Over the past two days, news of the king’s grave illness had spread like wildfire throughout the Buchert Kingdom, circulating nonstop in every street and alley. Those with connections and channels inquired about its truth—and the reply was true.

This meant Mobius’s reign over the Buchert Kingdom, spanning over 110 years, was drawing to a close.

Residents of the Royal Capital found it hard to believe. Though the old king was over 110, this sudden illness came without warning. Just days ago, he’d appeared before the people, full of vigor and vitality.

Grief followed. The people lived under the king’s protection. During Mobius’s reign, the Buchert Kingdom had never lost a single war. Most residents lived in peace and prosperity. The entire kingdom flourished.

If an outsider entered the Royal Capital now, they’d see every local wearing sorrow. When asked why, the locals would let out a soft sigh and begin singing praises of the king’s great achievements.

Prince Leborne heard the news of Mobius’s critical condition and his summons. He was frantic with worry. Over twenty years, Mobius had cared for him meticulously—especially about his health, to an unparalleled degree.

In Leborne’s eyes, Mobius was not just a good king, but a good father. Leborne had always aimed to emulate every previous king. He was determined to become a great king like Mobius—just, benevolent, loving his people as his own children, and firm in rule.

Now, the person he revered most lay critically ill, gasping on his deathbed, possibly about to die any moment.

The prince, who should have guarded the northern border, stepped onto the teleportation array to the Royal Capital. He knew this might be his last meeting with his father. Leborne handed military affairs to a Gold Rank general stationed at the north. He knew after his father’s death and his own ascension, he might never return.

But without time to bid farewell to the soldiers he’d lived with day and night, he arrived at the palace in a flash of light. The array was set to the king’s bedroom entrance, so Leborne could meet Mobius immediately.

Leborne pushed the door open. He saw only a servant feeding his father, who struggled to open his mouth to eat, his whole body emaciated like a withered tree.

Leborne recalled his childhood. Back then, he was just a child. His father never let servants feed him—he held him in his arms personally. Leborne sat on his father’s lap as his father teased him while feeding him. At that time, he was too young to understand, always giggling and playing with toys. Now, with his father on death’s door and himself grown, he realized how precious those moments had been.

He hadn’t returned to the Royal Capital for years. The people and things around him were no longer familiar. Even his most familiar person, his father, had aged to needing others to feed him.

He knelt by Mobius’s bedside, his voice choked with sobs. “Father, this unworthy son has not returned for years!”

Mobius signaled the servant to leave. On his aged, lifeless face, he managed a kind smile. He looked at his grown son with a gaze full of satisfaction. The same crimson pupils radiated justice, not sinisterness. A high nose bridge, fair skin, silver hair—almost identical to Mobius after removing his mask.

“Leborne, my child, you’ve grown so much…” Mobius reached out a trembling hand and patted Leborne’s shoulder.

“Father, I am guilty. I was engrossed in war and didn’t return sooner!” Leborne felt ashamed. He ached to care for his father, but time had run out. If only he’d come back earlier, he could have spent more time with him.

“No, Leborne, you are not wrong. Putting duty before self—that is a king’s virtue.”

“I am comforted you prioritize guarding the border. You are already like a king.”

Leborne grasped Mobius’s arm, rough like tree bark. He looked sadly at the calm old man. In the eyes of the king, who knew death neared, a wise light flickered.

“My child, you will surely become a great king.”

“Just like me. Just like every king before me.”

After a long talk, Leborne left Mobius’s bedroom. He knew his father had worked hard all his life and now needed rest most.

That very night, Mobius, king of the Buchert Kingdom, passed away peacefully in his sleep.

Of course, besides Mobius himself, the grief-stricken ministers and residents didn’t know this man was not only still alive but would soon change his name to Leborne.

“My son, my poor son! Ahahahaha!” Mobius’s face stayed calm, but he laughed maniacally inside. Meanwhile, Prince Leborne, keeping vigil alone, looked sorrowfully at his father in the crystal coffin—peaceful as if asleep. He recalled every moment with his father over twenty years. The more he thought, the sadder he felt. How wonderful if his father were still alive. The room was empty; each prince kept vigil alone—a thousand-year tradition of the Buchert Kingdom.

...

By day, the scorching sun baked the endless yellow sands. The desert heat was extreme. If not for Witt beside her, Kaelxi almost wanted to strip naked and run around.

Witt saw Kaelxi suffering. He whispered, “If you want to run naked, Kaelxi, I’ll close my eyes. I promise not to peek.”

Kaelxi replied with a forced smile. “Okay, cover your eyes and wait.”

Witt covered his eyes. Then he felt Kaelxi’s tender palm slap his left cheek—not gently at all.

To cool Kaelxi down, Witt reluctantly studied low-level magic books bought in Cesecity—water creation, ice creation, and such. Witt was a genius. In no time, he conjured a large ice block. Kaelxi clutched it all day without letting go.

This made him happy, even though creating such ice in the desert drained nearly half his mana.

Magic release depended on the environment. In volcanoes, fireballs grew larger. In glaciers, ice magic strengthened. The desert—dry land, dry air—yet he created water and ice. This proved Witt’s extraordinary talent. Given time, with his three powerful gifts, he might become the continent’s strongest. Even ancient monsters living millennia might not match him.

But Witt had no such ambition now. He held Kaelxi, shivering from the cold night. She was wrapped in a small blanket, curled in his arms, watching the firelight he conjured to warm her. She drifted off to sleep, drowsy.

Perhaps being with Witt was a good choice?

Witt kept his eyes open, continuing the watch. His bloodshot eyes scanned the surroundings, though he hadn’t slept for days. Keeping watch was painful, so...

Kaelxi must not keep watch.

If he ate all the bitterness, Kaelxi wouldn’t have to suffer, right...