The roar of the crowd was a physical weight, a wave of sound so dense it made Mali's bones vibrate. It was a sound of twenty years of desperation, of fear, and of sudden, explosive hope, all focused on him. It was a billion-ton hammer of expectation, and he was the nail.
[SOVEREIGN'S MANTLE (LVL 1)] was active, a thin, precious, artificial calm layered over a screaming abyss of pure, unadulterated panic. His EP was draining, a steady, invisible bleed from a wound he couldn't close. [-10... -10... -10...] The System's methodical countdown was the ticking of a clock, measuring how long he had before the mask shattered and the 'scary cat' underneath was exposed to the lions.
He was a fraud. He was a lie. And he was, for this one terrifying moment, the center of the universe.
"Mali Alkahest! The Heir! The Heir!" they chanted, their voices a single, thunderous drumbeat.
He and Anya, flanked by the unmovable, stoic pillar that was General Kaelen, were led from the dais. The plan, as Anya had briefed him in the capsule, was a "procession" through the adoring crowd, a walk to the great central transport that would take them to the Imperial Spire.
To Mali, it was a gauntlet.
He kept the mask on. Chin up, a millimeter higher than was natural. Shoulders back, a degree stiffer than he felt. Eyes forward, focused on the golden doors a kilometer away, not daring to look at the faces. He was the Heir. He was faking it so hard his teeth ached, his jaw a knot of solid pain.
The crowd of nobles parted for them, a living sea of silks, velvets, and gleaming, ceremonial armor. The air was thick with a thousand different expensive perfumes, all of it underpinned by the faint, sterile smell of the Thronecycle's purified air and the clean, cold ozone of high technology. They were cheering, yes, but they were also watching.
He could feel their eyes on him, a thousand different probes of psychic energy, of karmic assessment. His PER stat, heightened by his Void Survivor trait, was a curse. He could feel their scrutiny. They were vultures in fine clothes, circling, desperate to know if the lion had truly returned, or if a lamb had simply been dressed in its skin.
His System was a flurry of tags, flashing over the faces in the crowd like a mad casino. [COUNTESS OF XYLOS - LVL 78]
[LORD-ADMIRAL OF THE 5TH FLEET - LVL 80]
[ARCH-MAGISTER OF THE MECH-GUILD - LVL 75].
They were all killers. They were all politicians. They were all masters of a game he had only just learned existed. And they were all so much stronger than him.
Then, one of them, a figure of fire and bronze, stepped forward.
The sea of nobles didn't just part for this man; it recoiled, giving him a wide berth. He planted himself in Mali's path, a mountain suddenly erupting from the plains. He was a full head taller than Kaelen, a walking bastion of muscle and burnished bronze armor that seemed to glow with its own internal power. His hair was a mane of fiery red, his beard braided with gold rings that chimed faintly as he moved.
His System tag flared so brightly it almost hurt Mali's eyes:
[DUKE ARIS - HOUSE OF THE BRONZE LION - LVL 82].
He was a "son of men," Mali knew instinctively. A man who had built his reputation, his LEVEL 82, on the battlefield. He was a pillar of the old guard, a man who believed in power earned, not given.
The Duke smiled, a wide, predatory, and entirely too-friendly grin. He raised a massive, gauntleted hand, a gesture that was both a greeting and a command to stop.
"Your Highness! A moment!" His voice was a cheerful boom that carried over the din of the crowd.
Kaelen moved instantly, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sidearm. "Duke Aris. Step aside. The procession is—"
"General, please!" Aris laughed, his voice all false joviality. "Would I deny myself a chance to welcome our new lord? To look upon the son of the man I loved?"
He was blocking their path. He was disrespectful. He was evaluating. And the entire hall had just gone quiet, waiting to see what the 'Heir' would do.
"Duke Aris," Anya said, her voice a polite, diamond-hard warning chime. "A joyous day, is it not?"
"Indeed, Princess!" the Duke boomed, but his gaze, hot as a forge, never left Mali. He ignored Anya completely. "We have waited a generation for this. Twenty long years. We have waited to see if the Unmaker's blood runs true."
Mali's Imposter Syndrome, the cowering boy in the cage, began to scream. He knows. He sees you. He sees the fraud.
The Duke bowed. It was a low, sweeping, mocking gesture, a parody of loyalty. "I am Duke Aris. I fought beside your father at the Siege of Xylos. He was a god, Your Highness. He breathed, and stars trembled." He straightened, his grin turning feral. "Let us see what his son is made of."
And before Kaelen could draw his weapon, before Anya could speak, the Duke reached out. He wasn't drawing a blade. He wasn't casting a power. He was offering a traditional warrior's greeting: a forearm clasp.
But it wasn't a greeting. It was a test. It was an execution.
The moment his massive, bronze gauntlet got within a foot of Mali, it happened.
A wave of pure, psychic pressure slammed into Mali, so tangible it felt like a physical blow. It was the Duke's will. His LEVEL 82 'Karmic Aura,' a crushing, dominant, arrogant force honed by a hundred battles. It was the signature of the 'Bronze Lion'—a psychic roar of dominance. It was a probe, a "handshake" designed to crush, to see if Mali would flinch, or faint, or beg. It was the "son of men" challenging the "son of a god," and he was doing it in front of the entire universe.
Mali's System didn't just flash. It exploded.
[DANGER: LEVEL 82 KARMIC PROBE DETECTED]
[ATTACK TYPE: SOUL DOMINANCE (WILL)]
[DEBUFF APPLIED: OPPRESSIVE AURA - -50% TO ALL STATS]
[DEBUFF APPLIED: LION'S FEAR - -30% TO CTL]
[IMPOSTER SYNDROME: PENALTY RE-APPLIED AND AMPLIFIED]
Mali's vision swam. The artificial calm of his Mantle cracked, fissures of terror spider-webbing across his mind. He had no power to fight this. His CTL: 12 was a candle in a supernova. He was going to be exposed. He was going to fall to his knees, right here, in his new uniform, in front of everyone.
He was a fraud. He was a stray. He was faking it.
The Duke's hot, triumphant gaze met his. He saw the panic. He saw the weakness. He had him.
Mali didn't have the strength to fight. He didn't have the power to win. He was outmatched, out-leveled, and out-classed in every conceivable way.
So, with the last erg of his will, with his EP reserves already plummeting, he did the only thing he could.
He faked harder.
He didn't try to block the Duke. He didn't try to impress him. He didn't even try to resist.
He retreated. He pulled the 'Mali' that was screaming, the 'scary cat,' deep, deep inside, back into that small, dark room in his mind. He slammed the door. And he poured every remaining drop of his EP, his will, and his desperation into the mask. He willed his Sovereign's Mantle to be. He willed himself to be the prince, the calm, unmovable, bored center of the storm.
He wasn't an heir. He was a fraud. He knew he was a fraud.
And that, in the twisted logic of the Alkahest bloodline, is what saved him.
The Sovereign's Mantle was a "fake it till you make it" skill. It was a lie. But it was an Alkahest skill. It was a "Dominion" skill.
And the universe, it turned out, didn't care about the difference.
The Duke's crushing LEVEL 82 Karmic Aura, his 'will,' his 'pressure,' his psychic roar... hit Mali.
And the Sovereign's Mantle... dissolved it.
It didn't block it. It didn't shatter. It didn't strain. It didn't reflect.
It unmade it.
To Duke Aris, it was the most terrifying moment of his life. He had reached out with the force of his very soul, a power that could make lesser men kneel, a power that had turned Corrupted Abominations to dust... and it just... vanished.
It was like pouring a river into a black hole. It was like screaming into a void that ate the scream. The power he had spent a lifetime building, the very essence of his 'Lion' spirit, was consumed, annihilated, erased from reality, as if it had never existed. It didn't just stop; it was deleted.
And Mali... Mali just stood there. His face, the mask, was a portrait of perfect, cold, bored indifference. As if the Duke's soul-crushing test was so far beneath him, so utterly insignificant, that it hadn't even registered.
The Duke's hand, the one he had offered, froze in mid-air. He recoiled, yanking it back as if he'd been plunged into burning-cold acid. His ruddy, confident face instantly drained of all color, leaving a pasty, gray mask of sweat and sudden, primal fear.
He wasn't just beaten. He had been judged.
He, a 'son of men' who had clawed his way to LEVEL 82, had just touched a 'son of a god.' And the difference wasn't power. It was nature. He was a candle that had tried to challenge a void.
The entire hall, which had been a low murmur, went tomb-silent. The air itself felt thin. The other high-level nobles, the ones with the PER to "feel" what the Duke had just tried—and how catastrophically he had failed—were now staring, their faces a mixture of pale awe and dawning terror.
They hadn't just seen the Duke fail. They had felt his aura, his very presence in the Karmic spectrum, get deleted.
Mali, his EP reserves now screaming [DANGER: 5%], just looked at the terrified Duke. He kept the mask on. He was just a boy from Toten, and he was confused and terrified about why this big, red man was suddenly so scared of him. But the Heir... the Heir would be indifferent.
He gave a slow, cold, dismissive blink.
Then, he simply... walked past him.
He didn't acknowledge the challenge. He didn't acknowledge the victory. He didn't acknowledge the Duke's existence. He just... continued the procession, his gaze locked on the doors at the far end of the hall.
The sea of nobles didn't just part for him now. They recoiled. They bowed low, not in celebration, but in submission.
Mali felt Anya's hand slip into his. It was trembling.
He looked at her. The 'Strategist' was gone. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with a terror that almost matched the Duke's. But it was mixed with something else. A profound, soul-shaking awe.
His System chimed. It was not a quest reward. It was an explanation. It was the universe providing a patch note for his soul.
[SKILL UPDATE: SOVEREIGN'S MANTLE (LVL 1)]
> Description (Updated): Actively manifest a persona of royal authority. This skill... [REDACTED]
> New Description: This is an Alkahest-class 'Dominion' skill. It attunes your spiritual matrix to your True Name. While active, your 'will' is perceived by the universe as an extension of Cosmic Law. It does not 'mask' doubt; it *unmakes* it. It does not 'block' hostile intent; it *dissolves* it.
> Effect (Updated): Negates all 'Fear' or 'Doubt' debuffs. Imposes [DEBUFF: SOVEREIGN AURA] on all hostile entities in proximity, dissolving their 'Will' and 'Karmic Signature' based on [CTL] differential.
> Cost: 10 EP per minute.
> [WARNING: YOUR CTL (12) IS DANGEROUSLY LOW FOR THIS SKILL. CONTINUED USE MAY CAUSE PERMANENT SOUL-DAMAGE. RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE CESSATION OF USE.]
Mali's mask finally cracked, just for a second, as he read the new description.
His "fake it till you make it" skill... wasn't fake at all.
It was the most real—and the most overpowered—thing about him.