Chapter 422: Navin's Persuasion
Hearing this, Otis let out a cold laugh, his flawless hand slamming onto the armrest of the golden throne.
"Bang!"
"Is that so-called 'Emperor' of Anzeta joking?"
"He actually provided weapons to the Thrace Kingdom! Does he not understand that Thrace is their inevitable geopolitical enemy?"
"And more importantly, he dared to reject my friendship! What a precious opportunity! As a noble Demigod, I have already given him enough respect, yet he had the audacity to refuse!"
Otis's tone grew increasingly angry, his powerful and oppressive voice echoing throughout the spacious hall.
"Foolish red dragon!"
As his fury surged, the golden flames in his eyes seemed to ignite, and dark clouds gathered in the sky, accompanied by rumbling thunder as if a torrential downpour was imminent.
This was the manifestation of celestial power. As descendants of the gods, their emotional fluctuations could alter their surroundings, even manifesting as unnatural weather phenomena that affected nearby mortals.
Sensing their king's wrath, the Kassande ministers panicked, repeatedly trying to calm him down.
"Your Majesty, please calm down!"
"It's just a dragon from a remote region—not worthy of your anger."
"Indeed, as the future Fadlan Emperor, you shall rule all of Fienso. There's no need to concern yourself with him."
King Otis was proud.
Arrogant beyond measure.
This was known not only throughout Kassande but across the entire continent of Fienso.
As a noble Demigod and the eldest son of Aragon I, Otis was constantly in the spotlight, revered by many. He saw himself as Fadlan's rightful ruler, looking down on all earthly beings.
From a young age, no one had dared to refuse him.
But the "Red Emperor" who had dared to reject him had left a lasting impression on Otis.
Otis's anger had been simmering for days, casting a constant shadow over the Holy City.
Among the three kings, Otis was considered the strongest, but he lacked Wilhelm's cunning and Iloti's rationality.
Navin Besalius was deeply worried. He understood that making decisions based purely on emotion would inevitably lead to failure, and Kassande was heading in that direction.
To pursue the belief that "he who controls the Holy City controls the throne," Otis had poured all of Kassande's resources into capturing it, even at the cost of waging war against both Thrace and Seluse.
As a result, Kassande, once the strongest of the three nations, was rapidly depleting its strength, closing the gap with its rivals.
In Navin's mind, a bold and treasonous thought formed.
The Holy City was no longer an asset.
It had become a wound.
A wound that caused Kassande to bleed continuously.
And Otis's primary concern was not even Kassande's well-being—it was his pride. This was absurd.
"Perhaps... he needs to be guided toward the right path through other means."
"Your Majesty."
Navin stepped forward, bowing slightly.
"As the eldest son of the great Sun Emperor, you are universally acknowledged as the most noble being in all of Fienso. This is beyond doubt."
"But that so-called 'Ember Emperor' is merely a simple-minded red dragon with powerful limbs. He doesn't understand the value of your status or the priceless gift of your friendship."
Otis's expression finally softened, the flames in his pupils fading, and the dark clouds in the sky gradually dispersed.
Navin continued respectfully:
"The red dragon lacks your foresight. His greedy and shortsighted eyes see only one thing—gold."
"Wilhelm must have offered him a substantial amount of gold to win his support."
Otis frowned in displeasure. "Didn't I bring him treasures as well?"
Navin responded quickly, "As you know, Wilhelm is called the 'Schemer' and enjoys creating chaos behind the scenes."
"He likely shamelessly offered an even greater bribe in secret, which swayed the foolish red dragon against you."
Otis nodded in agreement. "Hmph, cunning villain and shortsighted red dragon."
Navin seized the opportunity to echo Otis's sentiments. "Indeed, neither of them can compare to even a fraction of your greatness."
"However..."
"What is it?"
Navin raised his head, his tone earnest.
"Your Majesty, I request permission to return to the Ember Empire as an envoy."
Otis's face darkened immediately. "Why? That so-called 'empire' just humiliated me, and you want to give them another chance to do it again?"
"Please, hear me out, Your Majesty."
"That red dragon, driven by gold to support his natural enemy Thrace, can be swayed by an even greater offer of gold to aid us."
"Please allow me to try once more—not just for myself, but for the future of Kassande, and for you to restore the Sacred Fadlan Empire and become a great emperor like your father."
Hearing this, Otis's pupils narrowed.
He was swayed.
Compared to becoming emperor, what was a little anger or humiliation?
When he possessed the power once held by Aragon I, no force would stand against him. The so-called "Ember Empire" could be crushed with a flick of his hand.
Otis's tone softened as he leaned back into his throne.
"Navin Besalius, I will give you one last chance."
"My minimum requirement is to obtain those weapons that mortals can wield. Don't let me down."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Navin bowed deeply, finally exhaling in relief.
Having witnessed the coronation ceremony firsthand, he understood one thing—the Ember Empire was no fringe power. It had the potential to reshape the continent's political landscape and was critical to Kassande's future.
His goal was to secure a military alliance with the Ember Empire or, at the very least, prevent them from siding with Thrace.
The meeting concluded, and the ministers withdrew.
Under Otis's stern orders of "Get out!" and "Die elsewhere!" even the guards and maids were driven from the palace.
The grand hall fell silent, leaving Otis Aragon alone.
Otis sat on his golden throne, covering his face with his hands. His perfect form trembled with a mix of anger and fear.
"No, no..."
"I can feel it—my power, my life—they're slipping away!"
He muttered to himself repeatedly.
Through the gaps between his pale fingers, his face, once flawless, now bore a faint crack along his cheek.
Otis did not fear abyssal demons or infernal devils, but he feared this small crack above all else.
This was his greatest terror—the fear of losing his status and, worse, becoming mortal once more.
"This means I'll age and eventually die..."
"Damn it, I am a Demigod!"
He shouted in despair.
Grasping for salvation, Otis whispered to himself:
"Yes... the ritual. As long as I perform the ritual, everything will be fine. I'll remain immortal."
He stared at his smooth palm, as if expecting another crack to form.
"There's no time. I must unify the Sacred Fadlan quickly and become the true Fadlan Emperor to regain Ammanata's blessing."
"As long as... I can become the true emperor."
Otis gripped the golden scepter, a symbol of supreme imperial power, and declared this to himself.