In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

Chancellor Guinness promptly echoed her sentiment.

"There's no point in complaining now. Let's just be thankful they didn't crown kings all the way back to the eighth generation of his ancestors. A mere baron—declaring himself king. Unbelievable."

Grand Prince Maximilian stood apart, emotions tangled in a web of discomfort and envy.

He leaned toward an aide and muttered quietly.

"Well… technically, he's the rightful heir of a kingdom that fell long ago. Maybe that gives him the right to claim the throne, no matter how watered-down the bloodline may be. Still… I can't help but be jealous."

His gaze shifted to Queen Dowager Guinevere, dressed as flamboyantly as a peacock.

"To show up dressed like that when we're flying on wyverns? Tch. Truly, vulgarity has no cure."

Maximilian himself had a tenuous claim to the throne of Pasha, stemming from an ancestor who had married a Pashan princess.

But as long as Alphonso—the direct heir—was alive, he couldn't assert any real claim.

At his comment, his aide responded softly.

"No need to dwell on it, Your Highness. History always moves forward. All things unfold as they should."

Maximilian nodded.

His eyes lingered briefly on Guinevere and her young son Alphonso, who stood beside her sucking his fingers.

"Yes. For the sake of the people, I must remain steadfast."

Nearby, King Leopold adjusted his collar uncomfortably.

"That man, Michael's father—Dominic, was it? What good fortune he stumbled into. A single child, and a baron becomes king. It's enviable, really."

His chancellor leaned in and murmured,

"Quite so. Regardless of lineage, no one can claim a throne unless they reclaim lost lands. But now…"

Whatever complaints or grudges these men harbored, they had no choice but to accept Michael and his family's claims.

There was, after all, magic capable of confirming bloodlines.

At the end of the council, Michael had personally used such a spell to verify his ancestry.

And more importantly, the leadership and strategy he demonstrated throughout the conference had left them all on edge.

Meanwhile, in contrast to the disgruntled royalty, the envoys' entourages were brimming with excitement.

Bodyguards from each kingdom moved with flamboyant flair, proudly showing off their strength.

Attendants bustled about, loading cargo onto wyverns and drakes.

Banners flapped in the wind, and the sharp sound of boots against cobblestone echoed through the plaza.

Knights and soldiers whispered with awe about the newly risen kingdom—and about Michael himself.

Clearly, his reputation among them was high.

Even the servants, despite their workload, couldn't completely hide their enthusiasm.

In one corner, the flying beasts brought by each kingdom were preparing for flight.

These were elite mounts, selected by their respective royal stables, each boasting a magnificent presence.

As they shifted their bodies to be loaded, powerful gusts of wind kicked up, causing the flags nearby to whip violently in the air.

Michael and Astrid had arrived with griffons and gargoyles.

The golden feathers of the griffons shimmered under the sunlight, and their lion-like muscular frames radiated strength.

All of Lania's magical beasts had consumed Marcus's purified blood, greatly enhancing their power—so much so that no other beast of their grade could compare.

The leader of the gargoyles, Garrick, stood imposingly among the gathered creatures, his eyes gleaming with the calm authority of a sage.

Magical beasts were sensitive to strength more than any other race. The higher the rank, the greater the respect they commanded.

As a result, every kingdom had brought their highest-ranked beasts, within the limits of their ability.

In other lands, griffons and wyverns were treated like prized mounts. But here, many of them were being used simply to carry baggage—a clear testament to the overwhelming presence of stronger beasts.

Suddenly, a subtle tension swept through the air.

The magical beasts began to fidget uneasily.

The atmosphere grew heavy.

Griffons clicked their beaks nervously, and wyverns folded their wings in discomfort.

A blue-flame-shedding Bifang, brought from the Kingdom of Pasha, twitched irritably.

Even a mutant griffon from Britannia stirred restlessly.

Then, Sigmund's personal beast, a second-class winged Fenrir, who had been sprawled arrogantly on the ground, abruptly stood up.

Marcus and Miaomiao had arrived.

A massive crimson dragon soared gracefully across the sky, its glowing red scales gleaming like fire in the sunlight.

Marcus had grown even more majestic.

The frills on his face had expanded, and his long, crown-like horns lent him an even more regal air.

He landed with elegant precision, lifting his head high and folding his wings neatly.

Beside him stood Miaomiao.

Her dark blue fur shimmered like gemstones, and her lean, agile form radiated grace.

Her piercing green eyes swept over the other beasts with cool composure.

Even the proud second-class Fenrir instinctively lowered its head.

In the world of magical beasts, power meant authority—and Marcus and Miaomiao stood at the very pinnacle.

They were both first-class divine beasts, their presence alone commanding reverence.

Their elaborate adornments only heightened their splendor.

Marcus's horns and massive neck were decorated with intricately crafted gold ornaments.

Each claw was covered with delicate guards, and his body was draped in gold chains inscribed with protective enchantments that shimmered in the breeze.

Miaomiao, too, was splendidly adorned.

Though she wasn't covered head-to-tail in jewels like Marcus, a platinum collar around her neck drew all eyes.

Embedded within it were massive rubies and sapphires—gems as large as a human face.

It had been a gift from Michael, personally chosen and presented.

The other beasts looked on with barely concealed envy.

Beasts had always been fond of shiny things, but the sheer luxury of Marcus and Miaomiao's accessories made their own trinkets feel pitiful in comparison.

A few of the winged beasts fluttered their wings and whispered to one another:

[I… I need to renegotiate my salary.]

[Right? There's no way I can afford accessories like that on my current pay.]

Had their masters heard them, they might have coughed up blood on the spot.

Thanks to Marcus and Miaomiao, magical beasts now received actual salaries.

Even more absurdly, those salaries were being invested through a bank owned by the Zirak Merchant Guild.

Because of this, Michael's wealth was growing by the day.