Chapter 80
Corbin stared in disbelief at the handsome young man brought before him.
For someone accused of treason, his complexion was far too good. No, not just good—he was beaming.
A face full of smiles—was this an interrogation chamber or a banquet hall?
And that smile only brightened further the moment he saw Corbin’s face. Strange.
What kind of person greets the man about to interrogate him like an old friend?
Honestly, the whole thing felt off from the start. Corbin had sensed it from the moment he laid eyes on him.
The documents submitted by the man’s brother were clearly forged.
So naturally, Corbin assumed the man was innocent—merely a victim of slander.
But the agents reported that he had openly admitted to plotting treason?
Sure, Corbin himself was planning a coup too, but still… That was that, and this was this.
“You’ve done well. Go take a rest.”
“Yes, sir.”
Just an ordinary man from a merchant family. No weapons were found on him during the search.
He posed no threat. Even if he were secretly a formidable warrior, Corbin wasn’t someone who’d lose to that.
He hadn’t told his subordinates to leave out of courtesy—he simply had absolute confidence.
As they left with respectful bows, the heavy steel door slammed shut behind them.
Soon, all signs of their presence faded, and Corbin and the young man were alone.
Corbin looked down at the bound youth and began to speak. Or tried to.
But the young man’s movement was as fluid and quick as an eel swimming through water.
His hands moved gracefully, effortlessly.
The next moment, he stood tall before Corbin, completely free.
It was so quick and seamless that not even Corbin—one of the strongest in Silbrenoa—could have stopped it.
It was a movement beyond human capability—clearly magic. And high-level magic at that.
“You. It’s been a while.”
Under normal circumstances, the first priority in such a situation would be to retreat and reassess.
It was a rule Corbin himself had drilled into all his agents.
So of course, he was aware of what he should do.
But Corbin didn’t move. The tone, the expression, the magic…
He’d seen them far too many times before. And his finely honed danger sense wasn’t reacting at all.
“…No way. You old bastard…”
He stood frozen for a long while, staring at the young man’s face before he could finally speak.
The young man rubbed his nonexistent beard with a satisfied grin.
“Hahaha. So you recognized me. How did you know?”
The young man, of course, was none other than the Grand Magician Sylvius.
“You damn old geezer. Anyone who didn’t recognize you after all that would have to be a moron. You weren’t even trying to hide it.”
Corbin was speechless. Sure, someone could imitate a voice—but not magic.
Who else but Sylvius could dematerialize his body in the blink of an eye?
Only that crazy old man who had reached the pinnacle of magical mastery through relentless study.
Nothing was ever truly off-limits for this madman, but resurrection? That was unexpected.
Corbin wasn’t someone easily surprised—but this left even him stunned.
Not that he let it show on his face, of course.
“As always, you speak far too harshly to your elders, boy.”
Despite the words, Sylvius’s expression remained bright and carefree.
“Look, gramps, judging by your current face, you look younger than me. Did you find some miracle elixir? Let me in on it. My knees are falling apart these days.”
Corbin smirked, groaning as he patted his knees.
He was unusually giddy—his old friend was back.
“Well, I am in my twenties now. Look here, rat. If your eyes haven’t gone completely blind, you must’ve noticed someone even younger hanging around nearby. If not, I’ll be disappointed.”
“Haha. Same old nonsense. Of course I noticed. I figured out his return ages ago. But how did you know already? You just got to the palace.”
At that, Sylvius flashed a knowing smile.
“Do I need to come to the palace to know? I felt that meathead’s soul the moment he reappeared in this world. I thought to myself, ‘Ah, hell. We’re in for trouble again.’”
That finally made even the seasoned Spymaster look surprised.
“No, seriously—how did you know? I only confirmed it recently myself.”
“There are ways, my friend. You don’t think I look this young just from eating well, do you? I sensed the return of that brain-muscle hybrid’s soul.”
Corbin clicked his tongue in disbelief.
“Still, you’re playing with souls now? That’s seriously messed up…”
Corbin had suspected something when he saw Sylvius’s youthful appearance, but now he was sure—it must’ve been the result of his final years of research.
Still, it was an astounding achievement. A dead man brought back to life?
If word ever got out, it would be absolute chaos. Corbin’s head already ached thinking about it.
“The soul, huh? You crazy old bastard, you went and messed with something no one should touch. I figured you were holed up in that lab doing weird shit.”
“Hahaha! Why not? Just because we’re human, does that mean we can’t tamper with souls? What’s this? Have you turned into some kind of priest while I was away?”
Corbin made a spitting motion.
“Priest, my ass. I’ve told you plenty of times—if I ever meet one of those so-called gods, I’ll spit in their face. Anyway… it’s good to see you. Things are dire enough that I might even need help from a lunatic like you.”
And indeed, Corbin was quite pleased.
Meeting an old friend again was one thing—but more importantly, he now had a powerful new piece on the board.
Solinor, who was currently posing as Princess Muriela. The plan to put him back on the throne.
With the help of Sylvius—the strongest magician in the world—they could push the timeline forward.
Though they still lacked a full military force, Sylvius’s next words truly caught him off guard.
“Haha, of course I’ll lend you a hand. But not just one—I’ve already met with someone before I got here. Guess who?”
Sylvius winked as if to say, “You know, right?”
Corbin’s eyes narrowed. No way… he quickly ran through a list of likely candidates in his head.
And only one pair came to mind: Aryen and Hadwin. Who else could it be?
“You’re really planning a rebellion, huh? Damn it. So, what did our bald friend say?”
“Oh, you already guessed. That’s why you’re the shadow.”
But it wasn’t surprising for Corbin.
There was no way this grumpy old man had suddenly changed and become sociable.
And the coachman had confirmed that Sylvius had taken a trip outside the capital—where else would he go?
The intelligence team was currently interrogating the driver to confirm the location, but Corbin already knew the answer.
“Well, I don’t know exactly what you talked about, since we don’t have agents out there—but if I had to guess, it was about the brat’s chair. Am I wrong, old man?”
His agents were widespread within Solineum, but not so much in the outer regions.
The country was too young, and governance outside the capital was still unstable.
Thankfully, Corbin’s faction at least had a firm grip over Solineum itself.
“Exactly. Looks like the brat’s feeling the burden of the chair. So it’s time to return it to the rightful owner, wouldn’t you say? That’s why I asked Baldy for help. When the time comes, he’ll show up dragging an iron ball behind him.”
“Tch… I’ve been thinking the same thing, but wasn’t ready to say it yet. You’re still as impatient as ever, old man.”
“Impatient? Compared to that idiot, I’m the picture of patience! Hahaha!”
“Fair enough. Hahahaha!”
If there was one thing that could instantly unite the two, it was talking behind someone else’s back.
—
—
Achoo!
Princess Muriela let out a cute sneeze as she yawned and woke up from her nap.
“Mm… that was a good sleep.”
Stretching her neck with her eyes still closed, she checked the time.
“What? Still plenty of time left? I thought I’d slept way longer. What should I do with the rest of the day?”
It was Sunday, so there was no official schedule—and she was well-rested.
Just as Corbin and Sylvius had agreed: Solinor was the most impatient of the three.
If she were still asleep, maybe she’d stay in bed—but now that she was up, idling wasn’t an option.
“Alright! Time to practice swordsmanship! Sir Hamilton!”
Muriela threw open the door and began sprinting toward the servants’ quarters.
—
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