Chapter 281: Is There Truly a Seventy-Year-Old Prince in This World?

Lu Yan’s voice was calm, yet it crashed into Charles and the silver-haired woman like a boulder thrown into still water, stirring up stormy waves in their hearts.

He idly twirled the Royal Scepter in his hand—the symbol of supreme power in the Victoria Kingdom. Beneath the dying sun, the jewel atop the scepter gleamed with a chilling light, reflecting a future of turmoil for the royal family.

The silver-haired woman’s body tensed for just a moment—barely noticeable—but she quickly suppressed it, restoring her cold and humble composure. Only her slightly clenched fists betrayed her inner unrest.

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, casting a sidelong glance at Charles beside her.

Prince Charles looked beyond pale; it was as if he had just heard the most absurd, most terrifying suggestion imaginable.

His lips moved instinctively to protest, but under Lu Yan’s half-smiling gaze, all words died in his throat.

Cold sweat burst from his forehead, trailing down his handsome, bloodless face. Fear, like a venomous serpent, coiled around his heart, making it difficult even to breathe.

If the Royal Scepter were merely a ceremonial ornament, then Lu Yan’s talk of a “script” to dethrone the king would be laughable.

The royal family could always commission another scepter if they wished.

But the problem was—this scepter wasn’t ordinary.

It was the cornerstone of the Royal Path—a zero-level sealed artifact, representing the very essence of the Victoria Kingdom’s rule.

The reason the royal family had been able to maintain its grip on one of the Seven Kingdoms was precisely because they controlled the Royal Path, one powerful enough to rival even the Seven Great Divine Paths. For centuries, it had upheld their dominion.

And it wasn’t just the royal family. Their closest allies—those ancient noble houses—relied on the Royal Path as well.

To advance to Sequence Three, one had to use the Royal Scepter as a medium. These top-tier nobles clung to the royal family precisely to ensure that each generation could produce at least one Sequence Three god-on-earth to preserve their family’s standing.

This tightly bound network of shared interest was the true backbone of the royal dynasty.

But now, with the Royal Scepter lost, it meant the royal family had lost control over the Royal Path.

If they couldn’t retrieve it quickly, the great nobles would waver.

The other six royal houses of the Seven Kingdoms—also holders of the Royal Path—were natural rivals. None of them would let this opportunity slip away.

The Royal Scepter was the foundation of the Victoria royal family. They could not afford to lose it.

Charles and the silver-haired woman had received only one directive: retrieve the Royal Scepter at any cost.

But now, things had spiraled beyond their control.

If the scepter had fallen into the hands of anyone else, they could have used their trump cards to snatch it back.

But Lu Yan had just killed Prince Rhine, who had wielded the scepter.

Rhine wasn’t just anyone—he was a Sequence Three god-on-earth, empowered by a fragment of a zero-level sealed item. Even an earthbound angel would struggle against such power.

Yet Lu Yan had slain him effortlessly.

Against such overwhelming might, even the full strength of the royal family might not be enough.

And if they failed a second time, they would risk turning Lu Yan into a permanent enemy—and lose the scepter forever.

Complex thoughts flashed through the silver-haired woman’s mind as she weighed their dwindling options.

On the ruined battlefield, only the wind howling through shattered stone remained—and Charles’s ragged, panicked breathing.

At last, the woman made her choice.

She took a deep breath, bowed again, and though her voice remained steady, there was a dryness and a trace of bitter resolve in it.

“Your Grace’s proposal… is not without merit.”

“The royal family does, indeed, need a more capable leader—someone who can guide Victoria out of its current chaos.”

She hadn’t directly acknowledged Lu Yan’s “script,” but her implication was unmistakable.

That hint of acquiescence was like a spark dropped into a powder keg—Charles’s pent-up fury and humiliation erupted.

Even the crushing aura Lu Yan had pressed upon him seemed to loosen for a heartbeat as he exploded.

“You’ve gone mad!

You—you actually consent to letting an outsider trample over our dignity like this? Let him decide who sits on the throne?

What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

He practically screamed the words, his handsome face flushed with rage, his chest heaving.

Had Lu Yan not restrained him, he might’ve lunged forward on the spot.

But the silver-haired woman turned to him slowly, her icy gaze like a blade drawn across glass.

“My dear brother,” she began—calm, precise, and unrelenting. Even her use of “dear” was soaked in irony.

“Tell me—standing in this wasteland, before a man who easily crushed the Royal Scepter and annihilated our uncle Rhine—what solution do you propose?

Will you use your Sequence Four strength to challenge someone who’s nearly breached the realm of hidden deities?

Or will you invoke the ‘dignity’ of the royal family to convince him to give back his spoils?”

Her words were soft, but each syllable was a blade—cutting off every path of rebuttal.

She leaned closer, her eyes sharper than ever.

“The royal family’s foundation? Brother, have you forgotten?

Our foundation was never any single king—it is the Royal Path itself!

It is the transcendent road this scepter represents!

You, a practitioner of the path, should understand this better than me!”

She paused, letting her words sink in, then continued, her tone turning cold and resolute.

“And besides… isn’t all this Father’s doing?

It was he who handed the scepter to Prince Rhine. He who allowed this doomed ambush. He who lost our kingdom’s greatest treasure.

If there’s a price to pay—shouldn’t he be the one to bear it?

If we must sacrifice something to retrieve the Royal Scepter and appease His Grace’s wrath—then so be it.”

Charles’s face cycled from red to pale to ashen—he looked utterly devastated.

Her words flayed away any illusion of familial warmth, exposing the cold, brutal machinery of royal politics.

He opened his mouth to argue, but every word felt hollow and meaningless.

What dignity? What rage?

In the face of overwhelming power and brutal reality, all those things were laughable luxuries.

Just as Charles sank into a mire of shame and helplessness, the silver-haired woman’s expression softened slightly—like winter frost touched by a faint sun.

“Brother.”

She stepped closer, her voice low and intimate—not that it mattered before Lu Yan—but it gave the moment a private weight.

“You are the most brilliant genius the royal family has seen in a century—the undisputed heir to the throne.

Your talents and potential far surpass our father.”

She paused. A flicker of deep, unreadable light passed through her violet eyes as she locked gazes with him.

“But Father has held the throne for over a hundred years.

Even if he never reaches Sequence Four, the Path grants him another seventy years of life.”

“Seventy years, Brother!”

She exhaled the number like it carried the weight of the world.

“With your talents… can you truly accept spending the next seventy years as nothing more than a prince in name?”

“If you never ascend the throne, you’ll never reach Sequence Two—you’ll never become a Codex Sovereign.

Do you really want to waste away your youth and potential waiting for a chance that may never come?”

Her words were like a master key—slipping into the deepest part of Charles’s soul and unlocking desires he had barely admitted to himself.

In her eyes, he saw a mirror—reflecting back all his ambition and discontent.

The rage on his face didn’t vanish, but the wildness in his eyes dimmed.

That last ember of desperate resistance… quietly flickered out.

He turned his face away, unable to meet her eyes again, his throat bobbing painfully.

And at last, Charles lowered his head.

Lu Yan calmly watched the drama unfold.

He had to admit—the script was even better than he’d imagined.

Originally, his proposal to dethrone the king was meant as mockery, a subtle test of the royal family’s attitude.

But things had progressed far more smoothly than expected.

Not only had the silver-haired woman agreed, she’d even convinced Charles to go along.

But beneath her calm, rational arguments, Lu Yan detected something else—an invisible power subtly stirring Charles’s desires, guiding him to accept the “script.”

On the surface, it looked like Charles was acting out of ambition.

But once one thought it through, the truth became clear.

Would agreeing to Lu Yan’s condition guarantee Charles the throne?

He was the official heir, yes—but the king still held absolute power.

Even if the royal family allowed the king’s abdication to appease Lu Yan, they would never let his “traitorous” son ascend.

No—the king would reject such a successor.

And the royal power brokers wouldn’t allow it either.

Charles’s genius might give him a future chance at the throne, but not now—not after this betrayal.

He was doomed to fail.

So who stood to gain from this?

Lu Yan’s eyes slowly turned toward the silver-haired woman—just in time to meet her gaze.

Those violet eyes shone with complexity—fear, curiosity, even… hope?

She bowed again and spoke softly.

“However, replacing the king is no easy matter. A single misstep could plunge the nation into chaos.

Your Grace, do you have any guidance to offer?”

At that moment, Charles snapped his head up in disbelief.

He had thought completing Lu Yan’s demand would be enough.

But she was now asking for his opinion—about who would sit on the throne?

As if it were a casual matter?

His rage flared again—but died just as quickly.

Because when he looked at the man holding the Royal Scepter… he remembered.

The choice had never been theirs to begin with.

Lu Yan observed them in silence, spinning the scepter in his fingers.

“This is an internal matter of your royal family,” he finally said, his tone flat but absolute—like a decree etched into stone.

“Who is wise, who is foolish—it matters not to me. I have no interest in meddling with your succession.”

He paused, glancing down at the scepter with casual disdain.

“This so-called Royal Path… this so-called shortcut to godhood…

To me, it’s worth very little.”

Those words hit harder than any pressure or threat. Charles and the silver-haired woman both felt their hearts seize.

The transcendent path that defined their family, their destiny—meant nothing to this man.

Lu Yan lifted his gaze to the silver-haired woman.

“My terms remain the same. Once your royal squabble ends, and a new king ascends, I will return the Royal Scepter to the Victoria Kingdom.”

But he wasn’t finished.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“However… before that, I have one small request.”

Charles’s heart clenched again. Elizabeth—the silver-haired woman—lifted her head, keeping a calm posture.

“Your Grace, please speak freely.”

Lu Yan’s gaze locked fully on her, sharp and penetrating.

“I want you,” he said slowly, every word clear and deliberate.

“To serve as President of the Guild.

You will oversee its establishment and growth in Oranke—and eventually, across the entire Victoria Kingdom.”

Elizabeth’s head jerked up. Her violet eyes flashed with disbelief.

She had prepared for many outcomes—even becoming a hostage—but this?

A princess of Victoria, leading a guild meant to represent the labor class—an entity that would clash head-on with the nobility?

But when her gaze met Lu Yan’s, she saw it—within those abyss-like eyes, a glimmer of almost sorrowful mockery.

As if he were watching a child who mistook a pretty rock for treasure.

Then a whisper echoed in her soul.

Schemes and plots are rootless weeds—they scatter with the wind.

Even if your dear brother Charles loses his claim today, does the Victoria bloodline lack other suitable, obedient heirs?

You think you can outplay those old monsters who’ve ruled for centuries, who watched kings rise and fall?

You really believe your little tricks will fool them?

Each word was a dagger—shattering her budding ambition, exposing how fragile it truly was.

Elizabeth’s face turned even paler.

All her plans now seemed laughably naïve.

But then—clarity struck.

This wasn’t just a warning.

It wasn’t rejection.

It was guidance.

Lu Yan wasn’t crushing her ambition—he was pointing her toward a path.

Her “presidency” wasn’t a punishment—it was a chance.

A true chance to escape the cage of her birth.

To bypass succession politics and power struggles.

To walk straight into the heart of power itself.

“A name,” Lu Yan asked, voice still calm.

She took a breath—steadying her soul—and answered, word by word:

“Elizabeth Victoria.”

(End of Chapter)