The courtyard buzzed with motion as servants unloaded crates and luggage with quiet efficiency. One of them, an older man stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"My lord, you must be weary from your journey," Kimal said with refined courtesy. With a subtle gesture, he signaled to the younger servant beside him. "They will escort you to the guest palace."
Edgar shook his head. "No need for that. I wish to meet the emperor first."
"As you wish, my lord. His Majesty awaits you in the throne room. Please follow me."
As they began walking, accompanied by the Medici guards, Kimal slowed his pace and turned. "Forgive me, but royal protocol forbids personal guards from entering the inner palace."
Edgar raised a hand, signaling the guards to remain behind. "Wait for us at the guest palace."
With that, Edgar, William, and David continued on, following Kimal into the heart of the royal palace.
It loomed like a mechanical cathedral—an immense structure of brass and steel, spiraling upward in a perfect helix. Unlike traditional dwarven architecture, there were no steam vents, no soot-stained bricks—just gleaming metal and a stillness that felt almost sacred. Each metallic column curved upward in rhythmic harmony, forming a skeletal spiral that led deeper inside.
The interior pulsed with a soft blue glow. Essence lines ran across the walls like veins, feeding energy into the carved stones that adorned every doorway. There were no torches or lanterns—only the tranquil hum of magic-infused metal.
They stopped before a towering door of solid brass. As they approached, it opened on its own, revealing the throne room.
It was vast—cathedral-like in scale. The ceiling arched high above them, supported by ribbed columns of blackened steel. The walls shimmered with blue essence flowing through their veins, casting eerie reflections across the polished floor. At the far end stood a dais, atop which sat Emperor Zahid.
He was no ordinary dwarf.
Tall—nearly matching a human's height—and broad-shouldered, he wore layered silver armor that shifted like mercury with every breath. His beard, dark as iron, was woven with golden threads and dotted with glowing stones. Flanking his throne stood two statues: one gripped a crimson ring that emitted a soft, radiant light; the other held a massive, split-edged sword that buzzed with raw energy from a glowing core.
The three bowed low. Kimal stepped forward.
"Your Majesty," he announced, "may I present Lord Edgar Medici, Marquess of the Medici House, and his companions."
"Welcome, Lord Medici," Zahid said warmly. "I trust your journey was a smooth one."
"It is an honor to stand before you, Your Majesty," Edgar replied, his tone formal, still bowed.
"Please, raise your head." Zahid smiled. "Thanks to your influence, our trade with other races has flourished. I believe we'll be seeing much more of each other."
[IS THAT THE EMPEROR? HE DOESN'T SEEM THAT STRONG …]
Really? William replied inwardly, his tone innocent. He's ranked fifth strongest in the world.
[WHAT?!]
Third eye, William whispered in thought.
See the sword? That's a category nine weapon—it can shift forms. And the ring? Another category nine weapon. It transforms into a full battlesuit. Together, they can rival an entire continent.
[WAIT—ARE CATEGORY NINE WEAPONS THAT RARE ?]
William smiled. To forge one, you need an essence stone as rare as a level 90 mystic.
[So...?]
There are only five level 90 mystics in the entire human continent.
[WHAAAAT—]
There are only four known category nine weapons: the emperor's ring and sword, the cage that holds the Heart of Flame in the human continent, and the central server of the magic gates.
He glanced back toward the emperor, who was now conversing casually with Edgar. Then Zahid stood and gestured.
"There's much to discuss, Lord Medici. Let's speak in my office."
Edgar turned to William. "Go with David to the guest palace. I'll join you once we're finished here."
William stepped out of the throne room, the tall brass door groaning shut behind him. David followed in silence, their footsteps echoing softly through the wide hallway.
The corridor curved slightly, opening into a vast balcony lined with silver railings. The wind was gentle, carrying the faint hum of essence-powered machinery from the city below. William paused.
His eyes caught a flicker of movement—then stilled.
A boy, no older than ten, walked ahead of a procession of servants. His steps were quiet, almost graceful, as he made his way toward a transportation platform that resembled a lift, hovering with soft blue light.
The boy's chestnut-brown hair shimmered where sunlight met the glow of essence-lamps overhead.
His skin, light brown and smooth, seemed to glow under the afternoon sun. He wore a striking red robe, tied neatly with a silver belt, over which hung a crisp white overcoat embroidered with delicate dwarven runes.
His brown eyes were calm—too calm for someone his age—as they stared ahead, unwavering.
William's steps halted. His gaze lingered.
"Wiz," he said inwardly, "do you know who that is?"
[FROM HIS OUTFIT… MAYBE HE'S A PRINCE?]
"Not any prince," William replied softly, his tone unusually still. "That is Prince Yashir. The crown prince of this empire."
He continued, his voice like a quiet monologue.
"A political prodigy. A mind sharper than any noble—even at ten. In the novel, he was revered… the one who led the dwarves to the peak of their power. Even the Duke of Milan once admitted: 'I've never seen a mind like his.'"
William's eyes darkened slightly.
"But behind that genius… is a boy who never wanted any of it. A child who longed for freedom. Who just wanted to live… without the weight of an empire crushing his back."
[OK… GLAD TO HEAR. SO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING NOW?]
Without answering, William began walking toward Yashir.
David opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as William stepped forward, slow and deliberate. He stopped a few feet from the prince, tilted his head down, and placed his fist over his chest in a respectful dwarven salute.
"William of House Medici greets His Highness, Crown Prince Yashir," he said, his voice clear yet humble. His gaze remained lowered, every movement steeped in formality. "It is an honor to meet you. If Your Highness doesn't mind… I would like a moment in private."
Yashir halted mid-step.
He looked at the boy before him—two or three inches shorter, dressed in noble attire, carrying himself like a seasoned diplomat.
So... Edgarsendshis son to charm the royal family? To gain influence? Poor boy, he thought, almost pitying him.
"Poor boy," he muttered under his breath, then turned and began walking again, saying nothing.
William smiled faintly. "No courtesy toward a human envoy? Is the royal family truly so comfortable looking down on humans?"
That made Yashir pause.
He glanced over his shoulder—his lips curled into a subtle, curious smile.
"I hope Your Highness will reconsider," William added calmly. "After all, I represent the human race here—alongside my father."
Yashir blinked, momentarily surprised. Then his eyes lit up with a flicker of excitement.
"So this kid knows how to play politics," he muttered under his breath, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
"It will be my honor, Young Master of Medici," he said, his tone lighter than before. "Please, follow me."
"But Your Highness," one of the servants interrupted nervously, "your tutor is expecting you—"
"Tell him I'll join him shortly," Yashir replied without turning. His voice was firm but not unkind.
Then he walked forward, William at his side. They entered a nearby chamber of polished stone and essence-lit walls. Before the door closed, William turned to David.
"Wait for me at the guest palace. I'll be along shortly."
David gave a short nod, though his expression betrayed curiosity and concern. The door shut, leaving the two boys alone.