In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

Oswald clenched his teeth before finally forcing himself to speak. Though he had braced for this, the humiliation of being an imperial crown prince pleading in chains was still unbearable.

"Before I say anything, I have a condition. Your sphinx injured one of my men. That man, over there in that cell, is my loyal subordinate. I demand he be treated first."

Michael glanced at the neighboring cell, his sharp eyes catching sight of a mage cloaked in a tattered mantle. As Oswald had said, the mage lay groaning, a deep wound near his waist. Michael's gaze shifted to the sphinx.

[He tried to spring this human out of here. I had no choice but to act,] the sphinx explained nonchalantly.

If the sphinx's reaction had been excessive, it was still justified under the circumstances. Raising an eyebrow slightly, Michael turned back to Oswald, his tone tinged with a cold amusement.

"The injuries do seem severe, so I'll allow treatment for now. But your information better be worth it."

With that, Michael summoned Hope, the healer he trusted most to keep this matter discreet.

Oswald's eyes flickered with surprise. He had expected Michael to demand the information first before granting his request. This unexpected gesture of goodwill stirred something in him, and he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "Thank you. That man is as much a friend to me as a subordinate."

Moments later, Hope entered the cell, following the sphinx's lead, her expression wary but determined. Oswald watched the healer at work, his face taut with tension. Despite his nerves, it was clear that Hope was skilled. The pallor on Carlton's face gradually eased, and his breathing steadied.

After ensuring Carlton would continue receiving treatment in his chambers, Michael turned his full attention to Oswald. The two were left alone in the dimly lit cell, an atmosphere of heavy anticipation hanging between them.

Oswald hesitated, knowing the weight of what he was about to reveal. This information could upend the balance of power in the empire. Yet he had already made his choice—his life over the empire's glory.

Clenching his fists, he let out a bitter chuckle before finally breaking the silence.

"My father, the emperor... Do you know how old he is this year?"

Michael nodded. "Well over a hundred, as I understand it. Likely past one hundred twenty, though he shows no signs of aging. It's... unusual."

Oswald took a deep breath, his expression growing darker. "That's common knowledge. But what few know is this: My father hasn't merely avoided the ravages of age. He's kept his youth entirely intact."

Michael's brows furrowed as he leaned slightly forward. "Kept his youth? What exactly do you mean?"

A dry laugh escaped Oswald as his mind conjured the image of his father's youthful face, one that seemed younger than his own. "I mean exactly what I said. Though my father is well over 120, his body remains as vigorous and youthful as ever."

Michael's mind whirred. Knights and mages often extended their lifespans through extraordinary means, but even those had limits. Whatever secret Oswald was hinting at went far beyond such conventional methods.

"So, there's a secret behind this," Michael probed.

Oswald nodded grimly. Now was the time to divulge the emperor's closely guarded truth. Slowly, he recounted the chilling memory of what he had witnessed as a child.

"… After that, I did everything I could to stay out of my father's sight," Oswald admitted, his voice hollow. "I indulged in reckless behavior, hoping to appear worthless enough for him to ignore. But even that wasn't enough in the end."

Michael sat in stunned silence, processing the revelation. The emperor's secret was beyond anything he had anticipated, and yet... a plan began forming in his mind.

This new knowledge offered an opportunity—a way to leverage Oswald's cooperation, secure his ascent to the throne, and reclaim the lost territories of his ancestors. If executed correctly, this strategy could reshape the power dynamics of the empire.

Michael's crimson eyes gleamed with calculated resolve as he began to outline the next steps in his mind.

The allied soldiers from the Celeste Empire and the Kingdom of Elonia stood atop the fortress walls, peering down at the unending waves of imperial forces. The Pamir Empire's army advanced relentlessly, their elite soldiers pushing massive siege engines forward with heavy, deliberate steps.

The sunlight gleamed off their enormous shields, reflecting a blinding brilliance. Their march seemed endless, a tide of unyielding strength. The defenders atop the fortress walls watched in silent awe, their breaths caught in their throats.

"Sound the horn!"

A commander atop the watchtower bellowed, rallying the soldiers with the deep, resonant note of a war horn that cut through the air. The sound reverberated in their chests, stirring a mix of courage and desperation.

At this signal, the archers—already in position—unleashed a volley of arrows. The sky darkened as arrows soared toward the imperial forces. In response, the Pamir soldiers retaliated with their own deadly rain, the projectiles meeting midair in a chaotic dance of war.

Despite the onslaught, the empire's elite troops pressed forward, undeterred. Drawing on ancestral power, their bodies transformed—fur sprouted thickly, and their heights doubled, making them appear as towering beasts.

A rookie soldier, terrified by their monstrous appearance, stumbled back instinctively. "Are they even human?" he muttered, his voice trembling.

An older soldier standing beside him chuckled, clapping the rookie on the shoulder. "Who knows? They claim it's the power of the spirits, but they're just beasts in armor. Don't let their size scare you. They bleed when stabbed and fall when struck, just like anyone else. Just think of them as bigger targets."

Reassured by the veteran's words, the rookie tightened his grip on his sword, determination flickering in his eyes. Now was not the time for fear. If these monsters breached the fortress, the families behind the walls would be in danger. Gritting his teeth, he steadied himself, vowing to fight.

Throughout the fortress, voices of encouragement rang out amidst the palpable tension.

At the forefront of the imperial army, heavily armored shield-bearers advanced in unison. Their shields overlapped seamlessly, forming an impenetrable wall that protected the siege engines advancing behind them. The combined tribes of the empire, lacking armor or steel shields, marched unprotected in their wake, a stark contrast to the elite troops.