Kneeling before Emperor Quinn, I felt the weight of the room press down on me. The throne room was vast, a cavernous space filled with tapestries depicting the long history of the Slatemark Empire. Its cold, polished marble reflected the Emperor's regal figure as he sat upon his throne, exuding authority. His crimson robes, adorned with intricate gold embroidery, seemed to shimmer in the light of the grand chandeliers overhead.
His sharp, discerning eyes bore into me, a man who had earned a second Medal for Merit—a higher grade than before, one that carried the promise of substantial rewards. And yet, for all his regal poise, I could see it: a flicker of curiosity in his gaze, faint but unmistakable.
"So," the Emperor said, his voice deep and commanding, "tell me, Arthur Nightingale, what is it that you desire?"
I kept my head bowed, as etiquette demanded, but my voice was steady when I spoke. "Your Majesty, I wish for the Tower of Magic to be granted the right to merge with the remnants of the Tower of Alchemy."
The request hung in the air like an echo, a ripple that refused to fade. The court fell silent, the faint whispers among the assembled nobles snuffed out as every eye turned toward the throne.
The Emperor's expression didn't falter, but I noticed the faintest narrowing of his eyes, a sign of the calculations happening behind them. He leaned forward slightly, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the armrest of his throne.
"For what purpose?" he asked, his tone laced with measured curiosity. "You hold no allegiance to the Tower of Magic. By all accounts, your associations lie with the Creighton family—those who stand at the pinnacle of spellcasting. What, then, do you stand to gain?"
I raised my head, meeting his gaze. "Nothing, Your Majesty. This is not for personal gain but for the Empire."
The room shifted. The court wasn't used to such boldness, and I could sense the ripple of unease. Emperor Quinn, however, remained unshaken.
"You dismantled Project Nyxthar," he said, his voice colder now, "and neutralized an Immortal-rank threat alongside Princess Cecilia. These were no small feats. But such a reward... it is not granted lightly."
"I understand," I replied, keeping my tone measured. "But the Tower of Alchemy's remnants are fragmented, their purpose corrupted by what they sought to achieve. If left unchecked, those remnants could resurface as a threat far worse than what we faced. The Tower of Magic is the only force with the resources and expertise to integrate and stabilize their knowledge, ensuring that it is not misused."
The Emperor's fingers stilled, his eyes narrowing further. He studied me as though searching for cracks in my argument, for any sign of ulterior motive. "And you believe this course of action will benefit the Empire?"
"I do," I said firmly. "The Tower of Magic has proven its loyalty to the Crown. Its leadership is disciplined, its methods rigorous. By merging with the Tower of Alchemy, it can ensure that the mistakes of the past are never repeated."
There was a long pause. The Emperor's gaze was unrelenting, but beneath it, I felt a shift. He wasn't merely considering my words—he was weighing the political ramifications, the alliances and rivalries that bound the empire together.
Finally, he leaned back, his expression inscrutable. "Very well," he said, his voice carrying the authority of finality. "For the achievement of neutralizing an Immortal-rank threat alongside Princess Cecilia Slatemark, Arthur Nightingale of the Slatemark Empire is granted this reward: the right for the Tower of Magic to merge with the remnants of the Tower of Alchemy."
The proclamation echoed through the chamber, its weight settling over everyone present. The nobles exchanged glances, some of approval, others of intrigue or veiled resentment.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," I said, bowing low once more.
The Emperor's gaze lingered on me as I rose, his eyes unreadable. "Be mindful of what you have asked for, Arthur Nightingale. The path you tread is not one without consequence."
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"So, Arthur Nightingale, what is it you want from me?" Charlotte asked, her emerald eyes narrowing like twin shards of polished glass. She leaned back in her reclining chair, her posture languid but her gaze sharp, the kind of sharpness that cut through pretense with a single glance.
Archmage Charlotte—the Zenith of Magic itself. The woman who had rewritten the very foundations of modern spellcraft and now sat atop the Tower of Magic like a queen upon her throne. And yet, despite the weight of her title, she had come to invited me to meet her face-to-face in her office. Perhaps because I had managed to tilt the scales of power in her favor.
The incident with the Tower of Alchemy had been a storm in a sealed room, but its aftershocks had given me an opening. By securing the merging of the Tower of Alchemy and Tower of Magic, I had helped her consolidate influence, which resulted in this meeting.
Because what I wanted lay far beyond the grasp of anyone else.
The moon base.
Charlotte's expression remained impassive as I stood before her desk, her hands folded neatly on her lap. "One thing," I said, my voice calm and deliberate. "I want your help getting my guild to the moon."
For the first time, her mask cracked—just slightly. Her eyebrows lifted, and her eyes widened in shock before narrowing once again, sharp and probing. "The moon?" she repeated, as though the word itself were absurd. "You're serious."
"I am."
The silence that followed was heavy, the kind of silence where thoughts moved too quickly to form words.
Even the Twelve Great Guilds of the Slatemark Empire had not set foot on the moon. Why would they? There was no reason to. No mana beasts prowled its barren craters, no dungeons lurked beneath its surface. It was a wasteland of gray dust and empty horizons, something that existed only as a whisper of humanity's ambition—the first glimpse of colonization beyond this world.
But I knew better.
Charlotte leaned forward, her previous composure gone as the air around her seemed to thrum with a faint hum of mana. She was on guard now, her body poised as though she were probing for the slightest hint of deception. Humans, I knew, loathed one thing above all: not knowing.
"What do you want from the moon, Arthur?" she asked, her voice cool and measured, though curiosity burned beneath it.
Of course she asked. How could she not? As the Tower Master of Magic, Charlotte knew more than most. She would know about the moon base—the equipment stationed there, the unanswered questions it posed. And yet, despite her knowledge, she still didn't know why I would want it.
That alone was enough to make her wary.
I met her gaze, unblinking, my tone even. "That's none of your concern."
Her emerald eyes narrowed further, a flicker of irritation flashing through them like lightning behind clouds. I held my ground, allowing the silence to stretch for a beat longer before continuing.
"We can write up an official, notarized contract from the Slatemark Imperial Family," I said, my voice steady. "The terms can be discussed properly—with lawyers and all formalities intact. What I want is my business. However," I added, my tone softening just slightly, "I will guarantee this: I will not damage the integrity of the moon base."
She studied me carefully, her gaze searching my face for cracks, for tells. There were none. I had rehearsed this conversation in my mind a hundred times, threading every word with precision.
"Why all this secrecy, then?" she pressed, but there was less sharpness now, only measured caution.
"I have my reasons," I replied. That was all I would give her, and we both knew it. I couldn't tell her about aetherite. I couldn't explain how I knew what even she did not. There was no way to justify it, no way to account for knowledge that shouldn't exist in this world.
For a moment, I thought she might refuse me outright. But Charlotte was no fool. Her brilliance came not just from her mastery of magic but from her ability to see the threads of opportunity woven into any situation.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, finally, she sat back in her chair and regarded me with a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe a grudging respect.
"You are playing a dangerous game, Arthur Nightingale," she said, her voice soft but carrying a weight like the crack of thunder.
I allowed myself the faintest of smiles. "The best games often are."
Charlotte let out a breath—a sound caught somewhere between amusement and resignation. "Fine," she said at last. "I will consider it. But understand this: if your intentions pose even the smallest risk to the Empire or to the moon base itself, there will be nowhere on this Earth you can hide from me."
Her mana flared for the briefest of moments, a whisper of power that sent shivers through the air. It was a promise. A warning.
"I understand," I said, meeting her gaze with unshaken calm.
She regarded me for a moment longer before waving a hand dismissively. "Go, then. I'll have my people draft the initial documents. But tread carefully, Arthur."
I turned to leave, my steps measured, but her words followed me like an echo, a reminder of the fire I was playing with.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Charlotte leaned back in her chair, her sharp gaze lingering on the now-closed door of her office. She pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply as the weight of the situation pressed against her temples like an impending storm.
"That boy," she muttered to herself, her voice tinged with both exasperation and reluctant admiration. "He dismantled the Tower of Alchemy's schemes, neutralized the Paladin of Void, and somehow walked away alive, though only because of me. All at mid-Ascendant rank."
She couldn't deny it—Arthur was a force unto himself. Not simply because of his raw talent or combat prowess, but because of his audacity. He didn't just solve problems; he tore them apart at their seams, weaving new paths as though the world itself bent to his will.
Her gaze shifted to the glowing panels before her, the holograms that displayed Noctalis's detailed dossier. She had done her research, of course. Charlotte was nothing if not thorough, especially when it came to understanding the pieces on the board. Arthur, however, was a piece that refused to stay in place.
"Noctalis," she murmured, her voice thoughtful. The holographic displays shimmered, bringing up data on his guild. It was an impressive lineup: three 8-star adventurers and four 7-star adventurers, including Arthur who would also be an 8-star adventurer. A guild of elite individuals, easily capable of standing toe-to-toe with the best.
Yet, there was a glaring weakness.
"Lack of accomplishments," she said aloud, her tone contemplative. The screen flickered as it listed their notable ventures—successful raids on Integration-rank dungeons, tactical subjugations of mana beasts, and contributions to regional stability. Competent, yes. Exceptional? Not yet.
For all its promise, Noctalis hadn't yet carved its name into the annals of history. It operated just below the echelon of the Twelve Great Guilds, lacking the grand achievements that would cement its place as one of the true elite. Charlotte pursed her lips.
"Talented, but untested," she mused. Her fingers tapped lightly against the crystalline desk, the motion echoing her thoughts. "Ambitious, but restrained."
Her gaze drifted back to the door where Arthur had exited. "He doesn't care about fame. That much is clear. But power? Influence? He's building something far greater than most can see."
Charlotte's thoughts turned to Cecilia. Her disciple was exceptional, even among the best. Scaling the Wall so early in her life, mastering complex seven-circle magic with finesse few could match—Cecilia was destined for greatness. And yet, Arthur seemed to stand in a league entirely of his own.
"So this is the man my disciple is chasing," Charlotte muttered, shaking her head with a wry smile. "She'll have to push herself even harder to keep up."