In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

Dominic, the former Viscount of Crassus, was taken aback when Michael informed him of the sudden marriage proposal. His reaction was closer to worry than joy. Watching his son nonchalantly discuss a potential union with the princess, as though he were choosing a dinner menu, left him dumbfounded.

"Are you planning to get involved with the capital's politics? That place is dangerous," Dominic said, locking eyes with Michael.

Michael replied in a steady, firm voice, "I'm not seeking involvement, Father. I simply cannot extricate myself. In that case, wouldn't it be better to take an active role?"

Dominic fell silent, reflecting on his son's words. It was true—Michael, the hero who had captured the imperial crown prince and the five tribal leaders, was destined to draw both admiration and envy. Light always casts a shadow.

"Do you realize what it means to marry the princess? Even if you have children, they will not bear your name," Dominic said with a sigh, his gaze fixed on Michael's face. His expression carried both unease and resolve, a determination not to let their family lineage end.

Michael smirked slightly. "Even if I marry the princess, I won't remain merely the queen's consort. You needn't worry about that."

Dominic's eyes wavered as he felt the sheer force of Michael's resolve, a palpable energy filling the room.

"Are you aiming for joint rule?" Dominic asked cautiously. Yet, before he could continue, something dawned on him. Michael, still smiling, leaned back in his chair with a relaxed demeanor that carried a clear implication.

Dominic's breath caught in his throat as realization struck. "You don't mean…"

Michael nodded subtly, his smile deepening. "Yes. It's time to reclaim forgotten glory."

Dominic shot to his feet, pacing the room in agitation. His face was a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and hope. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled.

"Are you planning to reclaim the lost territories?"

Michael, still composed, rose from his chair and straightened his posture, his crimson eyes gleaming with determination.

"The lands where our ancestors once ruled now lie between the Pamir Empire and our domain. During the prisoner exchange negotiations, I intend to demand that territory. It will belong solely to our family."

Dominic froze, his expression a blend of shock and awe. His mind raced through the implications of Michael's plan.

"That would change everything. If you recover the old lands and prove your lineage, you could assert a claim to co-rule with the princess," Dominic murmured, his heart pounding.

If Michael succeeded, his marriage to Princess Astrid would symbolize not just an alliance but the revival of a fallen dynasty. It would reshape the balance of power on the continent of Rubel.

Dominic turned to his son, his gaze filled with reverence. This vision, this grand ambition, was beyond anything he had imagined. With Rania Kingdom's strength supporting Michael's bloodline, the entire continent could witness a new political order.

Gripping the edge of the desk to steady himself, Dominic took a deep breath, struggling to contain his emotions. Finally, he looked up and grasped Michael's hand. His palms were damp with sweat, and his face was etched with a mix of exhilaration and awe.

"If we unite the lands of Rania and the old Kingdom…"

The mere thought made his heart race so fiercely that its pounding seemed to fill the silent room.

"You mean…" Dominic's voice was barely audible, filled with certainty and reverence. "You're dreaming of an empire?"

The word "empire" held the weight of the grandest dream a descendant of a fallen kingdom could aspire to.

Michael placed a steadying hand on his father's shoulder, his voice calm but firm. "For now, this must remain a secret. To secure favorable terms in negotiations with the Pamir Empire, our lineage must not yet come to light."

Dominic nodded, his expression a mixture of pride and resolve.

Michael helped his father back into his chair, his own mind already turning to the many tasks ahead. There was much to prepare, but the dream was no longer distant—it was within reach.

The underground prison of the Orlando Fortress was shrouded in suffocating darkness. Crown Prince Oswald of the Pamir Empire sat within the cold, oppressive confines of his cell, despair etched across his face. He had been separated from the tribal chiefs of the Five Great Clans and imprisoned in isolation.

The prison, though dim, was surprisingly clean. Straw lined the floor, and a low, makeshift cot had been provided in one corner. While it was barely large enough to lie on, the mere presence of a bed indicated that Oswald was being treated with some semblance of respect befitting an imperial prince.

Still, a prison was a prison. Its stifling silence pressed on Oswald's psyche, and the grating sound of chains dragging against the floor heightened his unease. Pale and gaunt, Oswald sat on the cot, his eyes long accustomed to the darkness, though his body struggled to adjust. The sharp chill in the air clung to his skin, exacerbated by the dampness that seemed to emanate from the stone walls. Despite summer's approach, the air inside the prison was icy, each exhalation escaping as a faint puff of mist.

The oppressive stillness amplified his sense of isolation, and he found himself staring at his shackled hands. Once, these hands had issued royal edicts as the heir to an empire. Now, they were bound in cold iron, no different from a caged animal. A tempest of rage and sorrow swirled within him, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't shake the weight of defeat.

He had fought to alter his fate, risking everything, only to find himself ensnared in Michael's grasp. In his attempts to escape his father's clutches, he had become subject to a different, equally inescapable power.

His gaze drifted to the iron bars separating him from the world, and his father's face rose unbidden in his mind. The emperor—cold and ruthless—had systematically eliminated Oswald's elder brothers, absorbing their lifeblood to prolong his own. Oswald didn't need to speculate about his future. Once the prisoner exchange negotiations concluded, his fate would follow the same trajectory. His father would use his failure in war as justification to claim him.