Amon moved with fluid, casual precision, negating every one of Lethe's strikes with a flick of his wand. To an outsider, the sight was absurd—a thin sliver of white wood parrying a blade that had once levelled cosmic structures.
But the mechanics were simple and logical. His passive skill, [Mark of the Sword], allowed him to nullify physical and magical attacks up to the level of his magium refinement, provided he held a blade.
His wand, forged into the elegant shape of a rapier, met every requirement. It was crafted from materials dense enough to withstand immense pressure without so much as a hairline fracture.
"It feels like a plot convenience," Amon thought, side-stepping a vertical cleave that shattered the plateau floor. "Being chosen by a wand this perfect. But the truth is, all three wands at the shop reacted to me. This one was simply the fastest—it claimed me before the others could even pulse."
RandomDude69: "He's not even breaking a sweat. Parrying a Sovereign with a stick because of a passive skill? The plot armour is real." |
CatnipIsDelicious: "Classic isekai streams trope. Streamers are either bland or broken." |
CoolBeans: "I don't know, the chess match was high-brain and entertaining. I doubt a classic isekai trope has that." |
FangirlingIsMyPassion: "Why do you guys hate fun? Would you rather watch him get his head cut off in five seconds? Let the man cook!" |
Amon caught the scrolling text in his periphery. He knew they weren't entirely wrong; from the outside, his luck looked like divine intervention.
"The wand chose me for my frequency," He explained internally to the void of the stream. "It sensed something jagged and corrupted in my magium—a resonance left behind by an entity I met as a child. It wanted an owner who wouldn't break under the weight of its darkness."
He leapt back, creating distance, and levelled the tip of the rapier-wand at Lethe.
"Blackhole Bullets."
Spheres of absolute, light-eating darkness erupted from the wand. Each projectile was an infinitely dense point of gravitational force, propelled at speeds that fractured the time axis itself.
Lethe didn't flinch. She swung her blade in a blinding silver arc, intercepting and erasing every single gravity well. "Magic and skills are beneath me, child," she murmured. In the same breath, she blitzed across the gap, moving as fast as the bullets she had just destroyed.
"Only because of your steel, Your Highness," Amon replied calmly, parrying the follow-up slash that should have bisected him. "The 'Blade of Obscurity,' isn't it?"
He smiled, a sharp, dangerous expression, and drove a kick into her ribs. The impact sent the Sovereign skidding across the vibrant plateau, though she corrected herself with terrifying grace.
"If you were a citizen of my kingdom, I would have named you Prime Minister for your intellect alone," Lethe said, shrugging off the blow as if it were a mere breeze.
"I'm honoured. Truly." Amon raised his wand toward the firmament, his grin widening into something malicious. "But even your legendary blade has a limit. It cannot nullify what it cannot encompass."
Above, the sky curdled. The vibrant green atmosphere turned a bruised, sickly purple. A jagged fissure tore through the centre of the clouds, leaking a pressure that made the plateau groan.
"Singularity Collapse."
A titanic, glowing purple cube descended from the rift, a concentrated mass of localised spatial destruction. Lethe looked up, her expression tightening. She raised her sword and literally carved through the magium and space-time of her surroundings, shattering the cube into harmless particles.
"And—" She began to speak, but the word died. Amon was already there, his wand pressed against the centre of her winged helmet.
"Extinction Coffin."
A towering monolith of absolute obsidian encased Lethe instantly. Amon vaulted backwards as the structure began to vibrate with a horrific, crushing pressure, erasing the surrounding environment into a void of dust. After a few seconds of absolute silence, the box vanished, leaving only a crater behind.
"Checkmate."
Amon exhaled, the thrill of the hunt fading. He pulled his smartphone from his pocket and checked the time.
"Thirty minutes?" He sighed, feeling a little disappointed. "I spent way too much time playing around and explaining things to the audience."
He turned his back on the battlefield, walking away from the settling dust with a casual air of finality.
. . .
Amon sat across from the two Prosecutors, his posture relaxed and casual in the high-backed leather chair of Khalia's office. This was it—the Trial of Judgment. Unlike the physical and mental gauntlets he had just navigated, this was a battle of philosophy and intent.
The two officials would probe his mind with questions, grading him not on his magical output, but on the alignment of his soul with the ideals of a Prosecutor. Their final verdict would determine whether he joined their ranks or remained a civilian anomaly.
"I'll ask the first question," Khalia said, leaning forward. Her earlier trauma at the hands of Emilia seemed tucked away, replaced by a spark of professional enthusiasm. "Why do you wish to be a Prosecutor?"
Amon didn't rush his answer. He took a moment to let the silence settle, his gaze fixed on the intricate carvings of the desk. Then, he looked up with a confident smile. "Because I want to reduce the burden on my family."
Khalia's eyebrows rose in curiosity, and even the stoic Velzoyr shifted, his interest piqued. "Would you care to elaborate?" Khalia asked. "That's a very... personal motivation for a position that demands absolute impartiality."
"My mother and father have sacrificed much to maintain the Crown's standing," Amon answered, his voice resonant with genuine honesty. "I was born with exceptional abilities and an intellect befitting our lineage. It is only right that I use these gifts to relieve them of their burdens while making them proud. I want them to be happy that they have a son like me."
"And more importantly," He added internally. "I need the authority of a Prosecutor to stop the gears of the original novel from turning. Even if I've derailed the plot, there's no guarantee Sophia won't go rogue as she did in the 'original' story. I need to be in a position to execute judgment before she reaches the point of no return."
"So, you seek the position for the sake of your family," Velzoyr remarked, his gaze neutral yet piercing. "An unconventional motivation, to say the least."
"Perhaps. But then again, your motivations for being both the Finance Minister and a Prosecutor are equally 'unconventional,' Mr Nova." Amon shifted his gaze toward the man. "You became a Prosecutor because you were bored and sought entertainment. You took the Finance Ministry because you wanted more money."
"It's less unconventional and more like he has several screws loose," Khalia interjected with a weary sigh. "The media is still in a frenzy over his responses. Managing multiple conglomerates while holding two of the highest offices in the Empire just for 'fun and profit' is abnormal and crazy."
"Moving on," Velzoyr said, swiftly dismissing Khalia's banter to fix a sharp, analytical gaze on Amon. "I'd like to hear your thought process regarding the conclusion of your confrontation with the Sovereign."
"It was simple, really," Amon replied with a light chuckle. "Throughout the fight, we were locked in a perfect stalemate. Neither of us could land a meaningful blow because our defensive capabilities were perfectly mirrored. To break that loop, I realised I needed to force her into a suboptimal move. I used an SSS-Rank spell as a smokescreen to close the distance and erase her from the board."
Velzoyr leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "A reckless gamble. In a true life-or-death engagement against a Cataclysm-class entity, such a stunt would likely have resulted in your immediate execution." His voice was like a scalpel—cold and calculated.
"Which is where the bluff comes in," Amon said, his smile widening with playful confidence. "I told her that her blade couldn't nullify what it couldn't encompass. I delivered that line with enough calculated disrespect to wound her pride. It struck a nerve. To prove me wrong, she committed to a massive, over-extended attack to crush my spell, when a simple flick of her wrist would have sufficed."
Amon leaned forward, his eyes gleaming behind his blindfold. "Ego is the ultimate double-edged sword. It can be the fuel that drives you to transcend your limits, or the weight that drags you to your downfall. In the Sovereign's case, it was her undoing. She refused to let a 'brat' talk down to her, and that moment of emotional indulgence was all the opening I needed."
"Geez, Velzoyr, was that really necessary? Or are you just nursing a bruised ego because he casually obliterated your 'perfect' SS-Rank clone of the Sovereign?" Khalia remarked, her shoulders shaking as she forcibly suppressed a chuckle.
"I asked because I needed to know if he succeeded through dumb luck or genuine tactical depth," Velzoyr replied, his voice stiff, shooting her a look of pure exasperation. "Honestly, how did you even make it through the academy with such a flippant attitude?"
"Because I am just that good, Minister~" Khalia shrugged, her grin turning teasing and sharp.
"..." Velzoyr stared at her for a beat, the silence heavy, before he abruptly stood up to leave.
"Wait, I was joking! I was joking!" Khalia yelped, lunging forward to grab the hem of Velzoyr's business suit jacket to pull him back.
But in her panic, she applied far too much force. Velzoyr was caught off balance; he stumbled backwards, his shoes catching on the rug, and collapsed directly onto Khalia, pinning her against the plush back of her executive chair.
"Ow... You obnoxious little—" Velzoyr's reprimand died in his throat.
The office went deathly quiet. He realised, with a sudden and jarring clarity, that his lips were mere inches from Khalia's. Her usual bravado had vanished, replaced by a face that was rapidly turning a brilliant, frantic shade of crimson.
Click.
"Ooooh~"
The sound of a high-end smartphone shutter echoed through the room. Amon looked like he had just discovered a gold mine, wearing a grin that could rival a Cheshire cat's as he admired the perfectly timed photo on his screen.
"I'm definitely saving this," Amon hummed, his thumb hovering over the 'Cloud Backup' button. "Blackmail—I mean, memories—like this are priceless."
"If you don't delete that immediately, Amon, you are failing this trial," Velzoyr snapped. He scrambled to his feet, adjusting his dishevelled suit with frantic movements, his face a mask of murderous indignation.
"And what was that, Finance Minister?"
The temperature in the room plummeted. Emilia was suddenly there, standing behind Velzoyr like a vengeful shadow. Her presence was so heavy it felt as if the very air was being squeezed out of the office.
"O-Oh, Your Highness..." Velzoyr spun around, his lethal expression evaporating into one of pure, unadulterated panic. "I didn't mean... that is, I was simply requesting that he delete that—that unfortunate lapse in professional decorum between Khalia and myself."
Emilia maintained a chillingly neutral gaze for a moment before turning to Amon. A small, soft smile graced her lips. "My child, do delete the photo. It's hardly proper to blackmail your future colleagues on your very first day."
She sauntered over to him, her fingers trailing affectionately through his hair. Then, she leaned down, her voice a conspiratorial whisper against his ear. "Though I would appreciate a copy for myself. It would make Chloe so incredibly happy to know her son has developed such... passionate interests in his workplace."
"As you wish, Mother," Amon replied, his voice humming with amusement. He felt like he was having a field day; the chaos was far more entertaining than the chess match.
"Your Highness, please! Anything but that!" Velzoyr's voice rose to a frantic pitch of horror. "If you show that to my mother, she will literally drag me to the altar! She'll force a marriage with this obnoxious little brat!"
Khalia, still slumped in her chair, was too dazed and mortified to even register the insult. She looked like her brain had short-circuited under the weight of the embarrassment.
Velzoyr looked from Amon to Emilia, seeing the identical, predatory grins reflected on their faces. Realising his fate was sealed, he sank to the floor, the light of hope dying in his eyes as he stared at the carpet in utter despair.
. . .
Amon stepped out of his red sports car, the engine giving one last purr as he parked in the designated sector of the Nova Estate. Simultaneously, a sleek limousine glided to a halt beside him. The doors opened to reveal the rest of the party: Emilia Von Crown, Velzoyr Nova, and Twilight Silverstone Khalia.
The group had been summoned to the heart of the Nova Duchy for a single, critical mission: to finalise the Saintess's escort and ensure her departure from the Empire wouldn't be her last. While Emilia was here to both safeguard the Saintess and reunite with her oldest friend—Chloe Nova, the Grand Duchess—Amon's focus was pulled elsewhere by a familiar, flickering blue light in his peripheral vision.
{Quest: Saintess's Dilemma}
Primary Objective:Ensure that the Saintess reaches the Holy Empire safely.
Secondary Objective: Prevent the Aimus from causing major harm to the escort party.
Hidden Objective:??? [Figure it out yourself]
{Reward:}Influence Increase, Authority Increase.
{Penalty:}Increased probability of a [Bad Ending].
Amon stared at the translucent text for a beat before it vanished. He adjusted his blindfold and fell into step behind the others.
CatnipLover: "Finally, the System chime. I was starting to think we were just watching a slice-of-life political drama." |
FangirlingIsMyPassion: "A 'Bad Ending' penalty for a side quest? The System is absolutely ruthless to Amon." |
RandomGuy69: "That hidden objective has to be related to the Saintess's affinity. Bet that it's about taming her." |
He ignored the chatter. He had enough to deal with in the physical world.
The Nova Estate was a testament to architectural perfection. From the sprawling, manicured gardens to the central fountain that depicted a celestial battle in marble, every inch screamed of ancient power. As the third strongest lineage in the Riversong Empire—trailing only the Royals and the Crowns—the Novas maintained a rivalry with the Crown family that was as fiercely competitive as it was deeply loyal.
"Things haven't changed a bit since my last visit," Emilia remarked. She moved toward the massive entrance doors, her every step radiating an effortless, terrifying grace.
"The Novas are quite preservationist when it comes to their aesthetics," Velzoyr replied, his tone carrying a hint of amused pride as he walked beside her.
"True," Emilia conceded, her sharp eyes scanning the parapets. "But the security certainly has. It's significantly more reinforced than my last visit."
As they stepped inside the mansion, the atmosphere shifted from natural beauty to pure, bourgeois opulence. The gold-leafed mouldings, the towering portraits of Nova ancestors, and the massive crystal chandelier that bathed the foyer in a diamond-like glow gave off an aura that was as elegant as it was intimidating.
Some minutes later, all of them, except for Velzoyr, were sitting in the luxurious drawing room of the Nova Mansion. Velzoyr had told them to wait in there and had gone inside to do something.
"Mother, I had expected the other Prosecutors to be here," Amon remarked, his gaze sweeping the sprawling Drawing Room. "Did we arrive too early?"
"The others are on their way," Emilia replied, picking up an intricate porcelain showpiece. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting the craftsmanship with a discerning eye.
"Oberyn won't be making an appearance," Khalia chimed in, adjusting her spectacles. "He sent word that he's reached a critical stage in his scientific research. He claimed we'd be more than capable of handling this 'minor diplomatic errand' without him."
"Is he always that... detached?" Amon questioned, turning his focus to Khalia.
"You could say that," Khalia sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "He skips most meetings—even the high-priority ones—the moment he catches the scent of a discovery. He doesn't just work; he disappears into his lab for weeks at a time."
"I thought you'd be the first to sympathise with him," Amon noted, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Given that you're the Director of Magic Research, aren't you cut from the same cloth?"
"I sympathise with the passion, but his obsessiveness is... abnormal, even by my standards," Khalia replied. She turned her head, her gaze drifting toward the sprawling gardens outside the window. "It sounds concerning now, but you'll get used to his absence soon enough, Junior."
Amon let out a soft chuckle. Khalia snapped her head back toward him, her expression one of genuine confusion. "Did I say something amusing?"
"No," Amon smiled, his voice casual. "I was just happy that you referred to me as 'Junior.' It makes the promotion feel official."
"Isn't it obvious? You passed the trials. You're a Prosecutor now," Khalia said, still looking perplexed. "In terms of rank and experience, I am your senior. It's only logical."
"By the way, I should warn you, my child," Emilia interrupted, finally setting the showpiece back on its pedestal. "Khalia is very dense. She possesses absolutely zero sense of humour."
"Your Highness, that is a blatant lie! I do possess a sense of humour!" Khalia turned to Emilia, her expression dramatic and wounded. "I find the screams of Aimus loyalists during 'interrogation' to be quite entertaining. And I also think cats are hilarious creatures."
"Right. My mistake," Emilia sighed, rubbing her temples. "Your sense of humour isn't missing; it's just pathologically messed up. Though I'll grant you the point about the cats."