The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family - Chapter 335

335: The True Threat and the Emperor’s Game 335: The True Threat and the Emperor’s Game At Klaus’s statement-“I will prevent this war from happening”-every eye in the Throne Room, from the Ice Monarch on his colossal seat to the lowest-ranking son, snapped toward him.

The silent question hung heavy in the icy air: How?

Preventing this war meant stopping the unified might of the Ocean Monarch, the Wind Monarch, the Metal Empress, the Flame King, and the Stone Monarch.

It meant defying a geopolitical gravity that had dragged the Rikxia Empire to the brink of annihilation.

Klaus, however, stood his ground with the unshakeable composure of an ancient king, his gaze steady on the transformed figure of Roman Lionhart.

He ignored the contemptuous, shocked expressions of his uncles and focused solely on presenting an analysis that was both strategically sound and utterly terrifying.

“The forces gathered at our borders are not an invasion fleet,” Klaus began, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable weight of authority.

“They are a lure.

They are a means to intimidate us, to force our hand, or perhaps merely a formal declaration of intent.

The scale of the war the Coalition proposes requires immense preparation.” He paused, allowing the gravity of the military logistics to settle over the assembled generals and scions.

“To coordinate five sovereign armies, each with its own supply lines, command structure, and magic-casters, takes months of logistical effort.

They are not ready for a full-scale assault yet.

They are buying time, just as we are.” The murmurs that had begun to rise were instantly silenced by the next words out of his mouth.

“The biggest threat to the Runiya Continent right now is not the beings they fear so much-my cousin and I-nor is it the war the Monarchs are trying to start.

The real threat is the invasion planned by the people from the Arkadia Continent.” The Throne Room went absolutely silent.

The twelve sons exchanged bewildered, frightened glances.

Arkadia?

It was a place spoken of in ancient texts, a mythical land beyond the great western currents, supposedly locked behind unbreachable magical barriers.

Even Yenova’s calculated composure cracked.

“What madness are you speaking of?” she demanded, stepping forward.

The others turned to Roman, seeking confirmation, dismissal, or even simple comprehension.

Roman Lionhart, however, offered only cold, unnerving silence.

His lack of denial was, to Klaus, confirmation enough that the Monarch had either prior intelligence or, at the very least, a strong suspicion.

Klaus kept his focus on Roman, pressing his advantage.

“All the Monarchs, even you, My Lord, are dangerously underestimating the true power of the Arcadian soldiers.” Roman’s inhuman, glowing eyes narrowed slightly.

“You speak with knowledge, Klaus Lionhart.

Where did you acquire this information?” “That is not important,” Klaus countered, dismissing the question with a simple flick of his hand-a gesture that sent a fresh wave of shock through his uncles.

Only the son of Ludovic, the disgraced, useless Lionhart, would dare address the Emperor with such casual defiance.

“To prevent this continental war,” Klaus continued, “all the Monarchs must be shown the real enemy they are facing.

They must understand that to fight us now is to guarantee their own destruction later, at the hands of a foreign power far stronger than the Rikxia Empire.” “Is that your only method for halting the war?” Roman pressed, his cold tone betraying nothing of his thoughts.

The Monarch’s question led Klaus into a deeper layer of strategic deduction.

If Roman already knew the extent of the Arcadian threat-if he possessed the same knowledge that Nicholas Davoss had-this war would never have been declared.

Therefore, the Monarchs must be working with incomplete or, worse, deliberately fabricated information planted by the Arcadians themselves.

“No, My Lord,” Klaus replied.

“That is not the only way.

I believe that not all five of the Monarchs truly desire this war.

It was instigated, most likely, by the aggressive stances of the Flame King and the Stone Monarch.” Klaus briefly recalled his limited, yet insightful, encounters with the other sovereigns.

He saw the political opportunity in their forced alliance.

“The other three Monarchs-Ocean, Wind, and Metal-can be persuaded to leave the Coalition,” Klaus stated firmly, his voice rising with conviction.

“They will break their alliance if they understand that the war against the Rikxia Empire is a war they cannot possibly win.” “Cannot win?” Leopaul abruptly interjected, his voice dripping with malice.

“Are you a fool, boy?

We are outnumbered five to one!” Klaus ignored him, speaking directly to the Emperor, his voice weaving a complex strategic vision.

“The Rikxia Empire possesses the second largest and arguably the second most powerful army on the Runiya Continent, My Lord.

If the two most powerful nations-us, and the nation led by the Beast Emperor-join hands, do you think the other three Monarchs, who likely joined the Coalition out of fear, rather than conviction, would still commit to a fight against a unified front that commands over seventy percent of the continent’s military might?” The proposal was audacious.

It was brilliant.

It transformed a hopeless defensive war into a winning coalition, securing the Rikxia Empire’s position as the dominant power.

The realization of the genius in the plan caused the faces of many of the sons to shift from contempt to a grudging, resentful respect.

Roman’s lips curved into that rare, chilling smile again.

He was clearly pleased with the intellectual quality of Klaus’s strategy.

“You have analyzed the political weakness well,” Roman conceded.

“But do you truly believe you can convince your maternal grandfather, the Beast Emperor, to abandon his ancient neutrality and join our cause against five other nations?

Do not mistake familial ties for political guarantees.” “I will find a way to convince him,” Klaus replied, the conviction in his voice absolute.

Roman did not press the point further.

He merely stared at the gathered assembly, his eyes sweeping over the ambitious sons, the calculated daughter, and the two young, powerful anomalies.

He had heard enough.

He had tested their courage, their political acumen, and their loyalty.

He then allowed his cold, primordial presence to return, settling heavily over the room once more.

“I have heard the fears of my weak sons and the ambitions of my others,” Roman announced, his voice echoing with finality.

“Now, I will make my decree.

I have a task for all of you.” His gaze locked onto the twelve sons, Yenova, Alex, and Klaus.

“Effective immediately, all those present are considered candidates for my official heir.

Upon the conclusion of this war-whether it be in glorious victory or absolute ruin-an heir will be officially announced to succeed me as the next Patriarch and Monarch of the Rikxia Empire.” The unexpected pronouncement struck the heirs like a physical blow.

The competition they had known for decades had just been officially, brutally sanctioned.

They had fought for rank and position, but now they fought for the throne itself.

“Even me?” Yenova asked, her surprise a rare, genuine expression.

The Lionhart lineage was strictly patriarchal.

Never in their long, bloody history had a woman been officially included in the line of succession.

Roman simply stared at her, the message in his cold, absolute silence loud and clear: Do not question my words.

“I object, Father!” Roland Lionhart roared, his face contorted in disbelief and fury.

This was too much.

The political tradition had been shattered, and his favored position-the eldest, the strongest of the recognized sons-was now suddenly diluted by the inclusion of a woman and, worse, the bastard son of the family disgrace.

“Never in our history has a woman been considered a potential heir!” Roland thundered, his voice shaking with betrayed pride.

“And that boy!

His father was stripped of his rank among the twelve; he is not even part of the collateral line, much less the Main Line!

With his father a broken-core failure, he has no right to stand here as a candidate!” Roland’s accusations were laced with deep-seated resentment for the favor Ludovic had once possessed, and a crushing fear that Roman’s strange affection for the boy-Klaus-would somehow sabotage his own decades of careful maneuvering.

Roman’s face remained impassive.

The ancient, terrifying power within him needed no aura to enforce its will.

“Once again, and this is final: all the people present in this Throne Room will have an equal chance to become the official heir of the Lionhart family and the next Emperor or Empress of the Rikxia Empire,” Roman stated, his gaze meeting Roland’s until the furious son’s breath hitched in his throat.

Roland, defeated by the immovable will of his father, bit his lip hard and lowered his head, the burning taste of his own failure now mingling with the iron taste of blood.

The moment of silence was broken by Raphael Lionhart, the Empire’s Chief Healer and Alexandra’s father.

He stepped forward, gracefully sinking onto one knee.

“My Lord,” Raphael said softly, calmly.

“I respectfully withdraw from the heir race.

My focus and duty must remain on the healing arts and securing the welfare of our soldiers.

I have no place in this game of conquest.” Roman merely nodded, accepting the withdrawal.

The field was now slightly clearer, the race officially begun.

“Each of you will now receive a distinct, personal mission order,” Roman declared.

“Your immediate task is to stabilize our political foundation.

You will travel to our most critical vassal states and allies.

Your mission is to secure their absolute loyalty for the coming conflict and return with firm, actionable guarantees.

Your success in this undertaking will be the first measure of your worthiness to rule.” Roman’s terrifying eyes lingered on Klaus for an extra beat, acknowledging the young man’s proposal without needing to speak.

“You may all leave.

The test begins now.” With that final, cold command, the assembly dispersed.

As the door opened, the heirs filed out, not as a family, but as fifteen intensely suspicious rivals.

The shadow of the Throne Room had lifted, replaced by the crushing reality of a continental war and a sudden, life-or-death competition for the Empire.

Klaus stepped out into the Main Hall, the chaotic energy of his uncles’ frantic departure swirling around him.

He felt the weight of the Emperor’s game, but also the clarity of his own path.

The greatest move is to remove the board itself.

Roman Lionhart, for all his terrifying power, was prepared for war against five rivals.

Klaus was prepared for a diplomatic war against one, the Beast Emperor, a necessary step to preventing the other entirely.

The threat from the Arcadians was the ultimate leverage, the ultimate bargaining chip, but he needed a way to deliver that knowledge safely and convincingly.  He had promised to prevent the war.

And if the alternative was the complete collapse of the Runiya Continent, Klaus knew he had to succeed, not through raw, Apostle power, but through the sharp, cold edge of strategy.

The empire’s survival, and his own, now depended on his ability to out-think a continent of monarchs.

The race to the Beast Emperor’s court had officially begun.

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