"What... what did you mean by that?" asked Azrael Itharion, a 9th-rank Archmage, his eyes fixed on the small man before him, who wore a dazzling smile.

The disciples stood frozen, staring in the same direction as their master, confusion and unease etched across their faces.

"Exactly what you heard," Lucian replied calmly, his smile sharp and silent like a slap. "You're asking for something, but information like this... doesn't come for free. You understand, don't you? After all, these are facts that could shake the entire continent."

Chris, seated at the back of the room, furrowed his brows slightly.

What could the Emperor have shown him to make an Archmage this... anxious?

Azrael clenched his teeth, visibly irritated.

"Is this some kind of joke? I'm not interested in that file for personal gain. This is about the project... the one you mentioned to me."

"What project?" Lucian replied with mock innocence, the same sarcastic smile playing on his lips.

This little bastard... he's mocking me.

"Master, you told us that—" Ruben, one of the disciples, began, only to freeze mid-sentence. Azrael had raised his hand. A simple gesture—but it said everything: Silence.

The tension in the room rose sharply. Anger now burned visibly on the Archmage's face. His disciples were no different.

"This joke has gone on long enough," he growled. "I came all the way here to support you, and this is how you respond...?"

"One million Velt per week," Lucian interrupted, still perfectly composed. "And an additional three hundred thousand for housing and meals. Also weekly. Until the project is complete. That's my price."

Silence.

Azrael froze, eyes wide. His disciples didn't even dare breathe.

"One... one million and three hundred thousand? That's your price?" he stammered, voice trembling with fury, his gaze as sharp as blades.

Lucian shrugged lightly.

"It's not much. Not for a man as renowned as yourself, is it?" he said, casually, almost mockingly.

The disciples clenched their fists. Their master was being openly humiliated by this little man... but they said nothing. Out of respect for Azrael. And more importantly, because...

The air in the room turned heavy.

Azrael's gaze grew icy. An invisible pressure crashed down upon the chamber. Everyone felt it. Everyone—except Lucian and Chris, who remained unshaken.

Beads of sweat streamed down the foreheads of the three disciples.

---

Look at him... our dear Archmage.

He really dares to threaten me? In MY empire?

Of course I felt the pressure radiating from his body.

But as Victor Hugo so aptly put it: "Once you've walked through hell, you no longer fear the flames."

Compared to the aura of Selene, of Malveria, or even Kael...

Azrael's?

It was a caress. A gentle summer breeze.

"Sir… I suggest you release your murderous intent toward the Emperor. The retaliation… might be a little severe."

The calm and composed voice echoed from the far end of the room.

All eyes turned to the one who had just spoken.

A man in a butler's uniform. Eyes closed, hands clasped behind his back, motionless like a statue.

Azrael shifted his gaze between Lucian and Chris.

This butler… He's not normal.

Why can't I sense his presence, even though he's standing right in front of me?

And Lucian… Is he truly unaffected by my aura? Or… is he pretending?

Marc, Ruben, and Julie, meanwhile, were caught in a subtle state of panic.

Why can't we feel anything? He's right behind us… We can see him… but… is he really there?

Their minds seemed unable to provide a clear answer.

As if mere observation no longer sufficed to define reality.

And more than anything, this was the first time they had ever felt their master's killing intent.

A violent, suffocating shock.

But what unsettled them the most wasn't the pressure itself.

It was the atmosphere in the room.

Why are we the only ones trembling?

Even that kid over there… Julie thought, her eyes widening.

…he's smiling?

Lucian rested his chin on his hand, maintaining his professional smile.

"So? Should we take this as the end of negotiations?"

A chilling silence fell over the room.

Azrael remained quiet, lost in thought.

Originally… I came here to confirm what I felt during the disaster two days ago.

That strange sensation, that energy… it reminded me of Lucian's—what I briefly sensed back in the Fifth Empire.

I wanted to understand. To study it—no matter the cost.

But today… when I arrived…

Nothing.

No trace. No unusual energy.

I was ready to leave… and then he mentioned "electricity."

A theory… that far surpasses anything I've learned in twenty years as an Archmage.

How… how can something like that even exist?

And why here, in THIS final empire, of all places?

He let out a long sigh, then slowly released the magical pressure he had been emitting.

"Emperor Lucian… I recall that at our first meeting, we weren't exactly on bad terms. So… why are you acting this way?"

Because yes, Lucian was acting as if he didn't even know him.

As if they had never met in the Fifth Empire.

Lucian replied with the same polite coldness:

"Azrael Itharion. Ninth-level Archmage. Citizen of the Fifth Empire."

He paused briefly, then continued.

"Tell me… would you dare mock the Empress of the Fifth Empire? Speak to her however you pleased? Act carelessly in front of one of the Top 9 rulers?"

Lucian glanced over at Julie, Marc, and Ruben.

All three immediately averted their eyes, as if his words had struck exactly where they hurt.

Then he looked back at Azrael, who remained silent.

"I suppose not. But in your eyes… this empire doesn't deserve your respect, does it?"

"No, that's not what I—" Azrael began, clearly shaken.

But Lucian cut him off sharply.

"Don't try to justify yourself. It's too late for that."

His tone turned razor-sharp.

"Now, I'm simply waiting for an answer.

Yes or no.

Do you accept the contract?"

Azrael closed his eyes for a moment, arms crossed.

If I had known I was dealing with that kind of monster... No. It's my own arrogance and stupidity that got me into this mess.

With those ridiculous clauses he's imposing, he must be confident in himself. But just the glimpse I caught… it's enough to say this project is revolutionary.

If I refuse, he'll need someone at least on my level to make it happen.

So really… he's the one without a choice, isn't he?

…

No. His behavior so far makes it clear I'm not a priority.

Maybe he's bluffing. Maybe not.

But if I accept… I'll have to pay him a weekly sum. Which means, until this project takes off, I'll be bleeding dry. Even for me, that's too much.

"It's a gesture of trust," Lucian said suddenly, cutting into Azrael's silent thoughts.

"A gesture of trust?" Azrael repeated warily.

"As I told you earlier: I always repay what's given to me.

You disrespected me in my own empire. That means you deserve no special treatment."

He paused, glancing at the disciples who kept their heads low in silence.

"But if you see this project through, while honoring your financial commitment…"

His gaze sharpened.

"I'll pay you double the amount I'm asking now—in exchange for your collaboration on my future inventions."

Everyone's eyes widened.

Azrael, lips curled in a nervous smile, asked:

"You mean… other projects like this one?"

Lucian, true to himself, lowered his thumb beneath his chin and flashed his brilliant smile.

"No. This one is merely a stepping stone toward far greater things."

They all stared at him as if he'd just said something utterly childish.

This electricity project alone is a revolution for the world… and he dares call it a stepping stone?

It's… insane.

"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't deny a mage's thirst for knowledge.

And for someone like me—an Archmage—it's even worse.

Fine. I'll do it… on one condition:

You give me complete and detailed documentation on the fabrication process," Azrael said, resigned.

His disciples could no longer contain their excitement.

If they succeeded, they'd no doubt become respected mages across the continent.

Lucian, meanwhile, was thinking:

Ahh… damn.

Convincing those bastards wasn't easy.

Of course, if it hadn't worked, I had a backup plan.

Azrael's not the only Archmage on the continent, after all.

But for what's coming next… without him, it would've been twice—no, three times harder.

Anyway.

All's well that ends well.

Lucian extended his hand to Azrael.

"Do we have a deal?"

Azrael, after a final pause, grasped it firmly.

"Deal."

---

Lucian will ignite the continent's first natural spark...

In the next chapter.

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