Upon returning to the mansion, Sophia led Lusian straight to his chambers. The air was thick with the scent of mint incense, and golden draperies filtered the sunlight into soft, warm beams. Once seated, the duchess wasted no time.
"In six days," she said, voice calm yet commanding, "the engagement ceremony will be held at the temple of Sangus—the god of loyalty and truth."
Lusian sank into an armchair, fingers digging into the armrests.
"Mother… is it… is it mandatory?" His voice trembled. "All of this—the oath, the blood… what if I fail?"
Sophia sat across from him, serene and composed.
"My son, listen carefully. I know this may seem overwhelming… but you need not fear. Calm yourself, and listen."
He swallowed hard, a chill running along his spine.
"But… will I bear the weight? Will I be the one who… dies if something goes wrong?"
A gentle smile softened Sophia's features, though her eyes remained sharp.
"No, Lusian. This oath is sacred before Sangus, yes, but your role does not carry the true weight. That responsibility falls entirely on Emily. You need only be present. She will swear fidelity before you—and nothing more."
Lusian's eyes widened, relief threading through his fear.
"So… if something goes wrong, she pays the price, and I… merely watch?"
"Exactly," Sophia nodded. "But understand—this is no game. Her fidelity before Sangus will uphold the pact. Your duty is simple: to marry her and grant her the place she deserves within the Douglas family. Nothing more."
"I've… never seen anything like this before. It's… terrifying," he admitted, his voice low.
"I know," Sophia said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "But this is part of growing up, my son. Your life is not at stake. This is a test of patience… and control over Emily."
After she left, Lusian closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts. Every piece on the board of fate was about to move, and each movement would bring death or ruin.
Fragments of the future surfaced, bloody and relentless:
The First Event: Crown Prince Andrew would die during the royal hunting tournament, fracturing the court and leaving the path open for Leonardo—the imperial concubine's son, a man who would never forgive Lusian for past cruelties.
The Second Event: The Douglas duchy would be thrown into chaos after Caleb's murder, setting off a chain of revenge, political machinations, and Duke Laurence's eventual death at the hands of Marcus Valentini—the Jackal of the Twelfth Legion.
The Third Event: Mana would expand uncontrollably, mutating humans and beasts alike. Cities would fall, and Ansdale—Emily's home—would be devastated. Count Daniel Carter would die before her eyes, leaving scars no alliance could erase.
The Fourth Event: Demons would emerge from mana rifts, exploiting human desperation. Corruption would flourish. Churches would wield political power. The king would become powerless, a puppet of blind faith.
The Fifth Event: Lusian himself, driven by ambition, would become a tyrant king. His body would host evil, his mind crumble, and the gods' twenty heroes would rise against him. The final image seared into his memory: his throne in flames, and Emily's sword through his heart.
He paced the chamber, mind racing. The room felt colder, emptier. Fate had etched its path in blood—but Lusian refused to accept it.
"If I do nothing… I will die," he murmured.
Dawn crept along the horizon, painting the sky in gold. His breathing steadied, eyes burning with resolve.
"This time," he whispered, "I will change every event. No heroes. No demons. Only my will."
He leaned over the desk, scrolls spread before him. Fingers traced invisible lines over names of monsters and magical materials. But his thoughts revolved around one single word: Affinity.
In the game, he knew, the strongest warriors shared one trait—not strength, lineage, or skill—but magical affinity. The harmony between soul and mana determined life or death.
Greater affinity meant lower mana consumption, faster spellcasting, enhanced power. In a real battle, a minor advantage could decide survival—or annihilation.
Lusian clenched his teeth, recalling failures where even equal-level mages fell because their mana ran dry first. Exposure, helplessness, death.
He needed absolute, rapid power.
The solution was etched in memory: the Arcane Resonance Ritual.
An ancient, forbidden method, whispered of in lost tomes. One way to increase affinity was the blessing of a magical beast aligned with one's element—but such a ritual would cost the creature its life.
He dismissed that immediately. Too risky. Too cruel. Almost impossible.
Still, the path forward was clear:
Affinity… power… survival. If the story cannot be changed by divine will, I will change it with my own hands.
His fists clenched against the desk. Every muscle coiled. Every thought honed.
The game had taught him rules. The world had its own. Now… it would bend to his will.