"I don't know," Muria shook his head. At his current age, the words he had uttered two days ago might have seemed remarkable, but given his status, they were not entirely unexpected. As a member of the royal family, possessing exceptional traits was almost taken for granted.
"Do you remember what you said two days ago?" King Fernand asked in a calm tone, though his voice still carried a natural air of authority. Compared to being a father, Fernand was far more accustomed to the role of a king. With so many children, it was simply easier to deal with them as a ruler rather than as a parent.
"I remember some of it." Muria paused, pretending to think for a moment, then nodded.
"Do you want to make our nation the strongest in the world?" Fernand asked, his stiff smile betraying his awkwardness—he was not used to smiling.
"Yes," Muria answered without hesitation.
"And why is that?" Fernand's smile softened slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Is it because you don't want to learn the languages of other nations?"
"Yes." Muria nodded firmly and, with the tone of a child burdened by language lessons, he added, "We're being forced to study twenty-one different scripts, and while we're not required to master all of them, we must learn at least ten before coming of age. These languages are entirely unrelated to one another, making them even harder to learn. It's torture for me and my siblings. None of us want to study them."
"Hahaha!" Fernand chuckled at Muria's candid reasoning. "Your reason for wanting to make Gayle the strongest nation is amusing. But regardless of your reason, it's commendable that you have such aspirations."
"If I become king one day and lead Gayle to become the strongest nation in the world, I'll abolish all foreign languages. I'll promote our nation's language and culture instead, ensuring that only Gayle's language remains in the world," Muria said nonchalantly, seamlessly introducing a rudimentary concept of cultural unification.
Fernand was taken aback. "Why would you want to abolish the languages of other nations?"
"Because a unified language is the foundation of long-term governance," Muria said matter-of-factly.
Many of the world's conflicts, after all, stem from a lack of communication. If people could speak the same language, most disputes could be resolved. This was precisely why the royal family had to learn multiple languages: to communicate and negotiate with the rulers of other nations.
"Who taught you this?" Fernand asked, his tone suddenly more serious. "Was it your mother?"
"No, I thought of it myself," Muria replied confidently, meeting his father's suspicious gaze.
"Not bad." Fernand nodded, though whether he truly believed Muria was unclear.
"Your ambition is impressive," Fernand said, pacing to the grand doorway of the throne room and gazing out at the sky. "But do you know how difficult it will be to achieve your dream?"
"I don't know," Muria admitted. "I don't even know how big the world is or how many countries there are."
"Yet you have the gall to declare to your siblings that you'll make Gayle the strongest nation in the world?" Fernand chuckled.
"Yes, I believe I can," Muria said with unwavering confidence. Given enough time, he felt capable of achieving any goal he set for himself.
"You're bolder than I am," Fernand said, laughing lightly. "My goal is far more modest. I only wish to make Gayle the most powerful nation on the Ymir Plains."
Turning back to face Muria, Fernand added, "If I succeed, you won't have to study so many languages. You'll only need to learn our own."
"If we're not the strongest nation in the world, we'll still need to study foreign languages. The only difference is which languages we'll have to learn," Muria pointed out with the logic of a child, though his tone carried the weight of certainty.
"The strongest nation in the world, huh? That's beyond my reach. Perhaps your elder brothers will achieve it—or maybe you will," Fernand said, his gaze growing meaningful. "Only the most outstanding heir can succeed me."
After the conversation with his nearly emotionless father, Muria returned to his chambers.
The day's discussion had gone largely as he had anticipated. While his words were genuine, he knew Fernand likely dismissed them as the naive musings of a child. After all, who would take a toddler's declarations of world domination seriously?
However, Muria had gleaned a valuable piece of information: his father was plotting something significant. Fernand's ambition to make Gayle the dominant power on the Ymir Plains was not mere idle talk. His demeanor during the conversation had been too deliberate, too calculated.
"Whatever he's planning, it's serious. If he succeeds, I'll have a better starting point. But if he fails..."
Muria sighed, contemplating the consequences of his father's potential failure. If Fernand's plans went awry, the results could be catastrophic for Gayle. And when a kingdom collapses, it's the nobility and royal family who suffer most.
"Fortunately, this world has supernatural powers. Individual strength can still surpass collective might."
Muria looked at his palm, where a faint black-red glow began to shimmer. The light was so faint that it could easily go unnoticed in dim lighting.
"The nature of this power..." Muria murmured, examining the energy in his hand. Despite having felt it many times, he remained intrigued.
The energy coursing through his body felt unlike anything he had encountered before. If he were to describe it, it resembled a diluted version of the power wielded by a being on the level of a Mythic (史诗).
Yes, that was Muria's assessment: this energy was like the divine power granted to devout believers by gods—a weaker, filtered version of a deity's might. However, unlike divine power, which depended on a deity's continued existence, this energy was entirely self-contained. It was his own, independent of any external source.
"This energy is still too weak, but if I can strengthen it..." Muria closed his hand into a fist, condensing the black-red energy into a small, marble-sized orb.
The orb floated around him playfully before merging back into his brow. A warm sensation spread from his forehead before dissipating entirely. The energy was simply too weak to make a lasting impression.
"I need to refine the royal cultivation technique further. It's riddled with flaws," Muria muttered to himself.
When he had first begun speaking as an infant, he had been handed the royal family's cultivation method—a technique meant to enhance the innate energy within their bodies. From his perspective as a Mythic being, the technique was riddled with inefficiencies and weaknesses, all of which needed correcting.
As he worked on optimizing the cultivation technique, Muria also devised two plans for the future.
The first plan hinged on Fernand's success. If his father's ambitions bore fruit and Gayle became a more powerful nation, Muria would position himself to ascend to the throne.
The second plan was a contingency for failure. If Fernand's gambit ended in disaster, plunging Gayle into ruin, Muria would prepare for life as an exiled royal, forced to navigate a world of uncertainty.
Both plans revolved around a single critical factor: Muria's personal strength. Whether he was vying for the throne or escaping into exile, power would be his greatest asset.
In either scenario, he would need loyal followers. And the simplest way to inspire loyalty was by demonstrating overwhelming strength. A strong leader naturally attracts devoted followers.
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