Chapter : 640

Hera sat behind a massive golden desk. She wore a stunning, perfectly pressed white and gold gown. Her wavy golden hair cascaded elegantly over her shoulder. Her posture was rigid. She projected an aura of absolute, aristocratic superiority.

She held a delicate porcelain teacup in her hand. She took a slow, polite sip of rare tea. She placed the cup gently onto a matching saucer.

An open golden envelope rested on her desk. The red wax seal was broken.

Jenny stood right beside the desk. The elite servant wore her spotless white and gold combat uniform. Her dark hair rested in a tight, severe bun. She stood at perfect attention. She looked like a carved statue.

"The 1st Prince is hosting a massive celebration, Your Highness," Jenny reported smoothly. Her voice was professional. "He invited all the prominent princes and princesses from the Empire. The guest list is exclusive."

Hera let out a soft, highly melodic laugh. The sound was dripping with pure, unfiltered condescension. She looked at the invitation with sharp, judgmental green eyes.

"Zeus is too predictable," Hera mocked politely. She leaned back in her plush leather chair. "He sees the leaderboard shift. He sees Iris climbing the ranks. He feels a tiny bit of pressure. So, he throws a massive, expensive party to assert his dominance."

Hestia picked up the golden invitation. She held it between two manicured fingers.

"He is far too happy," Hera remarked coldly. "He believes this grand display will intimidate us. He is acting prematurely. He genuinely believes he has already secured the throne. It is foolish."

"Will we attend, Princess?" Jenny asked quietly.

"Of course we will attend, Jenny," Hera smiled a beautiful, calculating smile. "We never miss an opportunity to play the political game. We will walk into his grand ballroom. We will look flawless. We will smile at his arrogant face. And we will quietly plot his total downfall from the shadows. The Succession War is a game of chess. Zeus is just playing with loud pieces."

Hera dropped the invitation onto the desk. She picked up her teacup again.

"Prepare my best evening gown," Hera commanded smoothly. "We will show the entire capital city what true perfection looks like."

"Yes, Your Highness," Jenny bowed crisply.

In another part of the capital, deep inside the industrial district, a third Royal candidate received the exact same news.

The 9th Prince, Hephaestus Belmontia, stood inside his massive, noisy workshop. The room smelled strongly of machine oil and hot metal. Thick copper pipes lined the brick walls. Steam hissed loudly from a nearby generator.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Hephaestus did not wear a fancy suit. He wore a simple gray shirt and thick leather pants. Dark black grease stained his hands and his face. His shaggy brown hair looked . He pushed a pair of heavy welding goggles up onto his forehead.

He held a large steel wrench in his right hand. He stared at a golden envelope resting on a dirty wooden workbench.

Heart, his tough Vice-Captain, stood next to him. She wore a thick leather apron. She crossed her muscular arms. She looked at the fancy letter with intense annoyance.

"A Royal Gala," Heart groaned loudly. She kicked a stray bolt across the floor. "That is the last thing we need right now, Boss. We are in the middle of testing the new engine prototype. We do not have time to go drink fancy juice and make small talk."

Hephaestus rubbed his tired eyes. He let out a long, exhausted sigh. He looked reluctant.

"I know, Heart," Hephaestus agreed softly. His voice sounded weary. "I hate social events. The music is too loud. The clothes are too stiff. I just want to stay in the garage and build machines."

He reached out and picked up the golden envelope. He left a dark smudge of grease on the pristine white parchment inside. He read the words slowly.

"But this is not a normal party invitation," Hephaestus explained logically. He tossed the letter back onto the workbench. "This is a direct summons from the 1st Prince. Zeus is the eldest brother. He holds a massive amount of political authority in the Upper Council."

Heart frowned deeply. "So? We do not report to him."

"We do not report to him," Hephaestus nodded. "But despite my reluctance, we cannot ignore our eldest brother's grand summon. If we refuse to show up, Zeus will view it as a direct insult. He will use his political influence to cut our engineering funding. We need that funding to build the heaters for the outer districts."

Hephaestus dropped his wrench onto the table. It made a loud clank.

"We have to play the game," Hephaestus sighed miserably. "We have to put on the uncomfortable suits. We have to go to the palace and smile. It is the only way to protect our projects."

Heart shook her head. She looked at her greasy hands. "Fine. But I am not wearing a dress. I will wear my formal military uniform."

"That works perfectly," Hephaestus chuckled a tired, genuine chuckle. "Let us go clean the grease off our faces. We have a very long, very annoying evening ahead of us."

Across the entire capital city, the prominent royals prepared for the massive event. They polished their armor. They tailored their dresses. They formulated their political strategies. The grand Royal Gala was not a simple celebration. It was a brand new battlefield. The weapons were just replaced by polite smiles and sharp words.

The stage was set for the ultimate social showdown. The most powerful people in the Belmontia Empire were about to gather in a single room.

And Ken Eliot was dreading the fact that he actually had to stand up for more than five minutes.

---

"This collar is an actual torture device."

Ken Eliot pulled at the stiff white fabric around his neck. He scowled deeply. He twisted his head from side to side. The stiff collar scratched against his skin. He let out a loud, dramatic groan. He slumped his shoulders forward.

"I cannot breathe properly," Ken complained. He pointed a finger at his own throat. "My airflow is restricted. The oxygen cannot reach my brain. If I pass out on the floor, I am blaming this shirt. You guys will have to carry me."

Naomi stood right in front of him. She smiled a very warm, bright smile. She reached out and gently slapped his hands away from his neck. She smoothed the lapels of his brand-new, pitch-black tuxedo jacket.

"Stop pulling on it, Ken," Naomi said. Her green eyes sparkled with genuine amusement. She fixed his black bow tie. "You are going to ruin the fabric. It is a very expensive tuxedo. You need to look presentable for the Royal Gala."

"I do not want to look presentable," Ken whined. He looked down at the shiny black shoes on his feet. "I want to look comfortable. These shoes are made of solid rock. They pinch my toes. I cannot do my signature lazy shuffle in these things. I feel like a generic background character in a mafia anime."