Chapter 25

**Somewhere in the Capital of Veridiania**

A man in his thirties stood before a pair of imposing red and gold doors, flanked by knights clad in full plate armor, their presence a testament to the importance of what lay beyond. The man sighed, his exhaustion evident as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His wild, blue-gray hair hung loose, only half-heartedly slicked back, giving him a disheveled appearance. "What could he possibly want at this hour?" he muttered to himself, casting a glance at the two knights guarding the entrance. His hazel eyes, though weary, still sparkled with curiosity. "Do either of you know why I've been summoned?" he asked, his voice tinged with mild annoyance.

The knight on his right shook his head, his expression stoic beneath his helmet. "No, sire. We are simply tasked with guarding the throne room," he replied. 

The knight on the left, perhaps more perceptive or simply bolder, pointed to the man's attire with a questioning gaze. "Forgive me for asking, sire, but... are you sure you wish to enter the throne room dressed like that?"

The man looked down at his loose, black and dull blue robes—comfortable, certainly, but hardly suitable for a formal audience with the King. The robes looked more appropriate for a lazy morning at home rather than a royal summons. He gave a dismissive wave and stuck out his tongue in a show of mock defiance. "Didn't exactly have time to dress up. The King called for me right after I woke up, so this will have to do," he responded, his tone more playful than apologetic.

"Now, if you would be so kind as to open the door?" he requested, his voice carrying a casual authority that belied his informal appearance.

The knights exchanged uneasy glances before the one on the right spoke again. "Apologies, sire, but the King is currently in a meeting with the Archbishop. We've been instructed not to let anyone in until it concludes."

The knight on the left added, "Tensions seemed high, sire. Perhaps it would be wise to wait until—"

The man rolled his head on his shoulders, cutting off the knight mid-sentence. "Just open the door. I'm not interested in whatever tensions they're dealing with," he said, his tone leaving no room for further discussion.

The knights hesitated, sharing another glance, but they knew better than to argue. After all, the man before them was none other than the strongest man in Veridiania, Darek Quill, The Reluctant Deity. With a reluctant nod, the knights began to push open the heavy doors. They knew that defying Darek was not an option—his reputation, not just for power but also for doing as he pleased, was well known.

The doors creaked as they swung wide, revealing the grand throne room beyond. Darek didn't wait for the doors to fully open before striding forward, his casual attire and laid-back demeanor belying the immense power he wielded. The knights could only watch as he entered the throne room, fully aware that whatever was happening inside, Darek Quill was about to become a part of it, whether the King and the Archbishop liked it or not.

The throne room of Veridiania was a grand and imposing space, befitting a kingdom that prided itself on its military might and devout religious fervor. Sunlight poured in through a tall, narrow window on the eastern side of the room, casting a sharp, almost divine light onto the polished marble floor. The walls were adorned with banners bearing the kingdom's crest—a sword crossed with a scepter beneath a radiant sun—symbolizing both the monarchy's authority and its divine right to rule. Eight knights stood at attention along the perimeter of the room, their armor gleaming in the daylight, their faces hidden beneath helmets, their presence a reminder of the ever-present might of Veridiania.

In the center of the room stood Archbishop Caine Zilch, his graying hair and stern expression making him appear every bit the religious authority he was. He wore robes befitting his high station, embroidered with symbols of the Goddess, the silver thread catching the light as he gestured angrily toward the throne. "If you had sent someone competent, we wouldn't have needed to involve that man," he spat, his voice laced with frustration and accusation.

King Verdin Veridiania sat upon the throne, his green hair streaked with gray, a visible sign of the years of rule that had weighed on him. His yellow eyes were narrowed, locked onto the Archbishop with a mix of annoyance and authority. Beside him stood a younger man, similar in appearance, likely his son, his gaze sharp and alert. As he noticed Darek entering the room, his eyes narrowed further. "What are you doing here?" he snapped, the tension in his voice palpable as the eight knights standing guard in the room shifted slightly, their attention now fixed on Darek.

Darek, completely unfazed, pointed lazily at the King. "He called me here. If you all wanted a private meeting, you should have called me afterward," he said with a casual shrug, before strolling up to stand next to the Archbishop. 

Archbishop Caine's glare could have cut through stone. "You should have waited outside until our meeting was finished!" he snapped, his voice brimming with indignation.

Darek, covering his ears as if to block out the Archbishop's rant, looked away with a bored expression. "I don't care," he muttered, before turning to face the King. "So, what did you call me here for?" he asked, his tone devoid of the respect that the room demanded, but carrying an underlying curiosity.

Caine's face reddened with fury, and the man beside the King clenched his fists, taking a step forward. "Speak with respect! You stand before your King!" he ordered, his voice sharp and commanding.

Darek rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Fine, fine," he said with a mock sigh, then cleared his throat dramatically. "Mr. King, sir, sire, man, could you please tell me why you called me here?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The younger man bristled, his patience wearing thin as he took another step forward, ready to confront Darek. "Why you—"

But before he could act, the King raised a hand, silencing him instantly. The room fell quiet, the tension thick in the air as King Verdin finally spoke, his voice cold and authoritative. "A blasphemous shadow tree has been erected in the town of Triton. I sent someone to take care of it; however..." His voice faltered slightly, the disappointment in his tone clear as he continued, "They failed. Beaten by a black knight wielding shadow magic, a vampire, and a woman skilled with knives."

As the King finished speaking, the room fell into a taut silence, every eye fixed on Darek, awaiting his response. Darek placed a hand on his chin, his expression one of casual contemplation. "Let me guess," he began, his tone nonchalant, "you sent your daughter to handle this situation, hoping she'd prove herself, and she failed miserably?" His words, devoid of respect, caused both the King and his son to stiffen, their faces flushing with indignation.

The King's jaw tightened as he gave a curt nod, confirming Darek's blunt assessment. Darek's eyebrows raised slightly, but his demeanor remained unperturbed. "And now you want me to go and clean up after your daughter's failures? Did I get that right?"

The King nodded again, his expression a mix of frustration and reluctant agreement. Darek shrugged, his casual attitude unwavering. "Alright, fine," Darek said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll take care of it. I'm actually quite interested in the people who managed to best a so-called Noble wearing G.E.A.R." He said with a hint of intrigue before turning on his heel and walking towards the door.

Without offering any further respect or acknowledgment, Darek strode out of the throne room, leaving behind a seething assembly. The King's knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of his throne, his anger palpable. He knew every word Darek had said about his daughter was true, and it only deepened his frustration.

Meanwhile, back at the swamp, both the black knight and Lennix felt an inexplicable chill crawl down their spines, causing them to shudder involuntarily. Clarissa, her expression as emotionless as usual, observed their discomfort. "What's wrong with you two?" she asked, her emotionless tone as dull as ever.

"It feels like a severe threat has been placed on my life," the black knight murmured, wrapping his arms around himself as if to ward off the cold.

"On my unlife as well," Lennix added, his own unease mirroring that of the black knight.

Clarissa turned to Mari, who had been watching the two men dry off with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "See, this is what I'm talking about, Mari. Never grow up to be like either of these two," she advised in her usual, emotionless tone.

Mari, her attention shifting to Clarissa, responded with earnestness. "Understood, Aunt Clarissa!"

The black knight and Lennix, both now glaring at Clarissa, shouted in unison, "Don't turn her against us!"