In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

Her words plunged the hall into an even deeper silence. Faces now bore not even a hint of color, and the weight of the revelation hung heavily over the gathering. Finally, the silence was broken by shouts of anger.

"That despicable monster!" one man roared.

"So that's how he maintained his youth? By slaughtering his own children and separating their flesh from their bones?" another exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table.

"This is unthinkable! Even if I were promised a thousand years, I couldn't bring myself to do such a thing. To kill your own child…!"

Another warrior shook his head in disbelief, muttering, "Even a beast grows fond of its young if it raises them long enough. For the emperor to have done this… he truly abandoned his humanity."

The room filled with voices of fury and revulsion. An elderly man, his eyes closed, nodded solemnly. "Now it all makes sense. I thought it odd that a crown prince would move against his own father, but it seems his life depended on it."

The warriors' eyes reflected a mix of shock, contempt, and fear. That a sovereign had committed such acts—things even animals would not do—left them reeling.

A warrior with a pale face turned to Michael. "Count Michael, did you know about this? Surely you wouldn't have brought us here if you did?"

Michael shook his head firmly. "I suspected there were dark rituals involved, but I had no idea it was to this extent."

"Then… is there another method of extending life?" someone pressed.

Michael nodded resolutely. Without a viable alternative, he would have had to bear the burden of inviting them to such a cursed place.

Now somewhat reassured, the warriors shifted their anger entirely to the deceased emperor. Their curses grew louder, and their contempt for the fallen ruler intensified.

Meanwhile, Oswald and Mufasa stood silently in a corner, unable to lift their heads. The shame of having felt even a fleeting pity for the emperor burned deeply within them.

In the capital of the Kingdom of Lania, King Charles V sat with a kind smile as he watched Princess Astrid. These moments had become the highlight of his day, offering a joy that even his memories of Crown Prince Randolph could not match.

It wasn't that Astrid was particularly brilliant or gifted, but her diligence and consistency stood out. After finishing the lesson, Charles V bid Astrid farewell and turned to Duke Capone, who had been waiting in the antechamber. He greeted the duke with a warm laugh.

"What do you think? Didn't I tell you? She doesn't flinch until the lesson ends. The way she listens so intently makes teaching her a delight."

At this moment, the two men were not king and vassal but friends of long standing. As Astrid's qualities shone through, the bitterness that had lingered from Randolph's shortcomings slowly dissipated. Now, they could sit and enjoy tea together without the weight of unresolved tensions.

Perhaps it was the loss of Duke Capone's second son in the recent war that had brought them closer. After all, shared joys grow greater when divided, and shared sorrows grow lighter.

The duke nodded in understanding, responding to the king's sudden question. "Indeed, Your Majesty. The princess is truly diligent."

Charles laughed heartily, his face lighting up. "Exactly. It's the most important quality for a ruler."

For two hours every afternoon, Astrid never missed a lesson or showed any laxity. Some might dismiss this as expected, given her position, but Charles knew better. He understood the weight of royal obligations and privileges, and he appreciated her unwavering dedication.

"If only Randolph had been this diligent," he mused. "Things might not have ended the way they did."

The duke's expression darkened, prompting Charles to wave his hands hastily. "No, no. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not lamenting Randolph now, nor am I blaming you or Count Michael. It's just… I realize my methods of raising him were flawed."

After a pause, the duke asked, "What makes you say that?"

Charles moved to the window, gazing at the summer blooms outside. "As my only son and born to privilege, I gave him too much freedom. He grew up without understanding discipline."

The duke listened silently as Charles continued. "I admired his boldness, mistaking it for freedom and a warrior's spirit. I might have even unconsciously hoped he'd excel in military matters."

Memories of Randolph's childhood surfaced in the king's mind—a boy who loved to play and hated sitting still to study. Yet he managed to perform well enough in exams, leading Charles to believe his son was bright. In reality, Randolph was a master of last-minute cramming, excelling only through shortcuts. As he aged, this tendency only worsened. Randolph listened only to what he wanted to hear and surrounded himself with sycophants.

It was likely this disposition that led him to insist on being stationed near Michael. Charles chuckled bitterly. "Hah. I couldn't have raised him worse if I tried. A king jealous of his own vassal—how absurd is that?"

The king sighed deeply before continuing. "At first, it was unbearable to think of dealing with my son in such a state. But now… I feel it was for the best. Out of sight, I've come to see him for who he truly was. Tell me, Vincent, am I cruel?"

The duke shook his head firmly. "Not at all, Your Majesty. You pondered deeply because you loved him. The conclusion you reached was borne of that love. Dwelling on sorrow would only destroy you."

Charles turned from the window, tears streaming down his face. Despite everything, the pain of losing even a wayward child was inescapable. Seeking to lighten the mood, the duke steered the conversation toward Astrid.

"And what do you think of Astrid?" he asked.

Charles pondered for a moment before replying, "…She's timid, but that's what makes her diligent and hardworking. She strives to improve because she feels she's lacking, and she longs to be loved. That drive fuels her efforts."