Unlike Neuvillette—who looked utterly lost, as if he'd just overheard some world-shaking gossip—Clorinde remained composed.
She had already known much of this long ago. At present, she simply stood silently behind Furina, carrying herself with perfect poise as the guardian of a monarch.
As for Focalors…
Clorinde respected her, but—
Fontaine could have only one king. And that was Furina!
"Miss Clorinde, it seems you already know far more than I…"
Neuvillette rubbed his temple, a trace of weariness on his face.
He had expected Furina's return to bring stories of Mount Shu and cultivation, of shocking secrets about immortals.
But before they even touched upon cultivation, she dropped this bombshell.
Furina isn't Focalors?
Fontaine has two gods?
What in the world was going on?
Clorinde merely inclined her head to his question, offering no reply.
So Neuvillette wisely fell silent, watching Furina call out into the Opera Epiclese.
But no matter how long he waited, no Focalors appeared. The opera house remained deathly still.
"Still not coming out? Tch! You dare defy the will of your king?!"
Furina puffed up her cheeks in anger. The sight left Clorinde a little troubled.
Clearly, Furina's training in kingly demeanor needed to be made a top priority.
"The will… of the king?"
Neuvillette was growing more and more confused.
Furina had gone out for a trip—was it to cultivate?
How had she returned a monarch?
And whose monarch was she supposed to be?
He couldn't make heads or tails of the world anymore.
The next moment, Furina raised her hand toward the Oratrice Mécanique d'Analyse Cardinale.
In Neuvillette's eyes, her entire body blazed with golden light, dazzling against the dim opera house, like a golden statue come to life.
But from Clorinde's perspective, it was far grander: the land of Fontaine itself, the nation's fate in the heavens—all of it merged completely into Furina.
At that moment, standing upon Fontaine's soil, she was Fontaine.
Such was the terrifying power of the Divine Investiture of the Son of Heaven.
Even at the earliest stages of cultivation, so long as one bore the title of king, they wielded absolute authority over their realm.
It was a technique through which, bolstered by national destiny, one could even fight far beyond their cultivation level.
On Fontaine's land, the one striking out would not be Furina, but Fontaine's destiny itself.
At the very least, neither Neuvillette nor Focalors—untouched by cultivation—could withstand it.
The pressure crashed upon Neuvillette like a mountain.
Even Focalors, hiding behind the Oratrice with casual indifference just moments ago, now grew solemn as her gaze fixed on Furina.
She could not comprehend it. Furina had been a mere substitute, an experiment.
How had she grown so powerful in just a few days?
Before Focalors could make sense of it, the royal might erupted from Furina like a storm, the world itself seeming to bow.
Her voice rang out, steady, irresistible:
"By the command of your king—I summon you, Focalors!"
National destiny surged, intertwining into a massive golden hand that plunged into the Oratrice and wrenched out a dazed Focalors.
When her eyes met Furina's, she saw not merely a girl, but the shadow of all Fontaine itself.
What the hell was this?!
Focalors's composure cracked.
Five hundred years of planning—ruined in an instant?
Was everything wasted?
Anger welled within her. She wanted to lash out.
But the crushing force radiating from Furina's kingly aura froze the words in her throat.
Somehow, she knew instinctively: whatever Furina said, she could not refuse. Whatever Furina did, she must obey.
Her heart grew heavy and conflicted. The whole situation felt upside down.
Behind Furina, Neuvillette stared in shock at the newcomer who was her exact double.
Only their attire differed, and Focalors carried a greater weight of divinity.
Otherwise, they were like two reflections from the same mold.
Even Clorinde, who knew much of the truth, could not help but sigh at the sight.
But then her expression darkened.
"Hmph! I told you to come out on your own, but you forced your king to unleash invincible power!"
Furina's smug grin radiated satisfaction. At last, a little payback for the five centuries of solitude Focalors had condemned her to.
"Lady Furina!" Clorinde's voice rang stern and precise, like a stern etiquette officer. "A true king is proud, but never arrogant. Humble, but never servile!
It seems your royal bearing lessons must also be advanced without delay."
Furina's smugness evaporated. She glared at Clorinde, cheeks puffed out.
"Tch! Why does a king need so many rules? And you—aren't you supposed to be my guard? Since when did you become my etiquette instructor too?"
Clorinde's expression did not waver.
"Until your bearing and mindset match that of a monarch, I shall serve both roles."
Furina pointed furiously at her, ready to retort—but Clorinde's calm, unyielding gaze silenced her. She huffed and dropped her hand.
Meanwhile, Neuvillette groaned and rubbed his brow.
"…So. Can someone please explain what in the world is going on?"
Furina only grinned cheekily.
"Let's head to the office. We'll talk there."
She led the way, Clorinde following swiftly, pausing only to nod at Focalors.
Neuvillette and Focalors exchanged a look of unspoken confusion, then walked after them.
Back in the long-familiar office, Furina plopped herself into a chair, immediately crossing her legs.
"No good, Clorinde! This office doesn't look like a king's chambers at all. You'll need to redecorate!
And at the Palais Mermonia—I want a dragon throne. That's doable, right?"
Clorinde remained calm as ever.
"Your will, Lady Furina. But—kings do not sit with their legs crossed. Please mind your posture."
Furina's face darkened. She quickly sat properly.
Clorinde gave a small nod of approval and took her place at Furina's side.
Clearing her throat, Furina assumed a mock-serious air, addressing the others:
"Be seated, Lord Neuvillette, Lord Focalors."
Focalors bit back a flood of complaints as she sat.
Facing her own identical reflection across the table, only four words echoed in her mind:
The world turned upside down.
Dragged out of the Oratrice like this, she would not let it go lightly.
Five hundred years of careful scheming—what now?
Her chest grew heavy with worry.
Furina glanced between her two companions, then coughed again.
"First, Lord Focalors, explain our situation to Lord Neuvillette."
Clorinde sighed softly.
"Lady Furina, true majesty does not begin with titles. Such affectation is unnecessary."
"Hmph! If you're so capable, why don't you be king?"
"Lady Furina, such words are unbecoming of a monarch. It shows irresponsibility."
Chided again, Furina slumped, cheeks resting in her palms, sulking into silence.
So Focalors, meeting Neuvillette's questioning gaze, sighed and began recounting the truth of her and Furina's plan.
Clorinde had known fragments of it, but even she found herself shaken at the full scope.
Her heart ached for Furina, too.
Anyone who could bear such a secret alone for five centuries deserved to be Fontaine's unquestioned sovereign.
Lady Furina only needed some guidance.
And Clorinde—yes, she would guide her. She would shape her into the eternal monarch of Fontaine!
Neuvillette, however, was left reeling.
He had always thought Furina a frivolous godling. Yet she was never the Hydro Archon at all.
So the entire nation—no, the entire world—had been deceived by Focalors and Furina?
He wanted to be angry. Yet faced with them, he could not be.
One had chosen self-destruction for Fontaine's sake, five centuries past.
The other had borne a burden not her own, playing the role of god with nothing but a mortal's body.
Yes, he had been deceived. But did it matter?
Over these years, he had come to truly love Fontaine from the depths of his heart.
If it was for Fontaine, this deception he could accept.
Yet still…
"Setting aside the truth about Lady Furina and Focalors for the moment…"
His brow furrowed, his tone heavy.
"The prophecy crisis remains unresolved. The Primordial Sea grows ever harder to contain.
Without the original plan—how are we to face the prophecy?"
Even Focalors's composure cracked, her gaze sharpening on Furina.
Technically, the plan could still be carried out. Only the four of them knew the truth; Heaven itself could still be deceived.
But now that Neuvillette knew—could he truly go through with it?
For all his cold exterior, he was not without a heart.
"Hmph! Is that all? A mere prophecy crisis?"
Furina's chin lifted proudly.
"You two are the pillars of Fontaine! How could either of you be sacrificed to such a trivial fate?
I, your king, swear this: beneath my light, not a single soul in Fontaine shall fall to that farce of a prophecy!"
The words, bold and reckless, nonetheless stirred a strange comfort within Neuvillette and Focalors alike.
But as the meaning settled, their comfort turned to doubt.
Why was Furina calling herself "king" every other sentence?
Focalors could hardly believe it. She'd only been gone a few days. Since when had she become the Monarch of Fontaine?
Had anyone told her? Her divine seat as Hydro Archon hadn't even shattered yet!
"Lady Furina, this is no time for jest."
Neuvillette rubbed his brow wearily.
"King or no king—leave that discussion for later."
"What? You doubt me?!" Furina huffed, turning to Clorinde.
"Clorinde, announce my true identity to them at once!"
"Your will, Lady Furina. But…"
Clorinde sighed, helpless.
"A king's identity is not proven by self-proclamation. In just one minute, you've switched between three different royal titles already."
Furina's cheeks flushed crimson.
"Silence! I'll call myself what I please!"
…And that made four.
A monarch's prerogative, perhaps.
Clorinde let the matter drop, her face solemn as she turned to Neuvillette and Focalors.
"As you see—the Lady Furina before you is the supreme monarch of Fontaine."
Focalors blinked, dumbstruck.
"When exactly did she ascend? And—why didn't anyone tell me?"
Clorinde's reply was firm, resonant:
"Because the birth of a king requires no one's permission!"
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