In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

Astrid said nothing, focusing instead on plucking the soft petals of a rose nearby. The delicate sensation mirrored her own fragile emotions. Her long eyelashes shimmered under the moonlight, and her subtly trembling shoulders betrayed her feelings.

Then, she felt the warmth of his breath near her ear.

"Please forgive my rudeness," Michael whispered, his voice low and intimate.

Her eyes widened in surprise, her heartbeat quickening. A tender sensation brushed her lips—soft and fleeting, like the touch of a rose petal. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still.

From a distance, Charles V and the Duke of Capone watched the couple's kiss beneath the garden's silvery glow. The king chuckled.

"Ah, to be young again."

"Indeed," the duke replied with a knowing smile.

Meanwhile, Crown Prince Oswald sat alone in a dimly lit dungeon. Despite the relative comfort of his transport compared to the neighboring cell, where the five tribal chieftains were imprisoned, his surroundings were grim. The chieftains were in dire condition, having received progressively poorer meals after being implicated in the attack on the Crassus estate.

Accustomed to lives of luxury, the chieftains struggled to endure their newfound hardships. Bound by sealing orbs and laden with despair, they could only hope for negotiations to conclude quickly.

"Who the hell decided to pull such a reckless stunt at the last minute?" one chieftain muttered bitterly.

"If they were that eager to cause chaos, they could've at least helped us escape," another added, scowling.

"Whoever it was, they've made life miserable for us," grumbled a third, glaring at the Bear Clan's leader.

The Red Serpent Clan's chieftain narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the Bear Clan's leader, Jandor, who bristled at the accusation.

"What grounds do you have to suspect us, eh?" Jandor demanded, his tone indignant.

"You Bear Clan oafs are the only ones reckless enough to pull something like this!" the Red Serpent chieftain shot back.

The Black Hawk chieftain, Falcon, raised a hand to quell the rising tension.

"Now, now, what good will blaming each other do? Our best option is to lie low and hope for the best. At least these people value ransom over revenge. They'll let us go once they're paid."

"Even if we return, our power will never be the same," someone murmured.

The chieftains ground their teeth in frustration, knowing full well that ambitious rivals could be consolidating power in their absence. It was even possible that the culprits behind the attack on Michael's estate were among their own factions.

While the chieftains stewed in despair, Oswald, in his solitary cell, wore an unexpectedly lighthearted expression. Without his father looming over him and the five chieftains now sidelined, he felt as though a great burden had been lifted.

Far to the west, chaos reigned in the Radiant Holy Nation.

"Is it true that our expeditionary force was annihilated?" demanded one of the high-ranking officials.

"Indeed," another replied grimly. "The so-called emperor seemed to have lost his mind, focusing all his forces on holding back our holy knights."

"There are also rumors of foreign influence. It wouldn't be surprising, given our long-standing enmity with certain factions," someone else chimed in.

"This is no time to dwell on that," a voice interjected sharply. "The holy sword is missing. The holy sword!"

Pope Allegro III's face was ashen. The loss of the holy relic was devastating enough, but the death of his beloved nephew on the battlefield compounded the blow.

"Are we certain the sword is gone?" someone asked hesitantly.

The pope nodded solemnly. "Yes. The divine will connected to the sword has vanished."

"This is catastrophic. The sword was our conduit to the Great Radiance's will. Without it…"

They trailed off, the implications too dire to voice.

"We have no choice but to wait for the next oracle," the pope said with a sigh.

"And what of the trade ships that have been going missing? Any news?" another official asked.

"We've yet to determine the cause. The waters in that region are notoriously treacherous."

"Misfortune upon misfortune… What have we done to deserve this?" the pope murmured, his voice heavy with despair.

He glanced down at the papal ring on his finger, feeling the weight of his authority slipping away like sand through his hands.

Having bid farewell to Princess Astrid after their enchanting evening, Michael returned to his quarters and set about cleaning his newly acquired sword. Lost in thought, he regarded the blade.

"No matter how I look at it, this seems like the holy sword. Isn't there a way to disguise it better?"

Though he couldn't be certain, he felt as though each word of praise directed his way imbued him with renewed strength while holding the sword.

"Well, I'll know for sure once I show it to Grandfather."

The victory celebration was scheduled to last an entire week. While the joy of such a rare triumph was understandable, the scale of the festivities was overwhelming. The endless feasts and elaborate welcomes had already pushed Michael to his limits.

Inside the opulent halls of the royal palace, the clinking of glasses and lively music created a constant symphony of revelry. Michael and Princess Astrid were the center of everyone's attention, their every move scrutinized. The suffocating focus weighed heavily on Michael.

Unable to bear it any longer, Michael decided to slip away, taking only Miaomiao, Marcus, and a handful of the old-era warriors with him. If they moved quickly, he reasoned, they could return by the final day of the festival.

After discreetly informing Charles V, Princess Astrid, and his father, Michael departed the palace. Mounted on Marcus, he passed through the towering city gates, and the festival-lit city sprawled before him like a living painting.

The streets were adorned with colorful lanterns and banners, and throngs of people cheered below. As Marcus unfurled his massive wings and soared into the sky, the city lights transformed into a brilliant mosaic beneath them. Fireworks burst overhead, painting the night with vibrant colors, while the streets below bustled with life.