The grand mirror reflected a figure both elegant—
and deeply unnatural.
Azriah adjusted the sleeves of his tailored royal-blue suit carefully.
Fine aristocratic craftsmanship.
Silver-lined embroidery.
High-collared noble design.
Refined.
Sharp.
Perfectly befitting the heir of Antioch Highblood.
In one hand—
he held his blindfold.
A pristine blue silk cloth enchanted subtly for both aesthetics and concealment.
His newly forming eye sockets remained hidden for good reason.
Though healing rapidly—
the process was… unsettling.
Even with high-grade potions and Codex stabilization—
the half-regenerated structures beneath his closed lids looked grotesque.
Flesh rebuilding.
Mana pathways weaving.
Divine structures integrating.
'…Still disgusting.'
Sham appeared beside him, leaning casually with visible amusement.
"Oh, absolutely horrifying."
Azriah sighed.
'Very helpful.'
Sham grinned wickedly.
"I do try."
Azriah slowly tied the blindfold into place.
The mana perception immediately sharpened.
Reality unfolded in streams of energy.
Servants became flowing mana signatures.
Walls glowed with layered enchantments.
And every living thing radiated force.
Sham folded his arms.
"…I still can't believe an actual fragment of the Imaginary Tree was there."
Azriah adjusted his cuffs calmly.
'Neither could I.'
A pause.
Then—
'According to game lore, that branch should have been destroyed.'
Sham tilted his head.
"Destroyed how?"
Azriah answered instantly.
'During a minor skirmish.'
A pause.
Then—
'Idrila Highblood.'
Another pause.
'They obliterated the Tyber Mountain range.'
Silence.
Sham blinked.
"…Minor?"
Azriah nodded.
'Yeah.'
Sham stared.
"…This world is deeply concerning."
Azriah continued.
'The branch was supposed to vanish.'
A pause.
Then—
'But Codex Arboris survived.'
Another pause.
'Later, Emryn would discover it during his mountain journey.'
Sham frowned.
"…Would?"
Azriah gave a dry smile.
'Technically, Sekhmet manipulated events to lead him there.'
Sham blinked.
"…There are entirely too many complications in your life."
Azriah shrugged slightly.
'Lore accuracy matters.'
Sham sneered.
"No."
A pause.
Then—
"You're just a masochistic lunatic obsessed with suffering."
Azriah smirked faintly.
'Lore nerd.'
Sham rolled his eyes.
"Pain addict."
Moments later—
Azriah exited his chambers.
And immediately sensed—
Asta.
Standing before the carriage.
Waiting.
Through mana perception—
she was overwhelming.
Elegant black gown.
Refined.
Deadly.
Powerful enchantments woven directly into the dress itself.
Defensive magic.
Status magic.
Anti-assassination layering.
Every thread practically radiated authority.
Azriah paused slightly.
'…That gown is absurdly enchanted.'
Sham whistled softly.
"She looks like a war declaration."
Asta's voice arrived instantly.
"People often claim women take too long to prepare."
A pause.
Then—
"And yet here you are."
Another pause.
"Delaying an imperial event."
Azriah smirked.
"And here I thought elegance required patience."
Asta raised an eyebrow.
"Do not become insufferable."
Azriah offered a faint bow.
"No promises."
For a brief moment—
mother and son simply stared.
Or in Azriah's case—
sensed.
Then—
they entered the carriage.
Azriah settled into his seat.
"Where exactly are we headed?"
Asta answered calmly.
"The capital."
A pause.
Then—
"Via Mana Waypoint."
Azriah paused.
Even he hadn't experienced this personally yet.
The carriage soon arrived before a massive teleportation platform.
Ancient.
Silver-blue.
Runic architecture carved into enormous circular stone.
Dozens of imperial magi maintained its operation.
Mana surged heavily.
'So this is a Waypoint.'
Sham sounded intrigued.
"Interesting."
The activation began.
Light consumed everything.
Space folded.
Reality twisted.
Azriah instinctively prepared for nausea—
based entirely on common fantasy stereotypes.
But…
Nothing.
No sickness.
No vertigo.
No violent discomfort.
Then—
they arrived.
Asta blinked once.
"…That was it?"
Azriah frowned slightly.
'…I expected worse.'
Sham looked disappointed.
"No vomiting?"
A pause.
Then—
"False advertising."
Before them—
stood the Imperial Capital.
And at its heart—
the White Imperial Castle.
Majestic beyond words.
Towering white spires pierced the heavens.
Countless enchanted towers shimmered beneath moonlight.
Massive crystalline bridges connected elevated wings.
Holy wards coated every structure.
Its sheer scale was breathtaking.
Beautiful.
Absolute.
Imperial.
Azriah stared.
Even knowing game lore—
seeing it firsthand was different.
'…So this is Elysium imperial castle.'
Sham's tone lowered.
"…Now that…"
A pause.
"…is excessive."
Golden lights illuminated noble arrivals.
Hundreds of aristocrats.
Royal guards.
Political elites.
Future enemies.
Potential allies.
And perhaps—
future disasters.
As Antioch's carriage approached—
attention shifted instantly.
Whispers spread.
The highbloods had arrived.
Azriah adjusted his blindfold.
Straightened his suit.
And exhaled slowly.
Ahead awaited—
the Spring Ball.
The Imperial Family.
Political warfare.
And—
Diana Elysium.
Sham's voice echoed with wicked amusement.
"Ready to meet the woman causing your existential crisis?"
Azriah's jaw tightened slightly.
'Not remotely.'
And beneath celestial chandeliers and imperial grandeur—
Azriah Antioch stepped toward the next catastrophic deviation in fate.