In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

His posture was excessively relaxed—one arm draped over the armrest, his body tilted, even yawning openly.

Seated beside him, King Romano II of the Kingdom of Telma fidgeted nervously, having been unceremoniously displaced from the head position.

Romano II shot glances toward Sigmund.

The emperor's velvet cloak shimmered with gold embroidery, and the imperial crown atop his head was a clear symbol of the empire's overwhelming might.

Yet Sigmund displayed not a shred of tension or dignity.

He lazily tapped the table with dead-fish eyes, as if entirely bored with the proceedings.

'What the hell is this lunatic doing, arriving first only to set the mood like this?'

Today, the Continental Summit to bring down the Glorious Holy Empire would begin.

This summit was entirely different in nature from the previous mirror meetings.

Unlike those remote, magically connected gatherings, this was a face-to-face council.

It had been so long since such a continental summit was held, no one could remember the last.

And that alone made this meeting all the more significant.

King Romano II let out a deep sigh.

He fidgeted with his hands, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the other monarchs.

In his current mood, even the cunning and self-interested King of Astoria would've been a welcome sight.

His eyes drifted to the main seat that had been prepared for him—now occupied.

He stared at it with gloomy eyes.

Emperor Sigmund of the Celeste Empire, completely unaware (or uncaring) of the silent protest in Romano's gaze, raised an eyebrow lazily.

"Why the long look? Do you have a problem with something?"

His voice was deep and languid, utterly lacking concern.

He seemed blissfully unaware that he had usurped Romano's rightful seat through sheer presence and intimidation.

Romano II quickly shook his head.

"Ah, no, not at all. It's just…"

'That's supposed to be my seat…'

The words rose to his throat but were swallowed before they could escape.

There was nothing to be done. He simply had to accept it.

Sigmund's indifferent arrogance not only belittled the gravity of the summit but exerted a quiet, oppressive dominance over the room.

Romano sighed inwardly.

'I miss the other kings…'

If only they had arrived earlier, perhaps the heavy, stifling air in the chamber would've lifted somewhat.

At that moment, footsteps echoed beyond the hall.

"His Majesty Henry III of Elonia enters!"

The chamberlain's booming voice filled the hall.

Romano's head snapped up instinctively.

The velvet-trimmed doors of the council room began to part, and solemn music rang through the space.

The orchestra, previously hidden, struck up Elonia's national anthem.

The stillness was broken.

King Henry III of Elonia entered.

His face was aged, but his frame remained solid. He wore a formal knight's uniform with a red cape draped over his shoulders.

With his arrival, the stagnation in the room began to shift.

"Ah, welcome! So good to see you!"

Romano's voice rang out brightly—overly brightly.

He rushed forward with both arms wide open, smiling like he was greeting a lifelong friend.

King Henry III was clearly caught off guard.

'Why is this old man acting so excited to see me? Trying to ask for a loan?'

His eyes briefly flicked to the main seat—where Sigmund lounged, still oozing boredom.

Sigmund's violet eyes wandered lazily around the room, uninterested in the ceremony unfolding.

Suddenly, Henry understood Romano's exaggerated reaction.

'Ah… so that's why he's clinging.'

Without a word, he quickly made his way to his designated seat and sat down quietly, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Soon, monarchs from across the continent began arriving, one after another.

The last to enter was Emperor Oswald of the Pamir Empire.

His appearance was noticeably gaunt compared to before.

Though his ceremonial robes were adorned with jewels and finery, his face told another story—one of fatigue and strain.

His gait was sluggish, dark circles weighed heavily under his eyes, and his mouth drooped with weariness.

Watching him, Michael allowed himself a silent chuckle.

'He must be under serious stress from Grand Duke Iasus's rebellion. Good. Let him crumble into fifty petty kingdoms for all I care.'

He kept a composed expression as his gaze shifted.

Queen Mother Guinevere of the Kingdom of Pasha looked just as worn.

Gone was her former arrogance and grandeur—her eyes now swam with anxiety and exhaustion.

She glanced about the room nervously, as though afraid someone might jump out at her.

Meanwhile, her son, Prince Alphonse, sat beside her, smiling innocently while crunching on candy.

Guinevere gently wiped the sugar from his mouth with a handkerchief, pulling him close to her.

Deep dark shadows stretched beneath her eyes—evidence of many sleepless nights.

She hadn't rested properly, gripped by the constant fear that an assassin might appear to claim her head.

Then, her wandering eyes finally settled on one person.

'Maximilian…'

She clenched her teeth in secret fury.

The man who had declared independence through rebellion now sat brazenly at the table as if he belonged there.

If looks could kill, Grand Duke Maximilian would've died a dozen times over.

With a relaxed smile, Maximilian sipped from his wine glass and turned to her.

"Is there something on my face? You've been staring so intensely."

He no longer bothered with formal speech.

After all, his independence was already declared.

Queen Mother Guinevere tried to cool her boiling rage by gulping down ice water.

But lacking both financial and military power, she couldn't muster a single word in protest.

Her venomous gaze then shifted toward Michael, the man who had emptied her national treasury without remorse.

Michael met her eyes calmly, his expression unwavering.

Overwhelmed, Guinevere quickly looked away.

Sigmund, watching this exchange, found it quite entertaining.

'So that's the boy they call the war hero and divine archer? Impossible to believe someone so young could be both… Makes me want to test him myself.'

Michael sat at the center of the grand conference table.

Seated beside him was the strikingly beautiful Princess Astrid, and together, they radiated such presence that it seemed as if light itself emanated from them.