A while ago.
Argon, who was called to the royal palace to submit his monthly report, was annoyed enough that he kept frowning on his way back.
He couldn't accept it.
He was the strongest man, yet he had to respond to the calls of the royals, who couldn't even control their own court members and were betrayed by their brothers and sisters.
'Weak.'
Yes, they were weak.
He had wanted to cut them down for a long time, but—
—His jaws clenched, and his sword, feeling his emotions, trembled violently.
Staring at his palm, he closed his eyes.
'I need to grow stronger.'
He was the strongest man, but he wasn't satisfied.
Because he knew he wasn't the strongest.
Among the people he knew, Crisaius was already strong enough to stand against him.
He was sure there were more people stronger than him in the world.
He wanted to become stronger, not because he wanted to protect something, but because he wanted freedom.
