The King of the Colony, Carmaxes III, wore a deeply troubled expression.

The reason for his headache stood proudly before him: the Colony’s first Babayaga, Seolrang.

“So,”

Carmaxes unknowingly dragged out his words as he pondered what to say next. After a brief hesitation, he continued,

“You’re saying you want to attend the conference… as an aide?”

“Yup.”

Seolrang nodded without hesitation. Seeing this, Carmaxes let out a heavy sigh.

This was the same Seolrang who had always insisted that, come what may, she would never set foot in a conference like this.

And now she wanted to go as an aide? What on earth had brought about this change?

Of course, there was no issue with Seolrang accompanying him as an aide. In fact, it was an opportunity too good to pass up for Carmaxes.

The Allied Kingdoms’ conference was not just a meeting—it was also, as always, a subtle power struggle among the allied nations. That was precisely why Carmaxes had considered bringing her along in the first place.

However, there was one problem.

“Didn’t you say before that you’d never go?”

Carmaxes had already heard from Seolrang herself that she’d rather die than attend such a conference.

Because of this, he had promised to take someone else as his aide: the Colony’s second Babayaga, Makria.

“My mind’s changed,” Seolrang replied.

“Do you absolutely have to go?” Carmaxes asked cautiously.

“Yes, I have to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Her firm and unyielding tone left no room for negotiation. Carmaxes felt at a loss.

Frankly, it wasn’t an easy decision.

Sure, taking Seolrang would be much more advantageous for Carmaxes. However, breaking his promise to the second Babayaga, who had already agreed to serve as his aide, would undoubtedly cause problems.

Of course, if he were to disregard the position of “aide,” bringing both Babayagas wouldn’t be an issue. But that would create complications of its own.

In essence, attending a conference as an aide carried a certain level of prestige.

Makria, the second Babayaga, had likely agreed to the role for that very reason. If Seolrang were to accompany them now, even if Makria was formally appointed as the aide, the attention would inevitably shift to the first Babayaga.

After all, Seolrang was an unparalleled force—her strength unmatched by anyone.

In short, Makria would undoubtedly feel slighted, her dissatisfaction boiling over.

“How about attending the next conference instead?”

Carmaxes suggested, regretting that he hadn’t addressed this sooner.

“Oh.”

The moment the question left his mouth—

“I ‘said’ I want to go.”

The playful wagging of her tail from just moments ago vanished, replaced by a frosty demeanor that sent chills through anyone who saw her.

“…As you wish,” Carmaxes replied reluctantly.

He had no choice but to agree.

“Hmph~♬”

Wearing a satisfied expression as if she had gained everything she wanted, Seolrang hummed a tune as she exited the royal palace.

Watching her retreating figure, Carmaxes rubbed his tired eyes.

“Today feels like a day for some magical herbs,” he thought briefly to himself.

***

Meanwhile…

“So, you’re saying you want to attend the conference?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“But the Third Sword was already assigned to go to the conference—”

“I would like to go, Your Majesty.”

“Hmm… it’s already a settled matter, though.”

“I still want to go.”

A similar scene was unfolding in Caliban.

“Hmm…?”

King Palmarian IV of Caliban looked visibly perplexed as he turned to Deus Macallian and asked,

“Didn’t you decline before, saying you didn’t have time?”

Echoing the same words as a certain king from the desert, Palmarian IV seemed taken aback.

“I have managed to make time,” Deus Macallian replied casually, as though he had simply changed his mind.

Faced with Deus’ light-hearted change of stance, Palmarian IV closed his mouth, unsure of what to say.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t want to bring Deus along. The king was well aware that the Allied Kingdoms’ conference, in name a diplomatic meeting, was in truth a stage for subtle yet intense power struggles.

However, Deus had already declined the role of aide, leading Palmarian IV to appoint the Third Sword to the position instead.

For Palmarian IV, Deus’ request now felt burdensome.

Even as king, he couldn’t simply overturn decisions as he pleased. In fact, he knew better than anyone that the higher one’s position, the more strictly they had to uphold commitments.

A king must inspire trust in their subjects, after all.

After a long moment of deliberation, Palmarian IV finally spoke.

“Regrettably, I cannot grant your request.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve already made my promise.”

“With the Third Sword, I presume.”

“Yes.”

As he nodded, continuing his conversation with Deus, Palmarian IV began to faintly grasp the reason behind Deus’ sudden interest in the conference.

“It’s because of Count—no, now Marquis Palatio, isn’t it?”

The news that the Marquis Palatio from the Kingdom of Asteria would be attending the conference as an aide must have spurred Deus to come running.

It was somewhat amusing.

‘To admire someone so much…’

Palmarian IV knew all too well how deeply Deus Macallian revered Marquis Palatio.

How could he not?

At the regular Five Swords meetings held every few months, the moment the word “mage” was mentioned, Deus would inevitably bring up, no, sing praises of Marquis Palatio.

At one point, the newly appointed Fourth Sword had grown so fed up with Deus’ repetitive stories about the Marquis that they made a dismissive comment about him. That ended in a duel where the Fourth Sword was beaten within an inch of their life.

As such, anyone who knew Deus Macallian was well aware of his reverence for Marquis Palatio. It was also widely rumored that one should never even utter the word “mage” in Deus’ presence.

King Palmarian, while somewhat worried about how Deus might react if he pushed too hard, was caught off guard when Deus simply nodded and stepped back.

“I understand.”

Palmarian couldn’t help but show a surprised expression.

He had expected Deus to resort to… something—or perhaps anything—to secure the aide position.

However, Deus instead bowed politely and said,

“Since the decision has already been made, it would be improper for me to insist further.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“It’s nothing, Your Majesty.”

Deus courteously excused himself and left the room, leaving Palmarian IV momentarily bewildered.

But exactly one day later, Palmarian received an audience request from the Third Sword, who was scheduled to attend the conference as his aide.

***

“I greet the ruler of Caliban and the master of its Five Great Swords.”

“Yes, what brings you here?”

“Forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty, but may I resign from the position of aide?”

“…Suddenly?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well… I feel as though my sword is not yet sharp enough to properly serve Your Majesty.”

Upon hearing this, Palmarian IV was struck by a flash of realization, recalling the events of the previous day.

-I cannot grant your request.

-Why not?

-Because I’ve already made my promise.

-With the Third Sword, I presume.

-Yes.

It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened.

“Understood,” Palmarian finally said.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

And so, that day, Caliban’s aide for the conference was replaced.

***

Three weeks later.

After barely two weeks of rest, Alon found himself back in Teria, heading to Tern with Cretinia Siyan for the conference.

During the brief period of respite, Alon had come to understand why Cretinia Siyan had chosen him as her aide.

“A power struggle, huh.”

Recalling what Evan had told him, Alon continued to mull over the situation.

“Sure, whenever people with power gather, petty contests of strength are practically inevitable. Still… why was I chosen for this? Or… maybe I ‘am’ the right choice?”

Objectively speaking, Alon’s track record was rather impressive, so he could understand why he had been chosen.

Of course, it was all superficial. In reality, he was a half-baked mage whose tiny mana core made him incapacitated after just a few spells.

‘Well, it’s a win-win in the end.’

Cretinia Siyan would leverage Alon’s reputation, and Alon would obtain the item he could only get by entering Tern.

About a week later, they reached their destination.

‘Oh…’

In the distance stood a massive castle, built solely for the royal families of the Allied Kingdoms to use as a meeting venue. Alon marveled silently at the sight.

Nestled in the middle of an expansive plain, the outer castle had a certain charm, and its exterior was undeniably impressive.

Although it resembled a fortress of iron and blood more than a meeting hall, it was still striking.

Before long, Alon arrived at the castle.

“The meeting is in the evening, so take some time to relax in the banquet hall,” Siyan instructed.

“Understood,” Alon replied with a nod and made his way to the hall.

***

‘Surprisingly, there aren’t many people here.’

Upon arriving at the banquet hall, Alon glanced around at the quiet interior, briefly pondering the lack of activity.

Shrugging, he began to snack on the array of desserts laid out before him.

Ideally, he would have preferred to get moving and secure the item he was after. Unfortunately, due to its nature, the item could only be obtained at night.

‘Delicious.’

As he indulged in the sweetness of an egg tart, savoring the flavor, a voice called out to him.

“Excuse me, are you Marquis Palatio?”

“?”

Turning toward the voice, Alon saw a man standing nearby.

He had striking red hair, a cross-shaped earring on one ear, and a sword at his waist—a textbook example of a dashing figure.

“Yes, I am. Who are you?”

“Oh, it really is you! What an honor to meet you!”

The man beamed and introduced himself.

“I am Filian, eldest of the Ducal House of Merkilian in the Kingdom of Ashtalon.”

‘Filian? The Swordmaster of Ashtalon?’

“Oh? You know of me? It’s an honor to be recognized by someone as famous as you. It seems I’ve gained a bit of renown myself!” Filian said with a cheerful laugh.

Watching the lively man, Alon thought to himself, ‘Well, it’s not so much because you’re famous; I already knew about you.’

Alon was familiar with him—Filian Merkilian, the youngest Swordmaster in the Kingdom of Ashtalon and a character who eventually joined the player as an ally in *Psychedelia.*

“You’re well-known. The youngest Swordmaster of your kingdom, after all.”

“Thank you for the praise. But—”

As seen, Filian’s personality was as cheerful and straightforward as it appeared. True to his role as an ally in the game, he had no hidden agenda and was refreshingly pleasant to interact with.

However, there was one drawback.

“You seem… weaker than I expected, Marquis.”

The character’s design clearly emphasized that all their talent and focus were concentrated on swordsmanship. As a result, their interpersonal and social skills were almost hopelessly lacking.

“That’s strange. You should be much stronger than this,” Filian said, his words blunt and direct, reflecting the thought clearly written on his face.

To top it off, he also had a rather strong competitive streak.

‘Hmph.’

Alon, however, fully understood that Filian had no ill intent.

Filian Merkilian wasn’t the kind of person to mock or ridicule someone.

‘Whether it’s because he’s incapable of malice or just not clever enough to think of it, who knows.’

Regardless, the sincerity in his tone made it clear there was no hostility. Alon briefly pondered how to respond to such innocent bluntness when—

“What did you just say?”

“Huh?”

A voice from behind caught both of them off guard, making Alon instinctively turn around.

“?”

The sight before him made his eyes widen in surprise.

‘Seolrang… and Deus?’

There they stood, Seolrang and Deus, both visibly furious. Their expressions left no doubt about their mood, and they were glaring directly at Filian.