Baryon slowly shifted his gaze from one to the other, weighing them with a cold expression.

  The knuckles of the hand holding the staff began to whiten.

  “If I were you, I’d put that sword down, my Lord. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” he warned in a terrifyingly calm voice. Though he kept his tone controlled, I felt like his words had an underlying menacing tinge laced with the non-magical ominous intent my master was casting off while glaring at them.

  “Do you dare to threaten the Imperial Guards in the presence of the Emperor?” One of the two exclaimed, the one pointing the staff at him.

  “Did that sound like a threat to you?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Please, don’t make me laugh. I could blow the entire building to pieces before you even manage to wave those toothpicks you’ve got in your hands.”

  “And yes, that is what a proper threat sounds like,” he stressed.

  “Baryon…” Father tried to reason with my teacher, who released his grip on his staff, resting it against the wall.

  “I was just making an example,” he raised his hands in a placating gesture, sighing. “I hope, Your Majesty, that you’ll appreciate this new seat I’ve created for you,” Baryon quickly shifted the subject, returning to his usual affable tone.

  “It’s not bad,” the Emperor admitted with a half-smile. “I’d be grateful, though, if you could free my guards. Heaven forbid something was to go wrong.”

  “Uh?”

  None of the two guards seemed to have noticed anything, remaining understandably confused when they realized they couldn’t move a single muscle.

  Baryon made his way between the two guards, brushing them aside as he took one of the vacant seats.

  “Impressive of you to notice, Your Excellency.”

  He casually snapped his fingers, and the myriad of thin, blue chains that had been wrapped around the two guards dissolved in a small, bright pop.

  “Do you think you’re funny?” One of the guards approached my teacher with a threatening demeanor, the other ready to follow.

  “Yes, very,” Baryon’s eyes sparkled with amusement. He didn’t seem inclined to give an inch. To be honest, he didn’t even seem interested in the conversation, as if he was dealing with a childish tantrum.

  Just as the first guard was about to lay hands on him, Emperor Areyon, until then so calm, clapped his hands just once.

  In an instant, silence fell. “That’s enough,” the Emperor barked, his eyes clouded with rage.

  “You’ve gone too far, as always,” he continued. The two remained silent, at least having the good sense to keep quiet when reprimanded.

  “You should know better that a chair is not a threat to my person,” he boomed. “I will not tolerate such behavior again, do you understand?”

  The chill hit me straight in the face, making my heart skip a beat. Drops of cold sweat beaded on my forehead, slowly beginning to slide down my temples.

  The Emperor’s words were accompanied by a sudden release of killing intent, similar to Father’s, but of a far superior intensity, probably intended for the two Imperial Guards.

  However, its pressure was so strong that we too felt the effects to some extent.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The two fell to their knees, overwhelmed by their Emperor’s words and overbearing aura.

  “We won’t make such a mistake again, Your Majesty,” they said, dropping their gazes.

  He shooed them away with a hand. “Good. You may return to your duties, then,” he said, dismissing them.

  As if nothing had happened, the two guards left the room in silence.

  We had witnessed the scene in stunned silence. None of us, of course, dared to say anything.

  Mom and Dad looked deadpan in the eyes. Something told me that this wasn’t the first time they had witnessed such a scene or felt a similarly overwhelming intent.

  The calmest of them all was, of course, Baryon, who wore a mask of indifference.

  He was blissfully minding his own business, sitting on a chair. He had pulled out a book and started reading without a care in the world.

  “I apologize for this shabby, little charade,” the Emperor was the first to speak. “My Imperial Guard tends to be… quite unreasonable sometimes.”

  I had to nudge Lelya and Bianca by the shoulder to stifle them out of their shock. The Emperor’s intent seemed to have hit them hard.

  “So, you wish to walk the path of the magus, young Arda?” The Emperor turned his inquisitive gaze on me.

  It might be the aftermath of the threatening aura from earlier, but I couldn’t help but nervously swallow.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Given your lineage, I imagine you must have awakened an emblem, correct?” he continued.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I have awakened a Gladia, the Mark of the Dragon, if it pleases you,” I responded promptly.

  “It pleases me. I expect great things from you, since you’ve awakened a mark so symbolic for our Empire.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Do you know other words other than those three?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty—I mean. I am capable of responding with more complex sentences,” I stumbled, drawing a chuckle from him.

  What is it you find so amusing?

  “Relax, boy, I was just teasing you,” he reassured me with a thin smile before continuing. “If you’ve taken after your father, we can be sure to expect something impressive.”

  “Your Majesty? I’m not sure I’m following.”

  “Your father could have been the Empire’s first sword if only he put himself into it. But alas, he chose to dedicate himself to politics,” Emperor Areyon sighed.

  “Are you perhaps dissatisfied with my work so far, Your Majesty?” Father interjected into the conversation with a defiant smile on his face.

  “No, quite the opposite. The mere thought of someone other than Damyon Velya leading the region of Veldya could cause the Empire’s Treasury to collapse,” he conceded.

  “Mine was purely conversational reasoning.”

  “Glad to know you appreciate my way of ruling.”

  “Every day more and more.”

  The two of them continued bouncing thanks and compliments back and forth for minutes.

  “Did Father and the Emperor already know each other?” I whispered to my mother, confused by the overly friendly relationship they seemed to have.

  “Your father told me Lord Areyon has always been a friend of House Velya,” she answered quietly.

  “As the governor of Veldya, he had many opportunities to meet His Excellency. I didn’t attend all those meetings, but I guess they built their relationship through those encounters.”

  Regardless, it was still weird seeing Father play tug-of-war with the Emperor while Baryon played as the referee.

  It was a rather surreal scene.

  Even the Imperial Guard who had just entered, Zoltan, had to take a couple of seconds blinking confused to process what was in front of him.

  He cleared his throat with an embarrassed cough, drawing their attention. “Please excuse me, Your Excellency. The Imperial family will be arriving shortly,” he announced.

  As soon as the Emperor heard these words, he stiffened, as if struck by lightning. He immediately coughed and adjusted the tiny wrinkles that had formed on his robe.

  Even Father straightened himself out.

  By the time the Imperial family made their appearance, both of them had managed to compose themselves.

  Bianca and Lelya, under Mom’s tender care, had made a complete recovery. They were still pale, but they seemed to be doing better.

  “If we may,” a female voice made its way through the heavy curtains of the box.