“Wait, wait, wait—hold the damn minute! Me?!”
Hudson jabbed a finger at his own chest, his dark coat shifting with jewels draped over it.
His voice echoed through the grand hall. Then, faster than anyone could process, he lunged forward and grabbed Emilia’s shoulders.
"Lord of the Eighth?!"
Emilia remained still, her expression unfazed as she studied him from head to toe. He was taller—noticeably so. The lanky butler from just months ago now stood before her with an air of authority, dressed like someone who belonged in a throne room. It was hard to believe this was the same guy who was half dead a few months ago.
Then, with a soft, knowing smile, Emilia tilted her head. "You're not refusing a direct order from your Empress, are you?"
Hudson’s fingers twitched as he let go, chuckling nervously. “N-No, it’s just—”
“It’s just what?” Emilia leaned in, her eerie smile widening. “Come on, tell me. I’m curious.”
Hudson took a step back. Emilia followed.
He stepped back again. She followed again.
This continued until Hudson realised his back was against the wall—literally and figuratively. His shoulders slumped.
“Alright, alright! It’s just that being a Lord is a huge deal, you know? I only came here because I heard the news about Mr. Swordsman. I wasn’t expecting you to just hand me an entire realm!”
Emilia blinked. “Wait, I don’t mean now, silly.”
Hudson exhaled in relief. “Oh why didn’t you say so then”
“You’re clearly incapable, inexperienced, uneducated in governance, and the list goes on—”
Hudson’s soul left his body for a moment. A single tear dripped down his cheek. “So… why?”
Emilia smiled. “Because I need more people I can trust,” she said simply. “After your studies abroad, you can begin your duties. I’m looking forward to working with you.” She patted his shoulder, her grin growing. “Lord Hudson.”
Hudson scratched the underside of his nose, unable to find the right words—
BOOM!
A thunderous scream rattled the halls.
Hudson and Emilia froze.
From the corner of their eyes, a blur shot past them. Pasta, mid-sprint, turned his head with a slab of meat stuffed in his mouth. He winked before vanishing around the corner.
“PASTAAA!!”
Gordon’s enraged voice bellowed as he stormed after the thief, brandishing a kitchen knife.
Hudson sighed, shaking his head. “I guess some things never change.”
“Yeah, looks that way.”
Hudson’s smile faded as he walked to the window, gazing out at the city below. “The Nine Realms is finally at peace… but are we truly safe?.”
Emilia stepped beside him. “The Supreme Being?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You did challenge a celestial and take his land. Surely, there’s gonna be some kind of retaliation. Damn my studies, we need to mobilise our forces, develop strategies, hold meetings and think of a way to win this new war.”
Emilia stared at him. Then she burst into laughter.
Hudson blinked in disbelief as she held her stomach, wiping a tear.
“You’re hilarious, Hudson.”
“I—what?” He frowned. “How is this funny?! Don’t tell me I’m overreacting—this is normal! I’m just trying to care about the Nine Realms!”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it,” she said, swaying playfully with her hands clasped behind her back. “But let’s just say I heard a little something about our dear Supreme Being.”
Hudson raised a brow. “Like what?”
Emilia turned her gaze back to the window. “His power isn’t actually his own or entirely that is. His strength relies on his followers, on those who trust him. The only reason he had dominion over the Nine Realms was because he protected the land from the Dragon Emperor years ago. But now? He’s abandoned them. A mistake on his part.”
Hudson narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”
“If he wages war, he risks losing the little trust he still has. And not just from our people—from the world. He thinks he’s omnipotent, but he’s already standing on shaky ground. I’ve got him right where I want him.”
Hudson exhaled sharply. “Okay, that’s great and all, but what about you?”
Emilia raised a brow.
Hudson crossed his arms. “You just stole his land. You’re the most important figure in the Nine Realms right now. What if he sends assassins?”
“Then let them come.”
Her voice was calm, but there was an underlying power to it—an unshakable certainty that made Hudson shiver.
She turned back to the window, smiling sweetly.
“If his so-called assassins manage to get past my personal guards, I’ll gladly send them on a free trip to hell personally.”
Hudson felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. He wasn’t sure if he should be terrified or reassured.
“…Still,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “What’s next?”
Emilia’s expression brightened. “Oh, that’s easy—party.”
Hudson deadpanned. “What.”
“Oh, and a vacation, of course.”
She tapped her chin in thought. “I still haven’t gotten my fill of adventuring. I need to find myself an elf prince, after all. You can’t stop a girl from finding her true love ”
Hudson groaned. “You’re an Empress now.”
She pointed at him. “Exactly! That means I can do whatever I want! "
Hudson groaned.
"The kingdom is peaceful, I’ve got free time, so let’s party!”
With that, she turned on her heel, waving. “Go spend time with Mary or something. Enjoy the festivities. I need a nap. Goodbye, Hudson~”
Hudson watched her go, shaking his head with an exasperated smile.
He had his doubts before. But now, it was clear.
If anyone was fit to rule the Nine Realms—it was her.
Emilia Falcrest.
*
Emilia stepped into her room and collapsed onto her bed with a groan, sinking into the sheets as exhaustion weighed down on her.
At the terrace, Puck fluffed her golden wings wide, basking in the morning sun as if revelling in her own radiance.
Emilia peeked at her feathery companion. "Silly bird," she muttered, forcing herself up to scratch Puck’s chin before trudging to her desk. She pulled out a colourful box covered in an absurd number of stickers—some cute, some...questionable.
Her gaze wandered across her new room. It was exactly as she had requested—a near-perfect replica of the one she had as a child. From the countless awards neatly ranked on the walls to the stacks of books crammed beneath her bed, the nostalgia hit her like a carriage packed with bulls.
But something was off.
Emilia could feel them. The lifeforce of thirty-seven disciples, all watching her.
A shiver crept up her spine, but she sighed and shook it off. When the time was right, she’d set some ground rules about her security.
Ever since she gained the ability to sense life force and received a crash course on the commandments from Ryonnuske, she had never felt more alive.
Her mind drifted to how she had addressed Lord Lex earlier, and she nearly squealed in excitement before forcing herself to focus. She turned back to the box, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
Lifting the lid, she was met with a peculiar mechanism—an intricate device, unlike anything she had seen before. A strange lens sat at its centre, surrounded by twirling, glowing crystals at each corner. On the side, a bold inscription read: “Push me like you mean it, girl!”
Emilia rolled her eyes and pressed the button.
The moment her finger made contact, a jolt of energy surged through her body, leaving her limbs tingling.
She yelped, jerking her hand back. "Ack! What in the—?!" she hissed, shaking her finger.
The crystals continued to spin, crackling with tiny sparks of electricity. Then, just as suddenly as they had activated, they stopped.
“Huh?”
She leaned in.
Nothing.
She poked it.
Still nothing.
She hit it—once, twice, three times.
Not even a flicker.
One more time for good measure.
....
Emilia let out a long sigh—before a sudden burst of light exploded in front of her.
“EMILIA!”
She yelped, flinching back so hard that she tumbled off her chair and landed flat on the floor.
Above her, a translucent, life-sized hologram of Tori floated, hands on her hips.
“T-Tori?!”
Tori smirked. “Wow, I knew you’d be happy to see me, but I didn’t think you’d actually fall for me.”
“Maybe if you beg, I’ll consider sending you my autograph.”
Emilia groaned, rubbing her temple as she climbed back into her chair. Her eye twitched. “Nice to see you too, Tori.”
Tori raised a hand. “Halt, girl.”
Emilia arched a brow. “What now?”
“You’re an Empress now?! What in the Nine Realms?! I was gone for a week—a week—and you somehow took over an entire kingdom?! Explain Yourself.”
Emilia chuckled. “It just… kinda happened.”
“Hell no.” Tori crossed her arms. “Stuff like that doesn’t just happen. Spill. Word for word. Letter for letter. I want the whole damn story—chop chop.”
Emilia sighed, leaning back in her chair, so much for her nap.
*
Aunt Maria stood in the halls, sipping her tea with an air of elegance. “How troublesome this is,” she mused, her voice unusually calm. “One Pasta was already a headache—now the boy can clone himself? Whoever’s handing out these ‘gifts’ must either be drunk or outright insane.”
She took another sip, her expression unchanged as hundreds of Pastas dashed past her, each one clutching a plate of food. Behind them, Gordon tore through the hallways in hot pursuit, shouting uncensored curses.
The very thought of joining Gordon in this... chaotic chase was beneath her. Casually, she flashed her wedding ring, smirking. What would her fiancé think if he saw her sprinting after a grown boy like a lunatic?
She lifted her cup again, this time with a small smile. “Still… I’m glad the boy is alright.”
The halls weren’t the only place buzzing with activity—the entire Nine Realms were alive with movement.
An order had been sent. A decree had been given.
For the next nine days, a festival would be held. And this was no fleeting celebration—it was to become an annual tradition, forever known as the New Sun Festival.
The joy was so infectious that even those still loyal to the Supreme Being found themselves caught in the celebration.
Meanwhile, Lord Missui sat in her office, still reeling from Emilia’s bold words—the very ones that had ensured the Lords would never retaliate against her.
Each realm had its own set of disciples to observe it. The peace treaty remained intact.
And after Emilia’s declaration at the execution grounds, every lingering grudge against her had simply… vanished.
“That girl…” Missui murmured, biting into her apple. Her gaze remained distant, her mind replaying the scene over and over. Even I couldn’t see her potential.
Was she fearless? Or simply too ambitious for her own good?
The Nine Realms had once dreamed of becoming the leading power of the world, but after the devastation of the Great War, that hope had crumbled under the weight of its own civil conflicts. Yet, somehow, Emilia’s words still lingered.
“I’ll ensure the Nine Realms become the leading nation within twenty years,” Emilia had declared, her grin unwavering.
“Then, you will all have business connections—not just with each other, but with the entire world. Your pockets will overflow. Your bellies will never be empty. I’ve already forged ties with the elves and made an acquaintance with the strongest man alive. And if I somehow fail to fulfil my promise within twenty years—" her grin widened—"I’ll step down as Empress. But let’s be real—that’s just impossible."
Missui let out a long sigh, resting a hand against her temple. It was my methods that shaped her.
The brutal, merciless schedule she had crafted—one that no ordinary child should have been able to withstand.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
And yet, Emilia had endured.
Still, there was one thing even she could not comprehend.
How had Emilia managed to contain the Motherland’s lifeforce?
Even in her books, that was an impossibility.
Missui turned toward the small window in her office, watching the golden glow of lanterns being strung in the streets below.
“All we can do now,” she whispered, “is trust our Empress.”
*
Fireworks painted the night sky in a dazzling array of colours, bursting in rhythmic explosions above the Second Realm. The spectacle illuminated the land below, casting flickering shades of gold, crimson, and violet across the eager faces of onlookers.
Jiji stood with her arms crossed, a smug grin plastered across her face as she admired her handiwork. Behind her, her parents observed in silent approval.
Meanwhile, Shot and Kabal were busy engaging in a different kind of explosive event—flirting shamelessly with the intellectual ladies from the Realm of Scholars. And to everyone’s shock, the ladies actually entertained their nonsense. Whether it was the festive atmosphere or just sheer curiosity, no one knew, but Shot and Kabal were winning.
Every street, every corner was filled with life. Laughter, music, and the aroma of festival delicacies filled the air.
Until—
A blaring trumpet shattered the revelry, bringing the festival to an abrupt standstill.
Carriages rolled in, forming an impeccable line. The crowd turned, murmuring as a man clad in a full jester’s outfit leapt from the lead carriage, unfurling a golden scroll. He cleared his throat, his voice booming over the hushed festival.
“From the Seventh Realm! Our Lady has chosen to grace us with her presence!”
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
“Lady Velmoré of the Seventh! Mother of Lord Mikah!”
The carriage door creaked open, and the moment she stepped out, time itself hesitated.
Her hair flowed like an endless river, cascading far beyond the carriage, sweeping across the floor like a golden tide. It was unclear whether her body was truly flesh or simply an amalgamation of pure gold and precious jewels, shimmering under the festival lights.
And then—her chest.
Her chests.
It was beyond human comprehension.
Every step she took threatened to shatter the land beneath her. The earth trembled. Structures swayed. The sheer force of their gravitational pull disrupted the festival’s lanterns, throwing off their gentle sways with every bounce.
Jiji, Shot, and Kabal elbowed their way through the crowd, eyes locked on the living phenomenon before them.
Jiji exhaled, shaking her head in disbelief. “Now I understand why people say, ‘Oh, Mother of Mikah.’”
Shot and Kabal immediately covered her eyes.
“Yeah, no. You don’t need to be seeing that,” Shot muttered.
Jiji smirked, activating her Eyes of Precision anyway.
Kabal, trying desperately to stay focused, cleared his throat. “The party’s about to start. We should get inside.”
Before Jiji could respond, Shot scooped her up and hoisted her onto his shoulders.
“Alright, we’re moving,” he declared, sprinting toward the castle like his life depended on it.
Kabal followed suit because if those things kept bouncing, there was a real chance they’d all get wiped out.
*
Hades frowned as he walked through the bustling streets, his arm looped with Lily’s. He was thrilled to be spending the evening with her, but something weighed heavily on his soul.
The clothes.
Why…
Why am I being forced to wear this?
A white T-shirt stretched uncomfortably across his broad frame, the words “You Can Do It!” printed boldly across the front in obnoxiously cheerful font. Worse still, it was Pasta’s shirt.
Hades’ muscles twitched beneath the thin fabric as he fought the overwhelming urge to rip it off and set it ablaze. He took a slow, deep breath. Focus on Lily.
And God, did she make it easy.
Even in the dim evening glow, she radiated a warmth brighter than the fireworks bursting overhead. Her flowery dress swayed with every graceful step, her presence like a melody soothing Hades’ simmering irritation.
They soon stopped in front of a game stall, where an array of plush bears sat neatly on display.
Lily turned to Hades, her eyes shimmering with unmistakable intent. “Come on, pretty please?”
Hades exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. But when she pouted—genuinely pouted—he sighed in defeat, stepping forward without a word.
The vendor beamed. “Very good, young man! Here’s the game: just use this scoop to catch a fish from the pond. Do that, and you win a prize for your lady. Easy, right?”
Hades eyed the small, flimsy scoop in his hand. Pathetic.
With a smirk, he approached the basin, dipped the net in, and—
Swoosh.
The fish wasn’t there.
Hades blinked. What? He glanced down at his empty scoop, then back at the pond. The damn fish was still swimming.
Fine. Again.
He dipped the net—swoosh. Nothing.
His smirk faded.
His jaw clenched.
Again. Swoosh.
Still. No. Fish.
A vein pulsed in his temple as he scooped, and scooped, and scooped, only for the little demon to keep slipping away. His once composed demeanour crumbled as he leaned further over the pond, fully prepared to personally extract the damn thing with his bare hands if necessary.
Meanwhile, Lily chuckled, savouring this rare sight.
Still, she glanced at the clock and hummed thoughtfully.
“It’s almost time for the banquet.”
Hades barely heard her. He was in battle.
The fish flicked its tail, taunting him.
This wasn’t over.
*
The musician tapped his foot against the stage. “And a one, and a two, and a three—let’s go!”
The music erupted into a lively, infectious beat that had everyone up on their feet—well, everyone except Grandpappy.
He was too busy riding a bull around the crowd, hooting like a madman. The bull, fueled by the energy of the festival, bucked and twirled with impressive agility, only adding to the chaotic spectacle.
Meanwhile, Andy, standing atop the bull’s back, was juggling fruits.
His laughter boomed over the festival as guests cheered, gasped, and wondered if they had already drunk too much.
But while the party raged outside, in the dark halls of the mansion, another kind of chaos unfolded.
Pasta was running for his life.
Disciples swarmed like shadows, tearing through the halls in pursuit of him. In his hands?
Emilia’s video box.
With a mischievous grin, he cloned himself and sent his duplicates sprinting in different directions, causing the disciples to stumble in confusion.
Tori doubled over laughing, wiping a tear from her eye. “Pasta! What do you think you’re doing?!”
Pasta snickered, expertly dodging a disciple before tossing the box into the air and flipping over another. “What do you think I’m doing?” He caught the box mid-air with ease. “Do you think I’m stronger than Mr. Swordsman now?”
Tori smirked. “Nope. You’ve still got a long way to go.” She winked. “But hey, when we meet again on Kite Island, we can test your real strength. That’s if you survive Emilia’s wrath first.”
Pasta grinned. “You got yourself a deal—”
Thunk.
He collapsed face-first onto the floor, his lifeforce shattered by a burst.
Emilia loomed over him, reclaiming her video box. She sighed. “He’ll be fine.” With a gesture, she ordered the disciples to drag Pasta’s unconscious body away. “You wanted to see the festival, right?” She glanced at Tori. “Let’s go.”
Tori nodded far too quickly, making a silent vow never to get on Emilia’s bad side.
The banquet hall overflowed with friends, loved ones, and an unfortunate number of people forced to wear actual formal attire.
Even Mr. Swordsman, after much resistance, had been shoved into a suit. He considered it a lesser evil than that embarrassing T-shirt.
“HEY!!”
Kabal climbed onto a table, grinning ear to ear. “LET’S PARTY!”
He dramatically raised his axe—and a bolt of lightning struck it.
BZZZZZT.
The poor guy convulsed on the floor as smoke curled from his singed clothing.
No one paid much attention.
That is until a girl knelt beside him. “Are you alright?”
Kabal’s charred face broke into a dreamy smile. He weakly whispered, “…Worth it.”
Pasta’s eyes fluttered open.
Before him? Plates upon plates of food.
He had no idea how he got here, but he wasn’t questioning it.
Without a word, he devoured everything in sight.
Until—
He froze mid-bite.
“Wait a minute… I have a better plan.”
He cloned himself, and suddenly, there were multiple Pastas, each digging into the feast.
For a brief, glorious moment, it seemed like a genius move.
Until…
His stomach suddenly shrunk.
Each of his clones disappeared one by one, leaving all the food in his real stomach.
Pasta groaned and collapsed onto the floor. “…Who makes a half-baked gift like this?” he asked the ones above as Andy and his rampaging bull leapt over him.
Across the hall, the Lords frowned.
Never had they seen a party so utterly lacking in class.
Well, except for Lord Lex, who was too busy indulging in drink and fine food to care.
“Finally, some time to truly enjoy myself!” he bellowed, downing an entire bottle. “Cheers to Empress Emilia! This is just the first night! Eight more to go, baby! WOOOO!”
The dance floor was a riot of movement as Hudson and Mary claimed the centre, twirling across the floor as the workers from Pyrovile cheered them on.
Above, the hologram box flickered, displaying Tori, Astria, and Falcon waving flags in celebration.
Well.
Tori was waving enthusiastically.
Astria and Falcon? They looked like they’d been forced at swordpoint or perhaps a glowing cubepoint?
*
Shot leaned coolly against the terrace railing, lowering his voice to a deep, mysterious tone. “You see… I’ve known the Empress for a long time.”
The girl beside him gasped, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Really?!”
Shot smirked, casually inspecting his nails. “Yeah, yeah. No big deal.” He exhaled. “I’m kind of the sniper of the group. Saving everyone is just part of the job, you know? Even the Weeping Swordsman can’t survive without me providing cover.”
The girl’s awe only grew. “So, so you’re like… extremely strong?”
Shot let out a low chuckle, turning to face the starry sky. “I’m not just extremely strong,” he whispered, letting the words hang in the air. “I am the strongest.”
Then, he added, “And the smartest. I invented a rocket bag, I shoot fireworks, and I defy gravity itself! Some people fear heights, but me—”
“SHOT!!!”
A high-pitched scream tore through the night.
Before Shot could react, Jiji came barreling toward him, rocket bag blazing behind her.
BOOM!
She slammed into him mid-sentence.
Shot’s scream was magnificent as he flipped over the railing, arms flailing dramatically before plummeting off the terrace.
SPLAT.
He landed flat on the ground, legs twitching like a crushed bug.
Jiji, still hovering, tilted her head. “Oops.”
*
Mireille and Nathan sat together at the banquet, watching their children with eyes that shimmered on the verge of tears.
"I still remember," Mireille whispered, clutching Nathan's hand. "The first day she told us she wanted to be an adventurer."
Nathan chuckled, shaking his head. "That was years ago, but it feels like yesterday, my love." He pulled her closer. "They’ll be heading out again soon. Will you be okay?"
Mireille turned to him with a smug grin, waving a journal in front of his face. "Hey, I'm not about to stand in the way of my babies' dreams, you got that?" She tapped the journal. "Besides, Emilia already gave me something to keep me busy in the meantime."
Nathan raised a brow. "A journal?"
Mireille smirked. "Oh, it's not just any journal—it's a detailed log of her adventures. This is my premium entertainment now."
Nathan chuckled, glancing back toward their son. "I also noticed his friends still call him Pasta. Guess he's sticking with that name, huh?"
Mireille met his gaze, her smile turning deviously playful. "Do you think it's a good idea to remind them his real name is Henry? You know, just to stir up a little trouble?"
The couple grinned just as Emilia approached and wrapped her arms around them in a warm hug.
Mireille blinked. "Oh? What's this now?" She laughed. "You’re our boss now, sweetie. Gotta keep up appearances."
Nathan chuckled. "Just let her be. She’s already better than Hen—"
"Better than who?" Pasta asked, appearing behind them with a suspicious look.
Nathan sighed. "Never mind. Get over here."
Pasta joined the hug. It had been months since they'd been together like this, but in that moment, wrapped in warmth, it felt like forever had stopped just for them.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the hall…
Mr. Swordsman sat with Lily, both enjoying a glass of wine.
"How's Jin?" he asked, swirling the liquid in his glass.
Lily exhaled, resting her cheek in her palm. "Recovering… but his lifeforce is still faint."
Her fingers traced the rim of her glass. "Mercury has to keep him in her realm in case things go south. I'll send you a letter when he wakes up."
Mr. Swordsman studied her. "You're not coming with us to meet the elves?"
Lily reached over and pinched his cheek.
"Hady," she whispered with a knowing smile. "We both know I can't. I still have too many responsibilities here."
Her expression darkened slightly. "And then there's that sly fox… she escaped the realms with Sparrow." She shook her head. "I wonder why she picked him. From what we’ve gathered, she’s a kitsune from some faraway land. The poor guy probably thinks she’s a fallen celestial or something."
Mr. Swordsman remained silent, mulling over her words—until suddenly, he leaned in and stole a kiss.
Lily’s eyes widened slightly before she poked his forehead, pushing him back.
"What was that for?" he asked, surprised.
Lily smirked, crossing her arms. "Now you know how I felt back then."
Mr. Swordsman chuckled, shaking his head. "I’ll be back, Lily."
Lily raised her glass with a smirk. "Yeah, you better, Hady."
*
Mr. Swordsman leaned against the terrace railing, gazing at the stars in quiet contemplation. The night air was cool, the distant hum of the banquet barely reaching him.
"What are you doing, moody swordsman?" Pasta asked, slouching onto the railing beside him. He gave Mr Swordsman’s suit a once-over and smirked. "Y’know, I used to be terrified of you, but I think it was just the outfit."
Mr. Swordsman furrowed his brow. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
Emilia joined them, resting her arms on the railing. "Turns out you’re were just a lost puppy," she said, her lips curling into a grin.
Pasta snorted. "Yeah, an edgy, sword-swinging puppy."
The siblings burst into laughter, leaving Mr Swordsman to sigh.
Then, his voice cut through the amusement. "Thank you."
The shift in tone made them pause.
Mr. Swordsman’s eyes stayed on the sky. "Without you both, I wouldn’t be here today. I would have remained the Weeping Swordsman."
Pasta grinned. "Yeah, now you're just Mr. Swordsman."
"I still don’t like that name, you know."
Emilia shoved his shoulder. "Well, too bad. You’ve got to live with it."
The guys shared a glance before breaking into laughter.
"What’s wrong with you two now?" Emilia frowned, crossing her arms.
Mr. Swordsman turned to Pasta. "Don’t say anything unless you want to be executed."
Pasta laughed out until Mr Swordsman continued. "Henry."
Pasta’s face froze.
"How do you know that name?!" he demanded, launching at Mr Swordsman, hands wrapped around his neck.
Mr. Swordsman chuckled, effortlessly pushing him back. "Come on. I can hear pretty much everything, even over the banquet noise. But seriously—Pasta? What, is that your favourite meal?"
Emilia sighed. "No. It was our older sister’s favourite." She folded her arms. "That, and he actually likes the name. Even as a kid, I thought it was dumb as hell, but he insisted. So, here we are."
Pasta released Mr. Swordsman and stroked his chin. "Come to think of it, we both have secret names. You—'Mr. Swordsman.' Me—' Henry.' So what about you, Emilia?"
Before she could answer, Mr. Swordsman smirked. "What do you mean? She’s Empress Emilia."
Pasta burst out laughing. "Nah, she’s the demon queen in disguise."
Emilia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling.
The adventures they’d shared—the danger, the chaos, the sheer absurdity of their journey—were things she held closely to her heart. They had been through fun times, terrifying moments, and way too many near-death experiences. But in the end, they were still here.
And as the night stretched on, the terrace filled with their voices—bickering, laughter, and the warmth of a bond that nothing could break.
*
Months later, the deep bellow of an airship’s horn echoed through the skies as it drifted across the heavens. Emilia rushed to the edge of the deck, gripping her hat to keep it from flying away as the wind whipped around her. Pasta and Mr. Swordsman soon joined her, their eyes drawn to the breathtaking sight ahead.
Suspended in the vast expanse of the sky, an island floated among swirling clouds, its emerald forests and shimmering waterfalls bathed in golden sunlight. The land of the Elves was finally within reach.
Their hearts swelled with exhilaration, their eyes gleaming as they took in the wonder before them. No matter how fast the world moved, no matter how many trials lay ahead, there was always time for one more story to tell.
*
Twenty Years Later…
The sky burned crimson, streaked with fire as dragons soared overhead, their roars shaking the very skies.
A lone man sat on a broken stone pillar, his wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over his face. His muscles tensed as he took a slow bite of a taco. “You ready, Mr. Swordsman?”
Hades rose to his feet, dusting his coat. “I should be asking you that. Last chance to turn back and meet your daughter. Tori’s going to be furious with you.”
Pasta stretched his arms, his smile widening. “Learned that from the best. Let’s wrap this up quick before our wives kill us.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Still, this was an order from our over-the-top Empress, so technically—”
“Not our fault,” Hades muttered, glancing at the warrior by his side. "Mighty Pasta"
Pasta shot him a glare. “I told you to stop calling me that. I was a dumb kid back then—that name is embarrassing.”
Hades ignored him, his gaze locked on the battlefield ahead.
Before them, an ocean of dragons and monstrous creatures darkened the skies and stood firm in the land.
The dragon's vast wings cast shadows over the gleaming city in the distance. And at the end stood Zorakthor, the Emperor of Dragons, his eyes burning like molten gold.
Pasta cracked his knuckles before bumping fists with Hades. “One more for the road.”
Zorakthor’s voice rumbled across the battlefield, his piercing gaze meeting Hades’. “What is your name, strong one?”
Hades adjusted his hat, stepping forward. The wind howled as he unsheathed his sword, the very air trembling at his command.
“Me?” His dark blade shimmered. “Just an ordinary swordsman passing by.”