Expedition

To whom does a slave belong?

It was a question with a seemingly obvious answer by law, by tradition, and by every system of power that had ever ruled over men.

A slave belonged to their master.

Yet, in Seven's case, after he stated that Lythian was his slave, what he did not expect was the Archduke's next words.

"Relinquish him."

The Archduke's gaze remained fixed on Lythian. He did not glance at his son, nor raise his voice. The authority in his tone required neither.

"This slave now belongs to me."

Of course, Seven was caught off guard by the sudden statement but he did not react outwardly. How can he let go of Lythian when he was the only other reader he knows of? 

He may not have shown it, but Lythian adapted to this world way faster than him— it could be because of the synchronization.

More than that, Lythian was already included in almost all of his plans with countless ways to make him useful as both a reader and his slave. He was his first ever tool to help him adapt.

Still, Seven kept his tone even as he replied.

"May I ask your reason, Father?"

The phrasing was careful, respectful, but not submissive.

"Is it for my protection… or because of the slave's regenerative properties?"

He dared not to mention immortality. 

It was a subject not to be taken lightly, and he kept that the Archduke mentioned 'regeneration of this level' in his previous words when he talked with Eden.

The Archduke did not answer.

He turned away as he stepped toward the dais. 

Step.

His boots tapped against the first step, then the next as he ascended the platform, step by step, before turning to face the chamber once more.

Then, he seated himself on the high throne with his back straight, shoulders square, and hands resting atop the carved armrests. 

Only then did he speak.

"Neither."

He let the word linger before continuing.

"You are nearing your fifteenth year. As is tradition, you will enter the succession rite."

His fingers tapped once against the throne's edge.

"And when that time comes, what will the other houses say, when they learn that a candidate bearing the Hart crest has claimed a slave in a kingdom where such acts remain outlawed by decree and principle?"

When the Archduke spoke, the words hung with such gravity that even Eden visibly flinched.

She did not raise her head, but her shoulders tightened and the rigid composure she maintained faltered. After all, her younger brother was about to be thrown into the very succession war she walked away from.

"Father, I object to the youngest being entered into the succession. He—"

"Eden Hart."

The Archduke cut her off by calling her name. 

He rose slightly forward on the throne, resting one arm on the carved armrest, fingers curling slightly as if to emphasize each word.

"You were granted the right to withdraw. That right was not given so you could interfere on behalf of another.

"I will not allow it again under the pretense of concern for your brother."

His gaze shifted from Eden to Seven.

"You know well why this matter is not up for debate."

It was true. 

The artifact— no. 

The Goddess had chosen Seven. 

Should he walk away, the Archduke would have to either place the crown on an unwilling heir or eliminate the vessel and await a new host, even if it took centuries.

And yet, Seven…

"I withdraw my right of succession, Fat— Archduke."

Eden's head turned sharply toward him. 

The Archduke's expression did not change, but a faint pulse of zaen rippled through the room as he tapped the hilt of his sword. 

Lythian, whose throat had just finished sealing itself shut, winced slightly as his arm trembled beneath Eden's grip. 

Seven looked down at him.

Before the Archduke could deliver the next word or whatever judgment or decree he had prepared, he spoke again.

"…Only if I am not permitted to retain that slave as my support."

Eden looked sharply to the Archduke, expecting a refusal, or perhaps another bout of anger. But instead, the throne hall fell still.

Seven continued as he took a half-step forward.

Step.

"If the concern is reputation, then I fail to understand how you, the Archduke, claiming a slave yourself would be any less damaging than your son doing so."

Step.

"The public would not see a protective father, but a noble contradicting the very code he claims to enforce. What will the Kingdom say if the Archduke himself owns a slave? And more importantly…"

His eyes narrowed just slightly, just enough to emphasize the next name.

"…What will House Havin say?"

"You fought the Archmage only days ago. 

"Taking this slave now— especially this one, a piece crafted by the Archmage— will be seen not as prudence, but as provocation. If appearances are your concern, then allow me to keep the contradiction private."

Of course, he was lying.

Lythian, could or could not be a product of the Archmage's experiment, as he had no idea about it. But whether or not Lythian was truly one of the Archmage's creations, the similarity to the Fourth Hart's immortality made the suspicion undeniable.

The Archduke did not respond. His eyes remained fixed on Seven and was no longer tapping the hilt of his sword.

For a brief moment, Seven thought he might have miscalculated. 

But he knew better.

The fight between the Archduke and the Archmage had not ended in death. He had not seen the aftermath, but the tremors they left behind were not the kind that followed a true clash to the death. 

And more importantly, neither had used their full strength.

'Did they hold back enough for the sixth continent not to notice?'

He knew because if they had, the Sixth Continent itself would have felt it and would have responded.

After all, they would not sit still if they found out that the two powerhouses of the seventh fought, and it would mean the force would have weakened.

Even those slight cues were enough to trigger a war. 

"Father."

Seven took a single breath to calm the hesitation he was not sure he should voice aloud.

"...Do you truly believe the Archmage is dead?"

"...?!"

Eden flinched. It was her hunch too after seeing the defeated body in person.

Yet from the throne, the Archduke shifted, speaking not with anger but with the warning tone of a man already done with the subject.

"Enough."

"But Father—"

"Stop speaking nonsense."

"Did you examine the corpse? If you had, you might've realized it wasn't real. Anyone with your level of skill should've noticed. I—"

Shrkkk—!!

The sound tore through the room as a streak of wind displaced the air as the Archduke vanished from the throne and appeared inches before Seven with his sword unsheathed and pressed flat against the side of his son's neck.

A single line of blood welled just below Seven's jawline.

"I warned you twice not to overstep."

But then, he stopped. 

His eyes narrowed, focused not on the wound, but on Seven's face.

There was no hint of fear and hesitation, but just the unwavering gaze of someone speaking what needed to be said.

"I mean no disrespect, and I am not questioning your strength, Father. Only the Archmage's last move."

The Archduke said nothing, so Seven continued.

"In the nov… I mean if the Archmage used a high-tier spell that dissolved his body into fluid, then what you cut down wasn't a man. It was a construct: part ocean, part illusion."

The words were theory, formed just now from fragments of observation and memory from the novel, but he said them with such certainty that even the blade paused.

Lythian looked at him with such scrutiny that he was certain Seven was a reader, certain that he was about to said 'In the novel' earlier. 

But Seven ignored him, for now, and just focused on the Archduke.

"That spell would explain why the body felt… wrong."

The Archduke lowered the sword an inch

He remembered the strike.

He remembered the resistance that was not flesh. And when the fight ended, the form that remained was neither fully man nor fully element. 

It felt off back then, but he dismissed it.

Until now.

"…Interesting."

That means one more reason was added to force himself not to die. If Seven was correct, then it should be by no doubt that the Archmage would also be in the same situation as him right now, struggling to even breath.

Step.

The Archduke stepped back. With each step, the air seemed to return to the room.

He returned to where Eden knelt over Lythian, her palm still braced against the back of the assassin's skull, pinning him in place.

Without looking at her, he spoke.

"Return the slave to the youngest."

Eden frowned. 

How could she let the one who attempted the youngest life linger beside him, more that of a slave. Of course she knew that a slave could not harm its master, but still…

"To return him without protest is to dishonor judgment. But if it is your command, Father, I will obey… under one condition."

The Archduke finally looked at her.

"...Speak."

"Grant me seven days for an expedition. I will take the youngest into the Umbral Forest and see for myself if he is fit for what lies ahead. I will ensure his safety."

Then, without a word, the Archduke turned his head and looked at Seven.

Seven knew better than to mistake it for permission.

He did not like it. He especially did not like that the Archduke did not object. Eden killed him once already, and now she wanted to take him into the wild with only her assurance?

He suppressed a sigh, though his frown gave him away. 

'Fudge.'

Still, he stepped forward, placed a closed fist over his chest, and masked his dread behind a shallow bow.

He bit down on the words he wanted to say.

"…As you wish, Father."