Awakening in The World of Gods

The king sat alone, the weight of Poll's words still pressing against his mind. The ace card rested on the table, a silent provocation. "They may worship God, but they aren't gods themselves," Poll had said, his voice soft yet unyielding. The phrase gnawed at the edges of the king's thoughts, each repetition unraveling truths he'd long chosen to ignore.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest as his eyes lingered on the card. What are you after, boy? The question carried equal parts irritation and fascination. Poll's audacity was undeniable, but beneath the brazenness lay a sharp, calculating mind—a weapon more dangerous than any sword. The residual hum of Poll's mana still hung in the air, faint but undeniable. It wasn't oppressive, but it clung to the space like the memory of a storm, leaving the king acutely aware of Poll's potential.

A wry smile tugged at the corners of the king's mouth. "You're not just clever," he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. "You're dangerous." And yet, for all his wariness, the king couldn't help but feel a spark of grudging admiration. Perhaps, he thought, this boy is the kind of danger I need.

Meanwhile, Poll strolled down the grand hallway, his steps light and deliberate. He carried himself with an air of casual triumph, savoring the tension he'd left behind. Behind him, the king was likely dissecting every word, every nuance, and Poll couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Let him overthink, he mused, his grin widening. The longer he questions my motives, the deeper I'll sink my hooks.

As he rounded a corner, his eyes landed on Liana, the maid from earlier. She stood by a silver tray, carefully adjusting its contents. Poll's smile turned mischievous, and he approached her with the easy grace of someone who always knew the next move in the game.

"Miss Liana?" he called, his tone as polite as it was disarming.

She turned to him, her posture straightening. "Yes, young master?" Her voice was calm, but the faintest flicker of nervousness betrayed her. Poll noticed, of course—he noticed everything.

"Would you be so kind as to bring two glasses of milk to the chamber I just left?" he asked, his expression perfectly innocent. "I think His Majesty could use another round. Negotiating with me must be thirsty work."

Liana blinked, caught off guard by the peculiar request. "Of course, young master," she replied smoothly, though her brows knit together in faint curiosity. "I'll see to it right away."

"Thank you," Poll said warmly, flashing her a grin that was both charming and unreadable. As she moved to prepare his request, Poll continued on his way, hands tucked casually into his pockets. He couldn't suppress the sly smirk creeping across his face. Let's see how composed His Majesty really is, he thought, the flicker of challenge in his eyes brighter than ever.

Back in the chamber, the king was still staring at the ace card when Liana entered, carrying the tray with quiet precision. She placed the glasses of milk on the table, her hands steady despite the lingering tension in the room. The king's gaze flicked to her briefly, then back to the card.

"From the young master, Your Majesty," she said softly, her tone respectful yet edged with something close to curiosity.

The king exhaled slowly, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. He picked up the glass, turning it slowly in his hand. "Of course," he murmured, more to himself than to Liana. "The boy's already playing his next move."

As he sipped the milk, the faintest smile tugged at his lips. Let's see how far you can push me, Poll. You've sparked my interest, but the fire you've lit might burn brighter than you anticipate.