The Billionaire CEO Becomes the Youngest Emperor

It didn't take long for the delegation from the 10th Empire to reach the imperial palace, as it was located in the same district as the entrance gate to the 13th Empire.

"Sir, please follow Lady Josephine. She will escort you to the reception hall," announced a guard posted before the grand palace gates, gesturing toward a young woman clad in armor.

The woman, upright and imposing, was none other than Josephine, vice-captain of the royal guard.

"Welcome, emissary of the 10th Empire. I am Josephine. Please, follow me."

The subjects of the 13th Empire displayed an almost excessive politeness toward the representatives of the 10th.

The mere involvement of the druid administrators was enough to make even the boldest bow their heads.

For unlike the sword-gods, a druid's destruction of an empire was not only bloody—it was also perfectly legal in the eyes of the world. Needless to say, it was best to make a good impression.

The 10th Empire's delegation, in contrast, eyed the 13th with open disdain.

"Even insects can show manners—who would've thought?"

"So these are the infamous last ones of the continent?"

"One glance is enough to see how pitiful this empire is."

"If it can still be called an empire..."

"Well, they are famous for one thing: the empire ruled by a child, haha."

"Soon, these fools will be under our heel."

Their murmurs were far from discreet. They spoke loudly enough to be heard across the entire hall. And yet, no one from the 13th Empire reacted.

Not out of discipline—but because they simply didn't have the means to respond. Every word struck with painful accuracy.

Everyone present felt as though they'd already been sold off. Rumors of Boris's delegation had already spread.

To cede land—even in exchange for gold—was as good as declaring submission to the 10th Empire.

The delegation counted 115 members. A sizeable group, but not alarming—the reception hall could host more than 300, a testament to the vastness of the imperial palace.

For centuries, the 13th Empire had endured. Dozens of others had fallen, but it remained. And even if it now stood as the last, that did nothing to erase its former glory.

That said, such grandeur did little to impress the 10th Empire—their own palace was easily twice the size of this one.

They all followed Josephine, moving through the palace's long corridors beneath the anxious gazes of staff and nobles alike.

At the very rear of the delegation walked sturdy men clad in gleaming armor, swords at their sides—undoubtedly elite knights of the 10th Empire. There were around fifteen of them, and eight stood out in particular. Split into two groups, they carried two massive chests, built of solid wood reinforced with steel plates, each engraved with intricate magical runes.

These chests were nothing less than imperial transport vaults—they held the promised payment in exchange for the parcel of land.

As they entered the grand reception hall, magnificently adorned for the occasion, a massive table stood at its center, surrounded by hundreds of chairs. And seated in the place of honor—usually reserved for the emperor—was a woman with jet-black hair: Octavia Moon.

Furious, yet composed, Octavia was a woman of formidable charisma. A genius artist, she had conquered the empire's cultural world through sheer talent before establishing herself as an indispensable political figure.

With poise, she rose to welcome the delegation.

"Welcome. Please, take a seat. Make yourselves at home."

But Boris Zand, the emissary from the 10th Empire, didn't even bother to smile. His face was frozen, cold as a slab of ice.

"Thank you for receiving us, but we have no time to waste. I'd prefer we get straight to the point."

Josephine clenched her jaw, clearly frustrated by such blatant disrespect.

Such a tone, such arrogance... Yet coming from Boris, it was hardly surprising. He was known for his brutal frankness—especially when he knew that "the fascinating boy," Lucian, wasn't present.

Octavia said nothing, her eyes narrowing slightly as Boris gave a signal. At once, the knights carrying the chests stepped forward, setting them down a few paces from her.

Two mages, robed in long white garments marked with the number 7—indicating their rank as seventh-level mages—stepped forth in turn.

They murmured an incantation, and the runes engraved on the chests glowed with a golden light before unlocking with a metallic click.

Everyone knew what the chests contained.

But only Octavia and Boris knew the precise sum: two trillion Velts.

Even Octavia, prepared as she was, could not stop a flicker of unease from crossing her gaze. Such a sum… was enough to purchase an entire kingdom.

Boris offered a slight bow.

"Here is the promised payment. We thank you for your hospitality, but we'd like to proceed to the ceded territory as soon as possible."

He turned slightly, ready to leave.

But Octavia's voice rang out, clear and unwavering:

"Wait."

A faint smile played on her lips. They dare to look down on us—on our own soil…

She had found the task Lucian assigned her to be tedious. But in that moment, she finally grasped its true purpose.

"Dear emissaries, allow me to offer my apologies. But isn't our cooperation meant to be founded on caution… rather than blind trust?"

Intrigued, Boris stopped and turned his head.

"What are you implying?"

Octavia's smile deepened—professional, composed, and razor-sharp, not unlike Lucian's own.

"Before you go any further… I simply need to ensure the amount is accurate, wouldn't you agree?"

---

Meanwhile, in the imperial laboratory…

Bathed in the soft blue glow of a magical circle—his inventory—Azrael stared at the floating screen with a perplexed expression.

The ingredients required to concoct what Lucian had asked for were… intriguing.

"None of these components, apart from the last one, are used for anything… at least, not to my knowledge."

Flamecrest blood, an Ondazur pearl, a shard of Solrun, ashes of Eclipsombre, an Aurolys petal, a fragment of memory crystal…

"I have all of these. They seemed rare, so I collected them… but until now, they've never had any real use."

He frowned.

"No way… The Thirteenth knows how to use them??"

Azrael fell silent for a moment. Then, slowly, his confused expression began to shift. He murmured:

"I don't know… Haha… I don't understand... and that… and that…"

His irritation melted into a wide grin—nearly euphoric.

"…is thrilling."

Without hesitation, he summoned the ingredients one by one from his inventory, ready to begin a new creation.

---

At the far end of the room:

"For god's sake, there are three of us and we can't even manage a single lightbulb!" Julie shouted in frustration.

"You two are the dead weight, you damn morons!" Ruben growled back, equally annoyed.

"… "

Marc, on the other hand, was too out of breath to speak, as if he'd just run a marathon.

The three of them were drenched in sweat, utterly exhausted. But Ruben and Julie still had enough energy left to bicker.

Azrael placed a hand on his forehead and sighed.

"There's still a lot of work to do…"

---

In an uninhabited region of the Thirteenth Empire…

"So this is the strength you thought you could challenge the Leviathan with? Pathetic."

A voice echoed across the entire region.

Powerful. Dark. Absolute.

It swept away the storm and silenced the thunder, as if the sky itself bowed before it.

It was the voice of Sélène.

Regal and wordless, she sat with frozen poise atop a rock overlooking the chaos. Her gaze was locked in the distance, on a lone figure clinging desperately to the jagged mountainside.

Adeline.

She was unrecognizable. Her once-pristine hair hung in wild, tangled strands. Her clothes were in tatters, caked in mud and sweat. Thick black magical chains coiled around her arms, legs, and torso—a monstrous burden soaked in enchantments.

With every meter she climbed, their weight increased.

At that moment, she was carrying 800 kilograms.

And as if that weren't enough, a relentless rain of stones pelted down from above. Each rock, infused with Sélène's murderous aura, sought to break her.

One boulder cut through the air—massive and fast.

Adeline dodged just in time, leaping to the side. Her foot slipped. She nearly fell, but managed to grab a hold at the last second. Her fingernails bled. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps.

She dared a glance at the void below.

2,500 meters.

Only 500 left. But her aura—her life force—was nearly gone.

A tremor ran through her arms.

"...Am I going to die like this?" she thought, hanging by a single hand.

A silent tear rolled down her dirt-streaked cheek.

"After all of it… after every effort, every second of pain… Is this really how it ends?"

Two days. Two days of hell. She had expected harsh training. But this… this was inhuman. And yet, she had grown. Fast. Incredibly fast.

She had reached the peak of Level 6.

But now, on the edge of the abyss, every fiber of her being screamed surrender.

And yet…

She clenched her teeth.

Her gaze sharpened.

She dug her fingers into the stone.

"I… can… do this."

She started climbing again, inch by inch.

Then suddenly—

CRACK.

A boulder larger than the rest, surging with raw aura, hurtled straight toward her forehead.

BAM.

The impact was brutal.

Her eyes rolled back. Her body convulsed.

Her fingers let go.

She fell.

A silent scream, swallowed by the wind.

From her perch, Selene rose slowly, expressionless.

Her cold eyes followed the fall.

"…I suppose that's it."

But just before the void could consume her—

Something happened.

---

To be continued...