Cyril took the book handed over by the royal guard and read every word of the section on deity jumping without skipping a single line. Then he fell silent for a full minute.
What had Su Cha said at the time?
Not only did he dance for others, he also danced for himself—fit as a fiddle.
Now Cyril strongly suspected that Su Cha’s recent poor sleep was due to dancing too much.
On the other side, ever since Su Cha had walked silently back to his room, he had buried his face into the pillow, muttering over and over, “Do I look especially like a lunatic?”
The missing system reappeared but didn’t bother answering such an obvious question.
At the very least, the blessing ritual was completed.
Su Cha finally straightened his back and sat cross-legged in the center of the big bed, making him look quite small. He stared fixedly at the system, trying to guess what it was about to do.
Knowing the system never gave up until it got what it wanted, Su Cha was sure it hadn’t let go of the idea of convincing the tribe to bring Cyril over.
However, the system didn’t seem ready to act at all. It stood by the window, calmly watching the setting sun.
“Time for my stroll.”
Cyril had specially built a sycamore tree-lined avenue, and the system really liked the scenery there. But since it was too dangerous to move about in the palace, it decided to go out for a walk instead.
Even the way the mechanical doll climbed out the window was full of gentlemanly grace. Its titanium-alloy legs easily cleared the railing. Holding a black umbrella to keep falling leaves off its shoulders, it disappeared from sight.
Seeing this, Su Cha let out a sigh that was half exasperation and half resignation. Say what you will—the system was already semi-retired, while he was still worrying himself sick over Cyril’s health.
Shaking his head, Su Cha went up to the rooftop terrace for some air. Leaning over the railing, he gazed at the distant sea of roses, only to spot a slender figure sitting on a bench.
Well, look at that—someone’s out there catching the breeze.
Cyril’s elegant brows furrowed slightly, sensing someone’s gaze. He turned and spotted the small figure atop the castle. Through his telepathy, he could clearly perceive the reproachful look directed at him, and for some reason, felt a little guilty.
Within five minutes, Su Cha took the elevator down and dashed to Cyril’s side.
Seeing him, Cyril’s frown actually eased. He had expected it would take a while to get close to the boy, but Su Cha turned out to be much more outgoing than he imagined. Perhaps because of his upbringing, the boy didn’t carry that typical Fog Star aloofness.
The two of them—one big, one small—sat on the bench and began to talk.
With their matching silver hair blowing in the wind, Cyril’s flawless features paired with Su Cha’s dimpled smile made them look, at a glance, like the ideal beautiful father-and-son pair.
The warm scene even distracted the patrolling soldiers nearby.
Their usually stern king, sitting beside the young lord, suddenly seemed gentler—nodding along from time to time. No one knew what they were talking about, but the vibe was unusually calm.
In fact, the topic was serious. They talked from a falling leaf… to life and death.
A leaf clinging to a tree branch was making its final struggle. Su Cha quite liked this image—holding on to each second of life. He used it to say, “Life should be just like that.”
Cyril simply smiled in silence.
Ever since their trip to the hospital, Su Cha had vaguely sensed a kind of “excessive maturity” among Fog Star people. Like how a child, whose wrist hurt so badly he couldn’t lift it, still clapped along by patting his knees when others applauded.
And when the doctor came, they wouldn’t even say where it hurt. As if they had long since accepted pain as part of life.
From birth, they were taught to face reality—so much so that they lacked a basic will to survive.
Suddenly, Su Cha said, “In this setting, I suddenly want to…”
“Sing a song.”
Su Cha looked at Cyril in surprise. How did he know?
Cyril didn’t think it was hard to guess. If he liked dancing, then it was reasonable he’d like singing too. He nodded. “Go ahead.”
“I only remember one line.” Su Cha lifted his head high—mainly because he couldn’t hit the high note. That shout was more of a howl, even cracking slightly:
“I really want to live another 500 years—”
“……”
After singing, Su Cha casually asked, “Sound good?”
Cyril was both amused and helpless. The whole time Su Cha sang, his eyes were locked on him, like a debt collector. As if to say, You better listen up—live a full 500 years.
Some things, Cyril thought, needed to be explained.
He stood up from the bench. “My body isn’t strong, but in a head-on fight, even the Emperor of Galan could only tie with me. As he grows older, he’ll eventually fall behind.”
Su Cha thought of what the system had emphasized: a strong soul.
“This is the power of pure blood.” Though it was autumn, Cyril’s tone was more like the soft breeze of spring. “To this day, I can barely coexist with that power. Every so often, I must sleep to recover.”
Su Cha stopped in his tracks. “So when you said you’d close your eyes, it didn’t mean… you were dying?”
Cyril nodded.
Su Cha let out a long breath of relief. “Thank heavens.”
Cyril should’ve been moved by this genuine display of emotion—but judging from Su Cha’s brightened face, there also seemed to be relief over other things.
One worry gone, another arrived.
Su Cha himself was also pure-blooded. Didn’t that mean… he might face the same thing in the future?
Before Su Cha could even ask, Cyril brought up the issue himself.
“Sleeping is a built-in self-defense mechanism. You haven’t been in good condition lately—today was especially bad.”
The unspoken implication: if things kept going this way, there was a real possibility Su Cha would fall into dormancy before even reaching adulthood.
Su Cha’s gaze darkened. He forcefully suppressed the surge of killing intent that had risen at the thought of his enemies.
“Moderate training. Build up your physical strength.”
Cyril had already reviewed the training footage from Su Cha’s school, which Land had copied over. He watched the entire thing without skipping a second.
“The training style of Galan suits you better,” he said objectively.
Su Cha’s strength fell somewhere between spiritual power and spirit energy. Judging by the way his spirit form had formed, it leaned more toward Galan’s style.
This was also linked to the system’s promise to help him retain his original abilities—only through his spirit form could he fully use his demon energy.
Right now, Su Cha lacked a clear training direction, and Cyril was well aware of that. He summoned a soldier, gave a few instructions, and then brought Su Cha to the training ground. By the time they arrived, over a dozen tall figures—both men and women—were already gathered there, alongside several large, unfamiliar machines.
“Peace to the King, peace to the Prince.”
These were Cyril’s most trusted aides, summoned specifically for data analysis. Their task was to record everything, including Su Cha’s attack patterns.
Cyril instructed Su Cha to release his spirit form.
The magnolia lotus manifested. Even though he had seen it multiple times, gazing at the flower up close—with its aura of innocence—still made Cyril sigh. “You’re too kind-hearted.”
The people of the former Empire had once shared that same impression. Su Cha admitted it openly: “My dream is to spread love across the world.”
Then he took the initiative to explain its function: “It can forcibly calm emotions.”
“I know.”
“Hm?”
“Your match on the Wastestar with Land was recorded and rushed back over eight million miles at top priority.”
After watching it, Cyril hadn’t slept well for an entire night. While trying hard to forget what he’d seen, he also felt deeply displeased that Galan’s people had led a child from his planet astray.
Without bringing up that matter directly, Cyril changed the subject. “The essence of a spirit form is to serve in battle.”
Su Cha blinked. “You mean… let it fight?”
“No spirit form is a lifeless object.”
From the moment it’s formed, it carries a portion of its master’s combat instincts and intelligence.
Su Cha had honestly never considered that before.
Seeing his expression, Cyril found it amusing. “You’ve never tried it?”
Su Cha replied, “I’ve had a lot of experience fighting with other people’s spirit forms.”
The process was crude and simple—feed it like a pig and toss it out there.
“……” The painful memory launched another spirit assault on Cyril.
He clapped his hands. The iron gates in front of them opened automatically. A soldier pushed forward a chained-up beast, wrapped in layers of iron restraints. Drool dripped from its mouth, filling the entire training ground with a rancid stench.
Beneath the training grounds, dozens of such beasts were imprisoned. Each time the beast army invaded, they would capture a hundred or so to use for soldiers’ daily practice.
Cyril said, “Try it—just use your spirit form.”
Up front, the soldiers loosened the restraints around the beast’s mouth.
Its roar snapped Su Cha back to his senses. He tried to direct his spirit form to attack. First, the floral scent dulled the beast’s aggression. Then Su Cha hesitated, unsure what to do next.
Cyril said, “Don’t move. Just give it direct commands.”
Su Cha followed his instructions.
The surrounding guards immediately locked their cameras on the flower in the sky. Honestly, even they couldn’t imagine how a flower was going to attack.
One of them analyzed, “spirit forms reflect the personality of their masters. His Highness is too gentle—its offensive power may be limited.”
“You could try spatial decomposition—have a petal shift through another dimension for a sneak attack.”
As they hurried to brainstorm strategies, the floating flower reluctantly drifted in front of the beast, flung out two large leaves, and started slapping the beast’s ugly head with loud, repeated smacks. With each swing, the dust on the ground rose into the air.
The beast was still bound and couldn’t fight back. One of its vampire-length fangs was knocked clean off.
After finishing its beatdown, the two petals clamped down on either side of the beast’s skull and started twisting, as if trying to screw its head off.
This particular beast had been imprisoned for a long time, and due to hunger and restraint, its bones had become fragile—but its skull was still hard. Even using all its brute strength, the magnolia lotus only managed to snap it halfway.
The entire area fell dead silent, including the soldiers stationed at a distance. Everyone stood frozen.
Su Cha cleared his throat. “Please don’t equate the spirit form’s behavior with that of the master.”
One of the guards walked up to the dead beast and examined the fracture. “Not bad power. It can fight.”
A thoughtful glint flashed in his eyes. Su Cha couldn’t help but ask, “Is there a problem?”
“It doesn’t have much combat awareness.”
When it attacked, it didn’t even bother considering strategy—just went for the most primitive, violent assault.
Spirit forms love to fight. In moments of chaos, they’re usually the first to charge in and go berserk. So why… why was His Highness’s spirit form so lazy?
While others stood puzzled, Su Cha’s expression grew colder and colder.
So it wasn’t just the system that had quietly retired—turns out even his spirit form was halfway to retirement too.
D*mn it.
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