The party began exactly as planned—orderly, formal, and precise.
First, Myourmiles, as the representative of the Four Nations Trade Federation, stepped forward and delivered his opening address. His words were calm, calculated, and carried the confidence of someone who understood the weight of what had been built here.
Then King Drum raised his glass.
The toast was short, dignified, and decisive—fitting for a king who had reshaped his nation without bloodshed. With that, the hall was officially opened, and conversation spread like ripples across still water.
From that moment on, one truth became painfully clear:
This was no place for rudeness.
Royalty was present. Kings and sovereign representatives stood shoulder to shoulder. Any misstep here would echo far beyond this hall.
And yet—
No matter the setting, there are always those who cannot read the air.
The moment I began speaking with a few guests, the crowd around me swelled unnaturally fast.
Even my composure has limits.
One or two people were manageable. Five was tolerable. Ten or more became a tactical problem.
"Your Majesty Atem, please hear my proposal—"
"Our nation wishes to dispatch a permanent diplomat to Eterna—"
"We seek exclusive trade rights, especially regarding the new road network—"
"Step aside. My country borders yours. Priority should be given to—"
"You have no authority to interrupt! You are not fit to speak here—"
"I am the crown prince. Rank decides order—"
"Do you intend to insult my nation?"
Noise. Pressure. Ambition clashing openly.
If this escalated further, it would turn into a diplomatic incident—or worse, a provocation disguised as enthusiasm.
I kept my expression calm, but inwardly I acknowledged the mistake.
I had underestimated the gravity of my position.
I noticed King Gazel across the hall—unbothered, commanding space naturally. Even Youm stood relaxed, with Myuran subtly screening him from intrusions, smiling gently while deflecting advances.
…I understood.
Some rulers avoided this chaos by design.
Even Elmesia rarely appeared publicly without layers of protocol for this exact reason.
I made a mental note: from now on, access would be regulated. No more informal approaches. If they wanted my time, they would follow procedure.
Still, that didn't solve the problem in front of me.
That was when an unexpected voice cut through the noise.
"Enough."
The single word carried weight.
It was Gabbana.
He stepped forward, placing himself between me and the crowd.
"His Majesty Atem is the sovereign ruler of Eterna and a cornerstone supporter of this Federation," he said firmly. "Your enthusiasm is understood, but this evening is a celebration. Business will be handled through proper channels."
His gaze swept the group—measured, cold, unmistakably authoritative.
"Today is not the day."
The effect was immediate.
"G-Gabbana-dono… of course…"
"My apologies. I allowed my eagerness to get the better of me."
"We will submit a formal request at a later date."
Some withdrew politely.
Others retreated far faster than dignity would suggest.
It wasn't flattering—but it was effective.
I watched Gabbana for a moment longer.
The man who had been trembling earlier now stood like a seasoned gatekeeper.
He remained nearby afterward, unobtrusive yet vigilant, ensuring no one tested their luck again.
Thanks to him, I was finally able to move freely.
I let my gaze wander across the hall—not to greet kings or rulers. Those conversations were already scheduled for tomorrow's council.
Tonight, my purpose was observation.
That was when I saw her.
She stood out instantly.
Not because she demanded attention—but because attention gravitated toward her regardless.
Hinata.
She wore a black dress that caught the light like a starless night, its design elegant and uncompromising. The line of her shoulders, the calm confidence in her posture—everything about her presence spoke of discipline refined by experience.
This wasn't indulgence.
It was command through restraint.
I approached, measured and composed.
"Good evening, Hinata," I said evenly. "You carry yourself with remarkable presence tonight. The attire suits you."
She paused, set her glass down, and turned toward me—eyes sharp, assessing.
"…That's unexpectedly formal," she said. "Are you trying to flatter me?"
"No," I replied without hesitation. "I'm stating an observation."
She studied me for a moment, then gave a faint, skeptical sound.
"Hmph."
I continued, careful with my words.
"It's a bold choice. Not many could wear something like that without losing authority. You haven't."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Watch your phrasing."
"I am," I answered calmly. "Every word."
She exhaled, tension easing just a fraction.
"Luminas insisted," she said. "I didn't care either way."
"I see," I said. "Then she chose well."
Hinata looked away briefly.
The color rising to her cheeks was subtle—barely there—but real.
I did not press further.
This was not a battlefield.
Nor was it a place for careless words.
We stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the party surrounding us.
Then she spoke again.
"…You're handling this better than I expected."
"I've learned," I replied. "Slowly."
She gave a short, quiet laugh.
Before I could respond, the flow of the party shifted again—new arrivals, new conversations forming.
I inclined my head.
"Enjoy the evening, Hinata."
She met my gaze, expression composed once more.
"You too, King of Eterna."
As I stepped away, I felt the weight of the night settle fully.
This was not a gathering of friends.
It was a convergence of powers.
And tonight was only the calm before the next decisive move.
The day after the celebration, the mood shifted.
The laughter of the previous night was gone, replaced by measured silence and sharpened focus.
After the midday break, the conference convened.
This was not a gathering for debate.
It was a gathering for resolve.
Those present were carefully chosen—leaders who understood the weight of secrets and the cost of panic.
At the head of the table sat the five sovereigns supporting the Four Nations framework:
Myself, Atem of Eterna,
King Gazel of Dwargon,
King Youm of Farmenas, with Queen Myuran,
and King Drum of Blumund.
The core of our agreement had already been reached long before today. Our presence here was not to argue—but to approve, to legitimize, and to bind the outcome.
Beside us sat Myourmiles, appointed as representative of the Four Nations by unanimous consent, and Hinata, acting as the voice of the Western Holy Church.
From the Western States Council came its chairman, Leicester, his white beard as imposing as ever.
Around them sat roughly thirty delegates—marquises, ministers, and high-ranking envoys—each selected precisely because they could be trusted not to lose their composure.
Veryard stood at the side as secretary.
And finally, stepping forward as moderator—
Cien.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Cien began, his voice steady, "thank you for gathering on such short notice. We will begin immediately."
With that, he laid out the facts.
Not rumors.
Not speculation.
Facts.
A hostile force existed.
Its objective was clear.
Its scale was beyond any single nation.
There was no hysteria in his explanation—only inevitability.
The goal of today's meeting was simple:
to align the leadership before the storm reached the masses.
This was why the group was small. Fear spreads faster than truth, and a panicked leader is more dangerous than any enemy.
When Cien finished, the room was silent.
Then he spoke the final line:
"…The former guiding intelligence known as Michael is no longer a factor. It has already been eliminated."
A ripple ran through the chamber.
Before confusion could grow, I raised my hand.
"Allow me to clarify."
All eyes turned toward me.
"The threat before us is no longer Michael," I said calmly. "That entity has been erased. Completely."
No embellishment.
No pride.
Just fact.
"The remaining danger lies with Feldway and the Angelic Host. Their objective has not changed: the revival of Veldanava. The method is unclear. The timing is unknown."
I let the words settle.
"It could be tomorrow. It could be years from now. Or decades. Feldway does not age as mortals do."
That uncertainty was the true enemy.
"We cannot stop living because disaster might come," I continued. "But neither can we afford to be unprepared."
I paused, then spoke with deliberate authority.
"That is why this knowledge will remain here—among leadership. The public will be protected through preparation, not fear. Evacuation planning. Infrastructure reinforcement. Readiness without panic."
No one interrupted.
"This is not unlike a natural calamity," I said. "You prepare. You adapt. And you live fully in the meantime."
I concluded simply:
"That is my will."
Silence followed—heavy, thoughtful.
Then Hinata stood.
"The Western Holy Church will fully support this course of action."
Her voice was firm. No hesitation.
Chairman Leicester followed immediately.
"So that explains the accelerated construction projects across the Western Nations. The stations, the reinforced structures… they were not economic excess, but preparation."
Cien nodded.
"That is correct. All initiatives align with King Atem's directive."
The response was faster than expected.
One by one, the delegates spoke.
"I will advise my king to begin evacuation drills."
"As a marquis, I will see my lands prepared."
"This benefits our people. We will cooperate."
There was no resistance.
Myourmiles' strategy had worked perfectly—secure the powerful first, let them carry the weight of persuasion afterward.
Then something unexpected happened.
One of the senators laughed lightly.
"Well, even if someone objected… it's not as though they could oppose Testarossa."
The room stiffened.
Another nodded nervously.
"Indeed. When survival is at stake, pride becomes meaningless."
"I have no intention of challenging that."
Veryard blinked, impressed.
"She sounds… formidable."
At that moment, Cien smiled.
"Be mindful of your words. I am a direct subordinate of Testarossa-sama. This discussion will be reported."
The reaction was immediate panic.
"N-no disrespect was intended!"
"I meant only praise!"
"G-glory to Testarossa-sama!"
The last outburst was particularly desperate.
I exhaled slowly.
"Cien. That's enough."
Cien laughed softly and stepped back.
Veryard, for his part, adjusted his posture.
"…I see. Then I believe we are finished for today."
He withdrew smoothly, having recognized danger and avoided it without hesitation.
A wise instinct.
The meeting ended without dissent.
No votes were needed.
No threats were spoken.
Preparation would begin quietly.
Life would continue.
And when the angels finally moved—
They would find the world ready.
I watched the delegates depart, my thoughts steady.
The pieces were in place.
Now, all that remained was time.