Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Over the past few months, countless rumors and exciting news had been circulating throughout the kingdom.

However, among them, two pieces of news had garnered the most attention—both within the kingdom and beyond.

The first was the announcement that the old king of Lionheart was stepping down. This was a matter of great significance to the entire kingdom, so it was understandable that it had spread far and wide. And unlike mere rumors, this was a confirmed truth.

The second was the Duke of Evermoon’s competition, where one of the grand prizes included the hand of his daughter in marriage. Several factors contributed to its widespread popularity, but the most commonly accepted reason was the value of the prize itself.

None of this had anything to do with Michael, even though he was somewhat aware of both matters. In fact, he had used the duke’s competition as an excuse for Mage Lian, which was partly why he ended up accompanying him to the capital.

As for the kingdom’s affairs, Michael didn’t spare them much thought. In his eyes, they had nothing to do with him.

He just never thought he’d come in contact with the royal family so soon.

Michael’s casual greeting hung in the air, and for a moment, no one responded. The prince’s expression remained neutral, but the guard behind him took a step forward, his eyes narrowing.

“How dare you!” the guard growled, his voice low and menacing. “You address the Seventh Prince with such disrespect? ‘Good morning’?” He spat the words as if they were an insult. “You should show more deference, especially in front of the prince!”

Michael’s expression didn’t change, but he felt a flicker of wariness.

He hadn’t intended to be disrespectful, but it seemed he had misjudged the formalities.

“I apologize,” Michael said, attempting to rectify his mistake. “I meant no disrespect, Your Highness.”

The guard took another step forward, his face reddening. “You think a simple apology will suffice? You should be on your knees, begging for forgiveness!” His voice rose, echoing off the walls of the chamber.

Michael’s eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. He had apologized, and that should have been enough.

But before things escalated further, Mage Lian intervened, his voice firm but calm. “Enough, Captain,” he said, his eyes flashing with a fierce light.

The guard’s face twisted in a scowl, but he stepped back, his eyes never leaving Michael’s face.

Then, Mage Lian’s mana locked onto everyone in the room, suffocating them. The air seemed to thicken, making it hard to breathe.

Michael, however, felt it was like a breeze. He watched, unmoved, as the others struggled.

The prince and Yuan only felt a bit hard to breathe, but the guard suffered it the most. His face turned red, and he stumbled backward, gasping for air.

Mage Lian’s gaze never wavered. “I will not have you disrespect my guest, Captain,” he said, his voice icy.

The room fell silent, the only sound the guard’s ragged breathing.

Finally, Mage Lian released his mana, and the tension in the room dissipated.

The guard collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.

The Seventh Prince stood up. “Captain Ortega, I believe you have made your point,” he said, his voice firm but controlled.

The guard, still gasping for air, struggled to his feet. “Y-yes, Your Highness,” he stammered, his eyes never leaving Michael’s face.

The prince turned to Michael, a small smile on his face. “Please, accept my apologies for Captain Ortega’s behavior. He can be… enthusiastic at times.”

Michael inclined his head. “No need to apologize, Your Highness. I understand my fault.”

The prince’s smile deepened. “I think you do, Sir Mic. And I appreciate your understanding.”

Master Yuan stepped forward, his eyes flicking between Michael and the prince. “If I may interrupt, Your Highness, the Grand Mage has requested a private audience with Sir Mic.”

The prince nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Very well. I will leave you to your meeting. Sir Mic, it was… enlightening to meet you.”

Michael bowed his head slightly. “The pleasure was mine, Your Highness.”

As the prince turned to leave, he glanced at Captain Ortega, who was still struggling to catch his breath. “Captain, I believe you need to compose yourself. Please, take a few moments outside.”

Captain Ortega’s face darkened, but he bowed his head and exited the room, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor.

The prince watched him go, a hint of amusement on his face. “I apologize again for the… unpleasantness. Please, proceed with your meeting.”

With that, he turned and followed Captain Ortega out of the room, leaving Michael alone with Mage Lian and Master Yuan.

Mage Lian gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “Please, Sir Mic, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

*****

The Seventh Prince stood outside the Grand Mage’s chambers, his mind consumed by thoughts of the mysterious Sir Mic.

Who was this man, and why had the Grand Mage taken such an interest in him? The prince’s eyes narrowed as he pondered the implications.

He hoped that this unexpected development wouldn’t affect the Grand Mage’s impression of him.

His father, the old king, was stepping down, and this was a critical time for the prince to secure the support of influential people like Mage Lian.

The prince’s gaze turned to his guard, Captain Ortega, who stood waiting beside him.

The captain’s face was still flushed with anger, his eyes blazing with resentment towards Sir Mic.

The prince’s expression twisted in disdain. Captain Ortega’s behavior was unbecoming, and his lack of control was embarrassing.

The prince’s eyes lingered on the captain’s face, his disapproval evident.

“Captain Ortega,” the prince said, his voice cold and detached. “I suggest you compose yourself. Your behavior is… unseemly.”

Captain Ortega’s face darkened, but he bowed his head, his voice tight with restraint.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The prince’s gaze lingered on the captain’s face.

He would not tolerate such behavior, especially not now, when he needed to present an impressive front.

With a curt nod, the prince turned away.