalmann and his unit repeatedly. They weren't stupid. They could feel the difference.
With that settled, I moved on.
I left Sare and the rest with Benimaru and headed for the Kingdom of Blumund, where Myourmiles was waiting.
From there, we would go to Ingracia.
Blumund was familiar to me. I didn't even need to pass through the barrier this time—we stayed on the outskirts, moving like travelers, not conquerors.
But this wasn't a simple visit.
This was the center of a project that would change the world.
The World Station was still under construction, drawing workers from neighboring nations like a tide. And near it, in the best location possible, rose the headquarters of the Four Nations Trade Federation.
A tower.
Ten stories.
Over thirty meters tall.
Rare in this world. Bold. Clean.
And built to endure.
Glass—real glass—used extravagantly, but not fragile: tempered by maka, strong enough to resist typhoons, earthquakes, and even magical attack.
I didn't hide my satisfaction.
This wasn't vanity.
It was infrastructure.
A symbol that commerce could stand like a fortress.
I hadn't had time to visit during completion. I'd left the entire staffing plan to Myourmiles.
A heavy burden.
One he carried without breaking.
Inside the organization, another name had risen.
Veryard—recently promoted to Viscount—now served under Myourmiles as general manager of the building.
That made me genuinely pleased.
A man who once deceived me now stood inside my system. If he'd chosen loyalty, I would use that loyalty well.
He'd also recruited talent—people worth meeting.
He promised introductions at tonight's celebration.
I arrived with Souei at my side, and Ranga lurking in my shadow.
Formal attire.
A three-piece suit for me. Two-piece for Souei.
Mine gray. His black.
Tailored by Shuna, woven from branded hellmoth thread.
Not something you could buy.
Something you could only earn.
The party wouldn't begin until evening, so the crowd was thin—
and yet attention still turned like iron to a magnet.
Whispers followed.
"Look at him…"
"That presence…"
"Who is that?"
They weren't wrong to stare.
They weren't staring at "a cute kid."
They were staring at a ruler.
At someone who didn't need guards to prove authority.
Because authority was in the way I walked—calm, certain, like the world should make room because it already belonged to my path.
Souei didn't react. He never did.
But his silence made the pressure heavier.
I didn't linger outside.
"We go in," I said.
We entered the lobby—wide, polished, designed like a high-class hotel. Waiting space to one side. A long hall beyond.
I already knew the interior, so I moved without hesitation.
At the reception desk, the receptionist was poised and professional—beautiful, composed.
I spoke once.
"Is Myourmiles here?"
Before she could respond fully, a man stepped out from the back room.
Flashy suit.
Cigar.
A confident sneer—like he thought the building existed to reflect him.
He looked me up and down.
"And who are you supposed to be?"
I didn't smile. I didn't tease. I didn't soften.
"I am Atem," I said, voice even. "Tell Myourmiles I've arrived."
The receptionist's face changed instantly—recognition hitting her like a bell.
She reached for the crystal ball communication tool.
But the man—Gabbana—cut her off, waving with theatrical arrogance.
"It's fine. I'll handle this."
The receptionist tried to speak.
"Gabbana-sama, this person is—"
"I said I'll handle it."
Then he turned back to me, like he was performing for an audience.
"There are liars who try to meet Myourmiles-sama. There are fools who try to attend parties uninvited. Fame attracts insects. You were unlucky I happened to be here."
Souei's gaze sharpened.
It wasn't anger.
It was the moment before assassination.
"Atem-sama. I will educate this man."
I lifted one hand. A simple gesture.
Souei stopped immediately.
Not because he had to.
Because my will was law.
"No," I said calmly. "We aren't here to spill blood in a lobby."
Gabbana swallowed. His confidence cracked—just a little.
The receptionist, voice trembling with urgency, blurted out—
"Gabbana-sama! He's the real one! He matches the portrait in Myourmiles-sama's room—there's no mistake!"
Portrait?
So Myourmiles still kept that.
Interesting.
Gabbana's cigar trembled between his fingers.
"W-What…? You're telling me this—this young man is…?"
He couldn't finish the sentence.
Because admitting it meant admitting he'd tried to block a king at the front door.
His mask fell apart.
"If that's true… why would someone like you walk in here with only one bodyguard—?!"
"It's called competence," I answered flatly. "And control."
The receptionist insisted again.
"It's true!"
Gabbana's eyes watered—panic, fear, humiliation twisting together.
He pleaded like logic could save him.
"Would a ruler just walk up and say 'Is Myourmiles here?' You wouldn't—right?!"
I stepped closer—not threatening, just present.
His knees nearly gave out.
Then I spoke with clean authority.
"You made a mistake. So did I."
That startled him.
"I should have announced myself properly. You should have confirmed before you performed."
He flinched like the word performed cut deeper than any blade.
I continued.
"But we end it here. No punishment. No blood.
Go. Inform Myourmiles."
Hope flashed in his face like sunrise.
"I-is that… allowed?"
"Would it not benefit everyone?" I replied.
Tears welled in his eyes—real this time.
"Th-thank you! I will never forget this!"
I didn't accept the worship. I didn't reject it either.
I simply turned away, cloak of calm authority settling back into place.
Because mercy wasn't weakness.
Mercy was something only the strong could afford.
And I was strong enough.
Now, the real meeting could begin.