In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities-Chapter 268: The New Pamir Empire
From this vantage point, Michael felt a weight lift from his shoulders, replaced by an invigorating sense of freedom. Miaomiao, perched on Michael's shoulder, let out a wide yawn before speaking in a playful tone.
[Michael, you really are something. Why put yourself through all this trouble? You could've just stayed and enjoyed the luxury.]
Michael turned to pet Miaomiao's soft fur, a faint smile on his face.
"I'm not the type to sit still and flaunt authority. I'd rather be on the move."
Marcus flapped his wings in agreement, his voice carrying a lighthearted tone.
[That's right, sister. Sitting idle doesn't make jewels multiply. And those banquets? They were fancy in name only. Not one dish was worth savoring.]
Michael chuckled softly, letting out a small sigh.
"That's because your taste has become far too refined. You won't even glance at meat unless it's seasoned with exotic spices."
Marcus didn't deny the accusation, grumbling under his breath as Michael shook his head in amusement. The dragon's growing pickiness was a side effect of merchants vying for favor during the war, showering both Marcus and Miaomiao with extravagant delicacies.
Behind them, Aron and Faust rode a massive behemoth, its muscular wings gliding smoothly through the air despite its bulk. They were accompanied by thirteen other legendary warriors, each flying in their own unique way, having voluntarily joined Michael's journey out of admiration for him.
The group moved with breathtaking speed. The sight of Marcus's powerful wings slicing through the night sky, flanked by other magnificent beasts, exuded an aura of awe and intimidation.
After traveling without pause, the group reached the border of the Pasha Kingdom, where vast plains stretched endlessly beneath them. Though the landscape appeared tranquil from above, an undercurrent of tension was palpable. Wasting no time, the group descended.
Marcus carefully folded his wings as he landed, his enormous frame settling on the ground. The others followed suit, instinctively forming a defensive perimeter as they dismounted.
Michael surveyed the scene, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings until they rested on a figure approaching from the distance. The man's confident stride and refined appearance stood in stark contrast to the rugged borderlands. He wore a well-groomed mustache and lavish attire, exuding an air of sophistication.
Recognizing the man, Michael stepped forward with a smile.
"It's been a while, Zark."
The man, Zark, bowed his head respectfully.
"It has indeed, my lord. I trust you've been well?"
"Well enough," Michael replied, his smile growing as Zark's composed demeanor put him at ease.
Zark was the steward responsible for managing the Crassus estate's finances. Once the treasurer for the Pope of the Radiant Holy Nation, Zark had been wrongfully executed by immolation and later revived as a demon under Michael's command.
"Are the preparations complete?" Michael inquired.
Zark answered with a confident smile.
"Of course, my lord. The supplies are loaded onto the ship, guarded by Drakeo and his men."
Michael nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent work, Zark. As always, I'm grateful."
In a short time, Zark had established one of the continent's leading merchant guilds. While the Crassus estate's full support and the wartime economy had played a part, Zark's brilliance was undeniable.
"Have you made contact with our friend?" Michael asked.
"Yes, the meeting went smoothly."
"And what's your impression?"
"He's a pragmatist," Zark replied.
Hearing this, Michael's smile deepened. A pragmatic ally was precisely what he needed. He thought of the promise made by the Pasha Kingdom's regent: that in exchange for his help in redirecting the Pamir Empire's forces, the kingdom would secure a crucial advantage.
If everything went as planned, the operation could proceed seamlessly without a single show of force.
Under the vast expanse of the desolate plains, the Pamir Empire's massive encampment shimmered faintly in the darkness. Within the central, ornate tent, Grand Duke Iasus seethed with anger. The Pasha Kingdom's scorched-earth tactics had left his forces short on supplies.
"Curse those fools. If they had just handed over the provisions, we would have left peacefully. Now, I'll make sure they regret it."
His clenched fists trembled as he glanced at the letter from Michael. Under the dim candlelight, his eyes gleamed with a dangerous sharpness.
"What a cunning man. No wonder Oswald and those pathetic chieftains couldn't handle him. To think he'd dare to bribe me."
Though his voice dripped with scorn, Iasus's emotions were far more conflicted. Michael's proposal was undeniably enticing: a chance to preserve his forces and return to the empire unscathed while gaining leverage. The exhaustion of the frontlines and the constant tension pushed him toward a pragmatic decision.
"So, the emperor has already passed away..." he thought, his mind racing.
If he could reach the capital before the captive Crown Prince Oswald, Iasus might have a chance to stake his own claim to the throne. Slowly, he reached for the quill on his desk, his gaze fixed on the parchment before him. It was time to make a decision.
Each stroke of his pen carried the weight of his resolve. When the letter was finished, he summoned his guard stationed outside.
"Deliver this immediately. Ensure the couriers move swiftly," he commanded.
The guard bowed, taking the sealed letter with him. Moments later, he mounted a horse and galloped into the darkness, his hoofbeats fading into the night.
Iasus sat back, a calculating smile playing on his lips as he reflected on Michael's proposition. His eyes gazed into the distant shadows, imagining the glory of the new Pamir Empire he envisioned himself leading.
A Serene Refuge Far From the War
In a peaceful town untouched by the echoes of battle, Queen Dowager Guinevere leaned against a low stone wall, watching her son Alfonso play. The boy chased butterflies beneath the shade of a tree, his laughter filling the quiet garden. Guinevere smiled warmly, her worries about the war momentarily set aside as she basked in the tranquility of the moment.
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In her hand was a letter she had received from Michael earlier that day. The brief, decisive message repeated in her mind:
