NOVPUBClaude's smirk widened as he gazed at the unique skills now available to him.
His mind instantly conjured a thousand and one ways to wield them—tools of destruction, weapons of domination, and pillars to raise his kingdom higher.
Undead Dominion. With this, he could create an unending labor force.
He could cull the useless slaves and reforge them into tireless undead, working endlessly without rest or compensation.
Efficient, ruthless, and entirely under his control.
"This skill… doesn't have a limit like I do, right?" he asked, already anticipating the answer.
[If you're the one using it, there are no restrictions—as long as your mana holds out, especially with Undead Dominion!]
[As for Omnivorous Mind Plunder, its only restriction is that it can only be used on enemies weaker than you.]
Claude's smirk deepened, eyes gleaming. "This is amazing. Can I use it on Morion now?"
[You can, but there's a catch: Morion won't be able to retain the skills or memories you absorb. They'll belong to you alone.]
"Ah… So that's how it is." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Then I'll reserve it for my enemies. It'd be a waste to use it on my own people."
He shifted his attention to his children's attribute stats. Although each value was just under 1000, it was still astounding—especially for newborns.
"Hm… Vega's intelligence is higher than his attack. A mage, huh? That's unexpected. Xalvach is a knight house," he muttered, frowning slightly.
[You're not wrong, but back when the Xalvach House was founded, it wasn't a knight family at all.]
[The founder was a powerful dark mage—Ezekiel Xalvach. His bloodline was the same as Vega's.]
[But over the past hundred years, no descendant has been born with that unique skill, and so the family shifted into a knightly lineage.]
Claude raised an eyebrow. "You really know everything, huh?"
[Of course! Ask me anything about Elysium—if it's within the palace's history or system records, I'll know it!]
"In that case," Claude leaned back, voice low, "do you know who sabotaged the food shipments to the outpost? Who's behind the recent slave uprisings—those trying to spark reform?"
[...]
Silence.
Keira said nothing, and the silence was telling. Claude sighed, realizing what it meant.
"You don't know," he said flatly.
She didn't respond. She only had power over the palace, not intelligence from outside. The truth was beyond her reach.
Claude sighed again, running a hand through his hair and messing it up. "So I need to investigate it myself after all…"
A month ago, he'd received troubling reports: slaves at one of the outer territories had begun organizing, speaking of freedom and reform.
It was too coordinated to be spontaneous. These weren't educated tacticians—they were commoners, born to serve. Someone was guiding them.
There had also been a growing problem with the supply offerings from Elysium's own envoys.
Vegetables meant as tribute were arriving spoiled—or worse, replaced with a poisonous plant called Hog Feed, something Claude had never known existed.
It was an insult to the crown.
He'd questioned the envoys, but they'd played dumb.
So instead of resting tomorrow, or spending time with his family, he'd be stuck in council chambers, addressing yet another potential conspiracy.
He let out a weary breath and dropped onto the bed beside Morion.
"Better get some rest now… while I still can."
***
"So, that's the only reasoning you have?"
Claude's voice, calm but razor-sharp, cut through the air like a guillotine. The temperature in the council room seemed to drop even lower, and every man seated at the long table stiffened in response.
Before him, the three envoys trembled. Daniel Attre from the Cuvaria Kingdom, Carter Maxim of Taedor, and Bennett Halland from the Latis Empire—men from the fertile lands beyond the eternal snow, far removed from the harsh, cold territory of Elysium—now looked like children caught lying to their father.
Claude groaned audibly, casting a disdainful glance at men displayed across the hologram and in his council.
Not a single beautiful lady in sight.
"Council meetings are always such a burden," he whispered.
The envoys nodded furiously, sweat beading at their brows. Claude could tell they weren't lying—not even trying to.
Their fear was genuine, and none of them seemed bold or clever enough to pull off such an insult without being coerced or deceived.
Daniel, the youngest of the three, spoke up, voice quivering. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty… I've followed in my father's footsteps since I was a child."
"This was the first offering I oversaw personally. I inspected everything carefully myself."
Daniel's father had passed last year. This was his debut as an envoy, and knowing the boy's sincere reputation, it was likely someone had exploited his inexperience.
Whoever swapped the supplies had known full well the king's infamous fury. This wasn't just an insult—it was an attempt to sabotage relations and provoke retaliation.
But Claude… didn't care about the insult.
"As long as you can send double crops this month, there won't be any punishment," Claude said flatly. "You won't protest that, will you?"
The three envoys shook their heads vigorously and bowed as one. "We apologize, Your Majesty!"
Claude leaned back, resting his cheek on his knuckles. "Fine… now, can someone bring me the 'hog feed'? I want to see this insult with my own eyes."
A butler bowed and left swiftly. Minutes later, he returned carrying a simple wooden box, carefully placing it on the table before the king. Claude flipped open the lid.
Inside were several round, dirt-covered vegetables—brown, knobby, and familiar.
He blinked.
"…Isn't this… a potato?" He muttered it more to himself than to the others, lifting one and brushing away the soil.
The weight, the smell—it was unmistakable. In his previous life, this had been a staple crop. Cheap, nourishing, and versatile. One of the most widely consumed vegetables in the world.
His eyes narrowed, 'That's why I've never seen potato before… I thought it simply didn't exist in this world.'
He stared at the potato in silence, the council room holding its breath with him.
'A sabotage attempt? Or a discovery?'
"You don't need to send other crops this month, gentlemen," Claude declared suddenly.
"From now on, just send this so-called 'Hog Feed.' It grows well in your lands, doesn't it?"
The council chamber fell into stunned silence. Even the envoys looked bewildered, their expressions teetering between confusion and disbelief.
Claude narrowed his gaze. "What's your answer?"
"Y-Yes, Your Majesty!" the three men echoed in unison, their voices slightly out of sync but equally desperate to obey.
Daniel raised his hand timidly. "If I may, Your Majesty… What do you intend to do with it?"
Claude held the potato up between two fingers and replied, "Eat it, of course. You do know it's edible, don't you?"
His calm reply was like a spark tossed into dry tinder.
Aldrich, one of the elder nobles, slammed his palm on the table. "Your Majesty, that plant is poisonous! It grows underground like a cursed weed! Even pigs won't eat it!"
Claude's brow furrowed. "It's only poisonous if you eat the green parts or improperly stored ones," he explained, tone clipped. "The ones brought here are fine." n𝚘𝚟𝚙u𝚋.co𝚖
But no one seemed convinced. The murmurs of disagreement began to rise again—until Claude stood up abruptly and slammed both palms on the table, the sound echoing like a thunderclap.
He begins to be impatient, but too tired to throw insults at them or to argue with those old men!
"Enough. Come with me to the kitchen," he ordered coldly. "I'll prove to you it's safe to consume."
Without waiting for their response, he turned and left the room, his cloak billowing behind him like a shadow. The council exchanged nervous glances before scrambling to follow.
In the kitchen, Claude issued precise commands to the chefs. "Do not cook any that have sprouted or turned green. Focus on the fresh ones."
He then continue to give them the recipes, how to peel, cut, and even to cock with all step by step that was unfamiliar to the chefs.
They still obeyed, their faces pale as ash. None of them were familiar with this strange tuber, and the mere idea of feeding something untested to the king terrified them. If Claude died, so would they.
Back in the dining hall, Claude and the council waited in a tense silence. William and Lloyd leaned close, whispering urgent pleas.
"Your Majesty, don't risk your life like this…"
But Claude waved them off with a sigh. "If this truly is edible, it could become a staple crop. Easy to grow, resilient, cheap. We can't afford to waste such potential because of superstition."
After a long wait, the chefs returned, pushing a silver trolley loaded with steaming plates. The air filled with the unfamiliar scent of fried potatoes.
Fries, mashed potatoes, and even boiled chunks were laid out elegantly on the long table with meat like steak, stew, and many more. But the chefs looked like men headed for the gallows.
Claude clapped his hands once. "Now, gentlemen. I believe none of you have had lunch yet. Let this be our first meal together."
To everyone else, his smile was nothing less than demonic. Not a soul moved.
"Hmph. Then I'll go first," Claude said, impatiently lifting his fork.
He picked up a crisp fry, steam rising from its golden body. It was already long since he tasted the potato and he kinda miss it.
But just before he took a bite, Lloyd reached out quickly. "Wait, Your Majesty. Let the poison taster try it first."
Claude paused and then gave a resigned nod. "Very well."
The royal poison taster—a thin man with trembling hands—stepped forward like a man headed for execution.
He picked up a fry, examined it nervously, and slowly brought it to his mouth.
The room fell silent.
He chewed slowly… then swallowed.
And then—he froze.
Everyone stared.
He stood perfectly still, unmoving making all the council members even more anxious.
