The world shifted, and in an instant, Adam was back in the hidden room in the castle. The mana core lay before him, its pale white surface fractured, dripping mana essence in slow, deliberate rivulets. The air was thick with the scent of charred wood and raw energy, making his breaths shallow.

He stared at the core, the faint glow emanating from it both mesmerizing and menacing. The mana essence oozing from the crystal made it clear—he couldn’t touch it, not in his current state.

“Time to complete the potion,” he muttered to himself, his voice steady despite the grim task ahead. “Eight thousand souls… that’s a lot of people.”

He sat back on his heels, wiping his bloodied hands on the fabric of his pants, his mind racing with possibilities. He thought about what would happen next. In the coming days, there would undoubtedly be an announcement—a declaration of who would take control of the crumbling city.

The university students and young hopeless men were the face of the revolution, but Adam dismissed them as too inexperienced and fragmented to lead. The people would never trust them with real authority. No, the only figure who could credibly stabilize the situation was the Father. A man of faith and reason, respected by the masses and seen as above the fray of politics. If the Father were to announce that he would temporarily take control to stabilize the city, people would rally behind him without hesitation.

Adam allowed himself a brief moment of contemplation. If I can predict this, then surely so can others. The elves, the remnants of the king’s loyalists… they won’t sit idle. They’ll act. I’ll need to stay ahead.

Rising to his feet, Adam paced the room, glancing occasionally at the mana core. Its glow seemed to intensify, as though mocking his hesitation. The question isn’t just about collecting 8,000 human souls. It’s about doing it quickly and swiftly without becoming a target myself.

Adam stared at the fractured mana core, its faint glow pulsing irregularly as wisps of mana essence dripped onto the table. The room was silent, save for the crackle of the nearby lantern. His conversation with Oriel still echoed in his mind, her cryptic warnings and veiled dismissals gnawing at him.

"I need to figure something out before the elves make their move," Adam thought, his eyes narrowing at the core as if it held the answers. "How do I position myself to take control? With the royal family gone, there’s a vacuum, and someone will inevitably fill it. Even if I don’t secure the throne, a position of power—any position—would suffice. From there, I can push my own agenda, set plans into motion, and let the people unknowingly build their own traps. Their own coffins."

The thought sparked a dark satisfaction, but Adam quickly refocused. "That’s one possibility, but the biggest obstacle is the father. Right now, he’s too broken by grief to act. The loss of Antara has shattered him. Grief like that… it’s paralyzing. He won’t rally anyone—not the people, not the remnants of the government."

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of the table as his thoughts unraveled. "So who else could the elves support? The head of the police? No… that’s unlikely. Sure, he didn’t fire on the protesters during the largest demonstration, but the people don’t know that. All they see is a symbol of brutality and oppression. The revolution was sparked because of him and his kind. They’d never follow him."

He leaned back, his gaze drifting momentarily to the cracked core. "The military? They’re the strongest contender. A promise to protect the borders, to bring stability… that’s something the people might rally behind, especially in the chaos. But the military isn’t exactly loved either. They’ve been silent for too long, and their sudden rise would be met with suspicion. It’s not the easiest path for them to take control—not yet."

Adam sighed, the possibilities swirling in his mind, each more tangled than the last. "So what’s the elves’ play here? Do they back the military? Maybe they’ll work through another puppet. Or… maybe I should just venture into elven territory now, bypass all this nonsense."

He shook his head. "No, not yet. I’m far too weak for that. They’d crush me in an instant."

His gaze shifted back to the mana core. It shimmered faintly, an object of immeasurable potential, yet it remained just out of reach. "Still, I need to act. The longer this chaos festers, the harder it’ll be to maneuver. If I can’t rally the people myself, I’ll have to find a way to exploit whoever does take power."

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Adam’s fingers ran along the surface of the table, his mind piecing together fragments of a plan. "The elves likely want someone controllable, someone predictable. But if I can position myself—if I can make them see me as the best choice, even temporarily—I might be able to manipulate things from the inside. The father… his grief is too consuming, and he’s out of the picture for now. The military is strong, but people won’t trust them easily. That leaves me and the people of the church."

“I need to talk to the rest of the people in the church.”

Adam stepped out of the study, his mind heavy with plans and uncertainties. The castle was eerily quiet, its once-regal halls now tainted by the chaos that had engulfed the city. Pillaged rooms lay open, their contents scattered or looted. The faint echo of distant shouting reminded him that the streets outside were still alive with celebration—or perhaps, more accurately, delirium.

He walked briskly through the castle gates and made his way toward the slums, his home and sanctuary. The city, now without a ruler, was a far cry from the rigid order it once held. People roamed the streets in drunken revelry, smashing windows and looting stores. The air smelled of smoke and spilled alcohol, and the glow of scattered fires illuminated the broken remnants of the king’s rule.

The hour-long trek out of the city felt longer than usual, the weight of Adam’s thoughts bearing down on him with each step. As he passed through the slums, the stark contrast of the celebration here struck him. People were just as jubilant, if not more so. Shouts of joy rang out, children darted through the narrow alleyways, and the faint sound of music spilled from hastily arranged gatherings.

But Adam didn’t share their joy. He knew better. He understood what lay beneath the surface of this euphoria. These celebrations, this supposed "freedom," were as fleeting as the firelight dancing on the cracked walls of their homes.

"The thieves," he thought, glancing at a group of young men laughing as they dragged a crate of stolen goods into a shanty. "Most of them are from here, the slums. Of course they’re happy. They’ve suffered the most under the regime—the police brutality, the crushing poverty. For them, this feels like justice, like a long-awaited release."

But Adam’s mind was sharper than most. He saw what others refused to see. He understood the strings that had been pulled behind the scenes, the quiet manipulation that had orchestrated this so-called revolution.

"The people in the city," he mused, "they fought for their own freedom. Or at least, that’s what they believe. But freedom… it’s a fragile thing, an illusion."

He chuckled softly to himself, the sound dry and humorless. "They think they’re free now, free from the king’s grasp, moving toward a more liberating society. But they don’t see it. They don’t see that this was all orchestrated by the elves."

He paused briefly, looking up at the sky. The stars above the slums were brighter than in the city, unclouded by smoke or the soft glow of distant fires. But even here, the stars seemed distant, unreachable—much like the freedom these people celebrated.

"No doubt, the tyrant king was no good," Adam thought, his hands shoved into his pockets as he continued walking. "But humans… they lack the one thing that could guarantee their freedom: strength."

Strength, in Adam’s mind, wasn’t just about military power or brute force. It was about understanding, about knowledge, about the ability to see the world for what it truly was and act accordingly.

"Education," he murmured to himself. "That’s what they lack. The less educated a person is, the easier they are to manipulate. And even when they are educated, if you give them a taste of forbidden truth, they’ll chase it endlessly, like moths to a flame. That’s what the elves did. They gave the students the forbidden fruit of revolution, and those students, hungry for change, devoured it."

Adam’s eyes narrowed as he passed by a group of men sitting around a small fire, their laughter echoing in the night. "Freedom… such a beautiful word. It’s alluring, intoxicating. But for most of these people, it’s just a fantasy. They don’t truly understand what it means. They’re chasing an ideal, not realizing that without the foundation to support it, freedom is just another chain."

He thought of the peasants, the laborers, the ones who had truly suffered under the regime. "All they want is to eat," he reflected, his gaze softening slightly. "That’s all they’ve ever wanted. A change that would put food on their tables, a life free of constant oppression. But those are the ones who face death in revolutions, the ones who pay the heaviest price. And when it’s all over, they’re still left with nothing but promises."

He chuckled again, this time with a bitter edge. "So, we have the majority—uneducated, desperate—and the minority, educated but lacking wisdom and experience. And yet, they speak of freedom."

The thought brought a rare smile to his lips, though it held no warmth.