CHAPTER 459: ’TERRIBLE PLAN.’

"Your Majesty..."

Lucius’s cautious voice spoke from behind him.

Heinz ignored it entirely as he stormed—no, stomped—angrily into his office, the echo of his boots pounding against the marble floor like war drums. The two sets of footsteps that followed were slower, more hesitant. Lucius and Lancelot trailed behind him, uneasy, and with good reason.

The moment Heinz entered, he whirled around. His crimson eyes were blazing with fury, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. Lucius and Lancelot froze in place, visibly tense—mildly concerned, yes, but mostly terrified.

"Where is he?" Heinz demanded, his voice sharp enough to slice through steel. His glare could’ve turned them to stone.

"H-He went to visit... her, Your Majesty," Lucius stammered, immediately bowing his head to avoid the full weight of Heinz’s gaze.

Of course he did.

Of course he fucking did.

"What are your orders, Your Majesty? Do you... want us to seize him?" Lancelot asked carefully, trying his best to sound composed even as the deadly aura rolling off Heinz made the air in the room suffocating.

But the question only seemed to push Heinz further over the edge.

"We can’t do anything. Not right now," Heinz bit out through gritted teeth, pacing forward before throwing himself down in his chair, the tension in his body refusing to settle.

"Pardon? We’re... not going to do anything?" Lancelot asked again, stunned now, unable to hide it.

Of course he’d be surprised.

Anyone would be.

Heinz despised Hendrix. Hated him with every bone in his body. He’d exiled him and his mother to the furthest corner of the kingdom just to ensure he never saw him again. And if Hendrix dared show his face within reach, Heinz would never hesitate—never—he would end him right then and there.

But now?

Now, he couldn’t. Not because he didn’t want to.

But because of him.

Because of Florian.

Because fuck.

"Fuck!" Heinz roared, slamming his fists down onto the polished mahogany table with all his strength. The impact cracked straight through the wood—then shattered it completely, splintering the desk into two jagged halves.

He stood there for a moment, seething, his shoulders rising and falling with each furious breath.

’What the fuck is he thinking?’ Heinz thought, and ’he’ being none other than Florian.

"I have an idea," Florian said with a quiet sigh, his voice laced with both hesitation and resolve. "But I know Your Majesty will be against it. However, it’s important that you understand—this is the best course of action right now."

’I knew it.’ Heinz narrowed his eyes, instantly wary. He knew Florian was about to suggest something he wouldn’t like.

Anything that involved Florian and Hendrix in the same sentence was already something he didn’t want to hear.

"I have reason to believe that Hendrix might be doing what he’s doing now to save Florian... or me," Florian continued, his voice carefully measured, yet unsure. "He thinks—well, everyone thinks—I’m the real Florian."

He paused for a beat, as if searching for the right words.

"Whether it’s guilt or... whatever is driving him, I believe he does have the intention to take me. Hence why he approached Cashew."

Heinz’s hand twitched—barely noticeable, but sharp. ’All the more reason to kill Hendrix.’ Florian was doing a terrible job at convincing him otherwise.

"And I know," Florian pressed on, trying not to waver, "that is already a crime in itself—he’s trespassed here multiple times. But consider this, Your Majesty." He lifted his gaze, and Heinz was met with eyes full of worry. "Hendrix knows how powerful you are. He knows your strength. And yet, despite that, he came here and challenged you."

His voice lowered.

"Why do you think that is?"

Heinz didn’t hesitate. His tone was cold, flat, final.

"Because he’s a fool."

Florian let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Your Majesty, work with me here. We both know—he might be weak, yes, or maybe not. But he’s not a fool. No one is foolish enough to think they can face you and live, not even with just Azure alone."

He motioned toward Azure, who sat perched and glaring like he could bite through metal.

Heinz raised an eyebrow, still unmoved. "Your point?"

"My point," Florian said, slowly crossing his arms, "is that he must be hiding something. He must have something besides sheer will. Or he knows something—something that makes him invincible."

Florian’s voice was firmer now, more certain.

"The fact that he can use advanced magic... underground magic, at that—it already says a lot, right? He’s different from the man he was before. Whether he did something, or if it was divine intervention against you—"

He stopped.

He didn’t need to say more.

Heinz didn’t answer right away. He was too taken aback.

Did Heinz ever mention that fact to Florian?

He doesn’t think so.

Or maybe he did?

"I think..." Florian began cautiously, his voice carrying a note of wary determination, "before we make a move, we should find out what exactly he’s hiding... or what his plans are."

Heinz’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening. There was something in Florian’s tone that unnerved him—measured, but not hesitant. Calm, but not passive. He sounded like someone preparing for war, not escape.

"And how do you propose we do that?" Heinz asked, voice low, arms now slowly folding across his chest as he watched Florian closely.

Heinz clenched his hands into fists. ’He wants to get close to Hendrix by pretending to be the actual Florian?’ He thought, wanting to kill a man right now.

Heinz hated the idea, he loathed the idea. He’d rather die than entertain that.

Heinz’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening. There was something in Florian’s tone that unnerved him—measured, but not hesitant. Calm, but not passive. He sounded like someone preparing for war, not escape.

"And how do you propose we do that?" Heinz asked, voice low, arms now slowly folding across his chest as he watched Florian closely.

Heinz clenched his hands into tight fists, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood if he wasn’t careful. ’He wants to get close to Hendrix by pretending to be the actual Florian?’ he thought, the fury building so fast it nearly blinded him. Every inch of him screamed to kill a man—now.

He hated the idea. No—he loathed it. It was blasphemous, reckless, dangerous in every way. He’d rather tear out his own heart than entertain such a thought.

But fuck.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Heinz couldn’t say no.

He caught the look Florian gave him—subtle, soft, but there. A quiet kind of hope flickering in those familiar eyes. The kind that was harder to crush than any wall Heinz had ever built.

He knew that look.

Florian would be furious if he shut it down immediately. He wouldn’t say it, but Heinz knew it. He’d carry it. Quietly. Deeply. And worse, he’d be right.

Because as much as Heinz despised the idea—from a ruler’s perspective, it made sense.

It was clever. It was daring. It was strategic.

And worst of all...

Florian was right.

Where was the dumb, naive Florian the moment he needed him?

Because Heinz absolutely hated how reasonable Florian had become—how carefully, ruthlessly logical he was being now.

If it were anyone else Hendrix was after—some noble, some pawn Heinz had no personal stake in—he wouldn’t have cared. He would’ve watched it unfold like a distant storm, unconcerned. Detached.

But this wasn’t just anyone.

This was Florian.

His Florian.

The one person Hendrix had already dared touch once—back then, in that first life. That memory alone was already a wound that never healed, and now Heinz had to watch it all over again? Watch Hendrix worm his way close once more?

Was this his punishment?

It must’ve been.

There was no other explanation. Whether Heinz had told Florian the truth or not, whether Florian had pieced things together on his own—none of it changed the chilling possibility that Hendrix himself... might be a consequence. A divine punishment wrapped in a familiar face.

"The other Gods aren’t pleased with you. They will punish you, Heinz. I won’t be able to help you again. Be careful of what they send."

The warning had echoed in his mind for months—ever since the God’s voice reached him in that hazy in-between, before his second chance. He had never forgotten it. Never could.

Heinz had assumed that the second life itself—the chaos, the fragmented timelines, the unpredictability—that was the punishment. That the price had already been paid.

He hadn’t considered it might’ve just begun.

He felt so fucking frustrated. Helpless. He wanted to scream, to tear something apart, to demand why it had to be Florian again. Why the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose was always the first thing the universe tried to take.

"Your Majesty, what do we do now?" Lancelot’s voice broke through the heavy silence, hesitant but necessary—his eyes nervously flicking toward the shattered desk Heinz had nearly destroyed with his own hands.

Heinz didn’t answer immediately. He couldn’t—not until the rage stopped drowning out his thoughts.

But he had to move. He had to act. He couldn’t afford to stand still anymore.

His voice came sharp, focused, cutting through the storm within him. "Lancelot, take your men to the undergrounds. There have been reports of people selling illegal or ancient spells. I want you to investigate every lead. Tear through the shadows if you must."

Lancelot blinked, confused. "Pardon? You want us to gather information about that?"

"Yes."

"...What about Prince Hendrix?"

"That’s related."

The words dropped like stone—heavy, certain, unshakable.

Then, without pause, Heinz turned to Lucius, his crimson eyes burning. "Lucius. Go get Afton. Summon him here immediately. I need to speak with him—now."