Following the upheaval in Japan and Korea, time in Seoul had become surprisingly tranquil.
Was the throne of a King always this idle? Reviewing the reports on how the magical societies of two nations were being restructured at a single word of my command was interesting enough, but even that lost its charm after a day or two.
The periodic reports sent by Shinomiya and the Chief of the Four Divine Guardians were now less engaging than reading the social columns of a newspaper.
I stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, where the Seoul skyline unfolded like a panorama, looking down indifferently at the city's night view. I had killed a god and become a King, yet daily life lacked the dramatic shifts I had anticipated.
While I felt a sense of relief, as if I had returned to being the ordinary university student Min-jun Jeong, an underlying sense of dissonance—like wearing clothes that didn't quite fit—refused to dissipate.
As always, it was Alessandro who shattered that peace. Dressed in a flawless black suit, he appeared silently behind my back and bowed deeply before me.
"My King, would you grant me permission to be absent for a short while?"
Lying askew on the sofa, I responded with feigned disinterest. I had sensed his arrival; since becoming a King, my senses had far surpassed the boundaries of mere humanity.
"Reason?"
"I wish to completely sever my ties with my former organization, the Bronze-Black Cross. Since I have sworn to serve the King, it is my duty as a knight to personally terminate my previous oaths. I must travel to their headquarters in Milan, Italy."
There wasn't a single tremor in his voice, but I read the subtle sense of responsibility and determination within him. He had become my knight, but before that, he belonged to an organization. He needed his own form of closure. Besides, I was getting bored.
"Get ready."
"Pardon?"
"I’m going too. It’s only natural for a King to accompany his knight when he has business to attend to, isn't it?"
Of course, that was just the surface reason. I was growing tired of the cleanup in Japan and Korea. Taking in the European air wouldn't be a bad change of pace.
More importantly, it was a King’s role to personally witness the crucial moment his knight settled his past. Alessandro seemed momentarily taken aback, but soon bowed his head with a face full of deep emotion and loyalty.
"…I shall follow your command. It is an unsurpassed honor that the King would accompany me."
And so, our destination was set for Milan. Alessandro departed first to handle the official procedures, and I boarded a private jet a few days later at my leisure.
Milan, the city of fashion and art, possessed a coexistence of antique elegance and modern vitality that differed from Kyoto.
The Duomo di Milano, boasting a massive majesty I hadn't properly seen last time; the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, lined with luxury boutiques.
Hiding my identity, I strolled through the heart of the city like an ordinary tourist.
Alessandro had excused himself to prepare for the final meeting with his organization, leaving a few knights under his command to serve as my escort.
Sitting at an open-air cafe and savoring an espresso, I recalled the words Alessandro had spoken when we first arrived in Milan a few days ago.
He had explained the power dynamics of the European magical world, mentioning two specific existences with a heavy warning. His expression had been more serious than ever.
"My King, there are three Campiones who reign over this European land. Please keep this in mind."
"You are likely already well aware of one of them—the Black Prince you encountered in Hawaii. You have experienced his unpredictability, but in Europe, there are two more Kings who are dangerous in an entirely different sense."
Alessandro lowered his voice a tone, as if speaking of a taboo.
"First is the Devil King who has made Eastern Europe his stronghold, Sasha Dejanstahl Voban. He is a Campione over three hundred years old—the worst, the most sinister, and the strongest. Mages regard him as a synonym for terror, hesitant to even utter his name. Capricious, cruel, and a true disaster who views humans as mere insects. Incurring his displeasure is directly linked to the downfall of an entire nation."
A three-hundred-year-old Devil King, huh? It was an interesting story, but to me, it sounded like a legend from a distant land.
"The other is the 'King of Swords,' Salvatore Doni, who considers the Mediterranean region, including Southern Italy, to be his personal garden. He is a relatively new Campione, born just a few years before Your Majesty’s ascension, but his combat prowess is unrivaled. It is said he slew a god with nothing but a single blade; he is a warmonger who seeks nothing but battle with the strong. Fortunately, he isn't as merciless as the Devil King of the East, but more than a few magical organizations have vanished simply by being caught up in his whims."
Alessandro likely told me this out of genuine concern for my safety. Loyal advice not to carelessly offend the senior Kings of this land. But to me, it was just reference material.
I set down the empty espresso cup. Whether they had lived for three hundred years or were the King of Swords didn't matter to me. My time in Japan had made one thing clear. A King’s authority is something proven by one's own self, not something earned by minding the gaze of others. My purpose here was tourism and watching over my knight's business—nothing more. There can be many Kings, but the sky cannot have two suns. I had no intention of seeking them out for a spat, but if anyone blocked my path, I would simply sweep them aside regardless of who they were.
I stood up and blended back into the crowd. I was momentarily forgetting everything while enjoying the lively atmosphere of the Duomo square.
"My King! It’s Marco! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!"
Turning at the urgent voice, I saw Marco, the young knight Alessandro had assigned as my escort, running through the crowd. His face was stiff with distress and worry.
His suit was damp with sweat, and his hair was disheveled. I could guess how desperately he had been running to deliver his report.
I furrowed my brows. It was an insolence that disturbed my peaceful respite. However, his state was far too serious to be dismissed as mere rudeness.
The surrounding noise distanced itself as if by a lie, and all my senses focused on him. I could vividly feel the thumping of his heart, his ragged gasps, and the waves of anxiety mixing with his magical power.
"What happened?"
At my calm inquiry, Marco reported in a flustered tone, as if he didn't know what to do with himself.
"The thing is... Sir Alessandro hasn't been able to leave the headquarters! It's not that he's in any danger, but things have become complicated."
He picked his words for a moment before speaking out of frustration.
"The head of the organization... is refusing to accept Sir Alessandro's withdrawal. Claiming they cannot let their greatest knight go so easily, they are holding him under the pretext of 'needing time for reconsideration.' He is essentially under house arrest in the headquarters building."
Alessandro’s face flickered through my mind. His plan to leave honorably through formal procedures was being shackled by the stubbornness of his organization's leader.
He could easily fight his way out, but doing so would make him a 'traitor' who deserted by force. His pride wouldn't allow it.
Marco added:
"Sir Alessandro said he 'couldn't let the King’s precious vacation be disturbed' and tried to resolve it himself, but... the meetings keep getting delayed and the situation isn't improving at all. This isn't a legitimate process; it’s blatant coercion!"
In an instant, the lively air of Milan turned ice-cold. Every color around me lost its brilliance, and the flow of time seemed to slow.
The amusement I felt as a tourist until moments ago vanished without a trace. Soun Renjo’s arrogance and this leader's stubbornness—the essence was the same. The sheer folly of daring to treat what belongs to the King as their own property.
My vacation was over.
I turned around without a word. A hollow laugh almost escaped me. Whether it was Italy or Japan, why do these old men sitting in ancient chairs always repeat the same mistake? They think they can hold onto my knight with their organizational logic and a leader's obstinacy?
It was an act of extreme arrogance, no different from claiming rights over the King’s property. And I had learned exactly how to deal with the arrogant back in Japan.
No matter who touched my knight, no matter what organization they belonged to, and no matter how trivial the reason.
There would be no forgiveness.
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