In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

Deep down, Astrid felt the inevitability of her fate creeping closer. As her thoughts spiraled, a familiar face flashed in her mind—a man's warm smile, gentle and kind.

"Michael…"

Unable to hold back her emotions any longer, Astrid began to cry softly.

Charles V had ordered Philip's battered corpse to be discarded on the plains. Afterward, he summoned Duke Capone for a drink, unable to sleep as thoughts of Randolph, now interred in the fortress's underground crypt, consumed him. The weight of guilt and regret pressed heavily on his chest.

Charles V lifted his trembling hand to his glass, pouring yet another drink. He had already emptied several glasses and was now noticeably inebriated. With a faint, bitter laugh, he turned to Duke Capone.

"It's been a while since I've gotten this drunk, hasn't it, Vincent?"

Hearing the king call him by his first name stirred something deep within Duke Capone. How long had it been since anyone called him "Vincent"? The familiarity was a fleeting glimpse of their youth. Suppressing the ache in his chest, Duke Capone managed a smile.

"It truly has been a long time, Charles."

The two men shared a moment of raucous laughter, the sound echoing in the quiet chamber. But the laughter soon faded, leaving a heavy silence between them. Charles V fiddled with his empty glass, his demeanor weighed down by sorrow.

"...Do you think it's because I failed as a father?" His voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of deep guilt and regret. Duke Capone hesitated, unsure of how to respond. What could one possibly say to a father who had been forced to order his own child's death?

Eventually, Charles V covered his face with his hands and began to sob. Watching him, Duke Capone couldn't help but think, It wasn't your failure as a father—it was your failure in choosing a wife.

It was an unspoken truth that everyone in the palace knew, except Charles himself. The queen's stark favoritism toward Randolph, to the detriment of Astrid, had been no secret. Perhaps Randolph's tragic end had been inevitable from the beginning.

Charles eventually wiped his eyes and reached for his glass again. His face was a tumult of grief and helplessness.

"This… this was the right decision, wasn't it? For Astrid's sake. Don't you think?" Charles muttered, his tone seeking validation.

Duke Capone grimaced at the king's words. "What can I say? I, too, am a man full of sin."

Looking at the king, who seemed to have aged ten years overnight, Duke Capone made a silent vow. He would ensure that Astrid was matched with a worthy partner. The royal family could not endure another tragedy.

The following morning, Charles V departed the fortress with hollow eyes, his exhaustion visible to all. As the court bade him farewell, a solemn procession accompanied him. Strapped to his gryphon was the coffin of Crown Prince Randolph.

Similarly, Henry III departed with the coffin of Princess Elise. The fortress was left in a state of unease, its atmosphere heavy with grief and unanswered questions.

In a quiet corner of the fortress, two soldiers were brushing dirt off their boots. One broke the silence.

"The Pamir sorcerers must've cursed the Crown Prince. That's the only explanation."

His companion scoffed. "What nonsense. If they could curse someone, wouldn't they have gone after Count Michael instead?"

The first soldier froze, glancing nervously around to ensure no one else had overheard. Relieved to see they were alone, he hissed, "Hey, don't say stuff like that. You're implying Count Michael is better than the Crown Prince!"

The second soldier shrugged, unconvinced. "Well, the Crown Prince… he talked big but didn't really accomplish much, did he?"

At that, the first soldier sighed deeply and shook his head. "That may be true, but if anyone hears you say that, you'll lose your head. Be careful."

"All right, all right," the second soldier muttered, begrudgingly dropping the subject.

Still, his curiosity got the better of him. "If it was a curse, why did Princess Elise get sick too? Doesn't make sense, does it?"

The first soldier considered this for a moment before nodding. "You're right. Maybe it's a disease. After all, they were close, weren't they?"

The two soldiers fell silent, their thoughts heavy with speculation. After a while, one of them sighed.

"She was so beautiful…."

"Yeah. And she smelled so nice, too…."

The Crown Prince's death stirred surprisingly little sorrow among the populace. While Charles V and the queen were devastated, the people viewed Randolph's death with quiet indifference—some even welcomed it. Many believed that had Charles passed, Randolph's arrogance would have led the kingdom to ruin.

In contrast, Princess Astrid was widely beloved for her kind and gentle nature. Her popularity among the people sparked hope for the future, with whispers of relief that she would inherit the throne.

In his private quarters, Michael sat alone, reflecting on his actions. He meticulously reviewed every step he had taken, searching for any mistakes. Finding none, a satisfied smile crossed his lips. He could feel a new ambition stirring within him—one he hadn't previously acknowledged.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Michael called for Ispher.

"Ispher, what's the current status of the Pamir Imperial Army?"

Emerging silently from the shadows, Ispher knelt before Michael and reported, "The imperial forces are on the brink of collapse. Rumors are spreading that the five great clans have been hoarding supplies for themselves, leaving the rest to suffer. Internal conflicts have intensified."

A smile crept across Michael's face. "Spreading those rumors was the right move. So, the clans are abandoning the army?"

Ispher nodded. "Yes. Several, including the Yuran clan, have already left. The rumors have only hastened the desertion. Many are fleeing under the cover of night."

It was going exactly as planned. Michael leaned back, his smile widening.

"Good. That means we're almost there. We'll wait a little longer and strike at the decisive moment for an easy victory."

With a final bow, Ispher disappeared into the shadows. Left alone in the tent, Michael's thoughts drifted to Princess Astrid.

For some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about her tonight.