Ivor cupped his mouth with his hands, beyond surprised by the sheer chaos that had taken place during his unconsciousness. It was only to be expected, he guessed. tThe shop had not been gentle, and to be fair, was it even possible to do what he asked for, such an immense, fundamental change to his body, in a gentle manner?

First his brothers were imprisoned, naturally being suspected for his state, and the saint and all the higher priests were called for his treatment. Seemingly unrelatedly, right when they had been called to the palace, two cathedrals were massacred and a few of the poorer districts were burnt down, which must have definitely placed some tension in between the church of the Inheritor of Light and the king.

Especially with the current situation, there was no way either the saint nor the king approached the matter peacefully and in a level headed manner.

And the king didn’t. He’d conducted a thorough cleanse of the capital. No criminal with a crime beyond petty theft was alive. Even nobles themselves were afraid to step out, hiding themselves away within their estates.

Apparently the royal mages and healers were in a state of chaos, too. One of Violet’s friends, a royal mage, had told her that Winston, the head healer, was going mad. Rampaging around, firing maids and other workers left and right.

Ivor’s mind worked fast as he speculated why. He had a few ideas. If they thought he’d been tortured, which is what they had, according to Violet… If they thought he’d been tortured with such precision, his mana circuits removed and replaced, naturally they would suspect that someone skilled had done it.

And someone familiar with his mana circuits, since he hadn’t outright died.

“Oh gods,” Ivor gasped. His father was suspecting the healers.

His mind ran through thoughts and possibilities even faster, as a plan formed in his mind swiftly.

If this situation could be used well….

A small smile bloomed on Ivor’s face—a vicious one.

“V, could you call Winston to my room?” he asked, to which Violet nodded, despite seeming confused.

—

The sheer power was addicting. Ivor felt a wide grin break over his face, his eyes wide as he stared at his hands. Mana was circulating through his body like never before. If what had circulated through his body before was a river, now, with his reforged mana circuits, the amount of mana circulating was a sea. And all the circuits, he felt so intimately familiar with them, even more than his old ones which he’d used for all his life—

He waved his right hand, and light burst out of it, and then he waved his left. Darkness wafted out, eating at the light, and oh gods, everything was worth it. His pain, the sacrifices—

Ivor had succeeded.

The shop had kept its end of the contract.

—

Winston stepped into the third prince’s room, biting his lip pretty hard. He wondered what this was about. Was the prince panicking about not being able to circulate mana? Indeed, he wouldn’t be able to get used to the circuits right away, not to mention that Winston didn’t even know whether mana could be circulated in the prince’s circuits at all. They were shaped and connected oddly, joined in ways Winston had never seen before.

The third prince, Ivor, was lying on the bed peacefully, bedsheet still wrapped over his legs until his waist. He was looking out of the windows, the curtains barely drawn, and looked incredibly wistful.

“Prince, you summoned me?” Winston asked, his voice hesitant.

The third prince turned to him, a small smile on his face. “Indeed I did, Winston. Come, sit.” He gestured to the chair next to his bed, and Winston was caught off guard.

The prince didn’t look sad, desperate, or even melancholic. He looked… satisfied. Happy. Joyous.

Winston blinked blankly before doing as the prince said, walking to the chair and sitting on it gently, looking at the prince with thinly veiled concern and sympathy. “Are you… okay, prince?” he couldn’t help but ask, to which the prince chuckled.

“Oh, Winston. I’m not just okay, I’m better than ever.” The prince’s eyes seemed to gain a manic glint as he leaned forward, his voice barely a whisper, “Do you hate my father?”

It took Winston a second to even process what the prince had just said. Then, he began stuttering incoherently. “M-me, h-hate the king? Never, no! I-I don’t dare—”

The prince chuckled at his actions, before saying, “Relax, Winston. Relax. I’m just asking that since I’m a wellwisher of yours. I’ve known you since I was a kid. I understand how you might feel. You’ve worked loyally for the king for so many years, for almost a decade, and the king accused you and your healers of harming me.”

Winston blinked confusedly. How did the third prince know…?

“I guessed,” the prince answered his unasked question. “This is why I’d always wanted to become the king. My first and second brothers are like my father. Paranoid. Anger prone. Maniacs, even.”

“P-Prince, you must not speak such things—”

“Tell me, Winston. Are you truly not the slightest bit angry? Frustrated? Pained that my father didn’t trust you? Do you not seek recognition? Trust? Approval?”

The prince’s words made Winston descend into silence. Indeed… Was he not frustrated? Angry? Hurt? He was indeed. However, fear was the primary emotion running through his heart currently…

He did not dare to feel any of the rest. Not right now, when his life was at stake.

“I do not dare, dear prince,” Winston answered, a sad smile taking over his face. “I… do not dare be frustrated. Not with…” He trailed off, but the prince seemed to understand, for he nodded, oh-so kindly…

Winston felt himself tear up lightly. Indeed, amidst the royal family, the kindest and most understanding was none other than the third prince. He had always been appreciative of Winston’s efforts and respected those efforts.

“Then, Winston, if I told you I could overthrow my father, what would you say?”

Winston felt himself freeze, looking at the third prince with confusion. All of a sudden, the kind, familiar boy felt beyond unfamiliar.

“What do you mean, dear prince?” Winston asked, his tone laced with caution.

“Exactly what I said, Winston.” The prince smiled, a small, soft smile. He raised both his hands, and Winston watched with blankness as light mana appeared in his left hand and dark attributed mana appeared in his right.

“Y-you’re a dual attribute mage…?” Winston questioned, his tone foreign to himself.

Dual attribute mages didn’t exist. What—What in the Inheritor’s name…?

The prince’s smile grew even larger, just as soft and kind. “I’m also a level seven mage, Winston.”

Winston simply stared at the prince, as if he could ascertain whether the prince’s words were true or not by doing so. The prince stared back, not shying away from his gaze at all.

“You’re not joking,” Winston stated, to which the prince nodded. “How?”

The prince tilted his head. “Some other day, Winston. Some other day. I’ll tell you the whole story. For now, you tell me this. If I were to become the king, may it be by convincing my father… or killing him, can you get the royal mages and healers on my side?”

Winston gulped. Could he? Yes, he could. He wielded a certain amount of authority with even the royal mages, let alone the healers. They would undoubtedly listen to whatever he said.

“I-I could, prince.”

“Alright.” The prince nodded. “You will not have to call me prince for much longer.”

—

Calculations ran through Ivor’s mind as he thought through all the various factors and things. Honestly, he didn’t need to. He could slaughter the royals, sit on the throne, and show his mana, and all the nobles would bend down and lick his boots. Not only because he was a level seven mage, but because he was now a dual attribute mana user.

But he might as well make the process smoother for himself. The king had made friction for himself with the church of the Inheritor of Light. They would not speak up against the slaughter that was going to happen.

Winston was on his side.

As for the royal knights? They were loyal to all of the royal family. Since he would be the only remaining royal member, all they could do is either serve him or resign. They’d have no reason to not serve him. He had a good reputation.

Kind, understanding, loving, a king who prioritized his people. Unlike his father, who was a bloodthirsty tyrant. Hell, they might rejoice over him killing his father.

Despite all this, however, Ivor took in a deep breath as he stood in front of the doors. The grand doors that would lead him into the throne room as soon as he opened it. Perhaps he could wait for a bit longer. He did not have to start this right now. Not at this very moment…

He could wait.

But his hands pushed the doors open anyway, even with his mind reluctant. And in he entered, entered to see his father sitting on the throne.

The man smiled as soon as he saw Ivor, and boomed, “Ivor, it is nice to see you up and walking.”

Ivor bowed, a polite ninety degree one, before saying, “It is very pleasant to be up and walking, father.”

His father chuckled, a hearty chuckle, and said, “So, what brings you here, right at lunchtime?”

Smiling, Ivor said, “Father, can we have a family lunchtime? All of my mothers, my siblings, and you, of course.”