Roger looked at Ocean, who only inclined his head slightly and gestured for Alys to sit. Once she lowered herself stiffly into the chair beside him, Ocean settled into his own seat, posture steady and composed, as though he had been preparing for this exact moment.

"It’s been some time for this matter," Ocean began evenly, his voice carrying just enough weight to draw Roger’s full attention. "But I’d like for Your Majesty to remember an individual who was executed five years ago. Count Douglas Clark."

At the name, Roger’s brow twitched, a flash of recognition—and irritation—passing across his face.

"Are you trying to say he is the one who assassinated my brother?" Roger’s voice deepened, raw with restrained fury. His mana rippled outward in a suffocating heat that pressed against the walls and seeped into the air like a furnace.

Ocean, unflinching, tempered the atmosphere. A crisp coolness spread subtly around Alys and Alex, a quiet shield against the clash of forces that threatened to choke the chamber. His calmness only sharpened the contrast against Roger’s smoldering rage.

"Do you remember that Her Majesty ordered for him to be mutilated for his acts?" Ocean asked, deliberately ignoring the pointed question. His tone carried no hint of provocation, only a steady patience that seemed to grate more than open defiance.

Roger’s eyes narrowed, irritation flickering in the lines of his face, but he did not snap. He watched Ocean carefully, waiting.

"Yes," he said curtly.

"Then why do you suppose that was done?" Ocean pressed, his voice quiet but cutting. "It is not as though he wasn’t already sentenced to die, nor that he could have escaped. And yet—his body was desecrated, his name stripped, and all his estates and business holdings not only seized but combed through with unusual thoroughness."

Roger exhaled sharply through his nose, exasperation beginning to leak into his tone. "What of it then? It is in the procedure to thoroughly check the places belonging to a criminal, to ensure nothing is overlooked."

Ocean sighed softly, though not in defeat—rather as if acknowledging the king’s impatience. Roger was already rubbing at his temple, the faint signs of a headache shadowing his composure.

Without another word, Ocean reached into his jacket and drew out a folded document. He laid it carefully on the table between them, the parchment a small, almost unimpressive object in the midst of so much tension.

Roger’s gaze lingered on it, his body rigid, as if wary of a trap. Alys sat frozen, her hands clenched in her lap, the air heavy around her. Ocean did not rush him—he simply waited in silence, an unmoving force that left Roger little choice but to act.

At last, the king’s frown deepened. He reached out, snatched up the document, and began to read.

"It’s a headache to deal with you at times, Marquis—" Roger muttered under his breath, but the words died away as his eyes scanned the page. His brows knitted tighter with every line, his jaw clenching as grim understanding overtook his irritation.

When he finally finished, his hand trembled faintly with the urge to crush the paper, his eyes snapping up to Ocean with a fury that barely held to its leash.

"What’s this?" His voice was rough, nearly a growl, each syllable dipped in disbelief and anger.

"Exactly what it looks like, Your Majesty," Ocean replied calmly, his tone almost too composed for the storm brewing before him. "It is a portion of the will left behind by Douglas Clark."

Roger looked one breath away from exploding.

The contents of the document were not numbers or contracts but the final words of a condemned man. Douglas Clark had written that, should anything happen to him—be it an accident or sudden death—there was only one person accountable. He had not specified the name, but in his shaky hand he had recorded a limited number of the deeds he had committed at that person’s command. Among them were the orchestrated deaths of several individuals unmistakably of royal lineage.

And yet, what Roger held was only a single page of the will. The rest, Ocean knew, was safely stored elsewhere.

"Answer me, Ocean Ryujin!" Roger’s voice thundered, rattling the chamber as his mana burned hotter, the weight of it pressing like molten iron.

Ocean leaned forward, his expression sharpening into something grave and unwavering. "It is exactly as you see, Your Majesty. The four Young Masters who exposed Douglas Clark’s wrongdoings back then—" his gaze flicked briefly toward Alys before returning to Roger, "—they were backed by me. It was by chance that I stumbled upon this record. And as specified on this page, it is clear he was also responsible for something never brought to the light."

Roger’s face had turned crimson, veins tightening along his neck as though his fury might split him open. He looked ready to set the palace ablaze with his wrath.

"Don’t tell me—" His teeth ground audibly. "It’s who I think it is... If it is... I—" The growl that tore from his throat was more beast than man, the kind of sound that made even seasoned guards stiffen.

"Please calm yourself, Your Majesty," Ocean said quickly, though his tone carried not fear but a controlled sympathy. "Douglas Clark is dead, and this is all I have at present." A lie, smooth and deliberate, softened only by the faintest look of regret painted across his features.

Roger slammed the document against the table. "Then why didn’t you bring it to me before?!"

Ocean’s lashes lowered, his voice steady but softened in contrition. "I apologize. At that time, the kingdom was already strained by war, the people unsettled, the crown vulnerable. If I had revealed this document then, it would have ignited a different kind of chaos—one that might have torn our nation apart from within."

"And now," Roger snapped, his breath ragged with fury, "you claim this is the right time?"

Ocean inclined his head slightly, the shadow of a sigh leaving his chest. "Forgive me if this comes across as insolence, Your Majesty. But I was never going to show this to you."

Roger froze. His eyes widened, bloodshot with disbelief. "What?!"

Ocean’s gaze lifted, calm but sorrowful, and his voice dropped to a solemn weight. "Considering we both know whom Douglas implied in his will, I could not act recklessly. After all, it is not only the Mother of this kingdom... but your wife. And to bring this forth—" he shook his head slowly, almost mournfully— "would be nothing less than a great sin. A sin to break apart husband and wife."

[The Preserver wonders where you get such good acting skills from.]

[The Preserver is impressed by the way you spin lies with no sense of shame.]

"First of all, I was an agent and currently, I am an Underworld boss. If I don’t lie, how on earth am I going to get my job done here?" Ocean thought coolly, his expression unreadable.

[The Preserver asks if you feel even a little bit guilty for separating a couple.]

"No." Ocean’s mind didn’t even flicker with hesitation. There was not a shred of guilt in him.

The notification vanished after that, leaving only the tense silence of the chamber. Ocean’s gaze drifted back to Roger, who sat rigid with barely controlled fury.

"And you think having one’s family is killed is not a sin?" Roger thundered.

Ocean maintained his form as he spoke, "It’s a great sin too but the present person is question has done far more than what’s known."

There was a moment of suffocating silence while Ocean sat internally unbothered and externally with an expression of tension.

"Was it really done by her?" Roger asked finally, his voice low and dangerous, as though dreading the answer.

Ocean did not blink. His tone was even, his eyes steady. "I... don’t know for certain. But if you wish, I will investigate it thoroughly. I shall recover the entirety of Douglas Clark’s will and verify the truth with my own hands." His sincerity rang clear, a polished surface over the truth he’d buried years ago.

Roger’s glare lingered, heavy with suspicion, but before he could speak again, Alys shifted beside Ocean.

"I believe him."

Her voice, soft yet steady, cut through the oppressive silence. She laid her trembling hand upon Ocean’s arm, anchoring herself to him as her eyes searched Roger’s face.

Roger’s anger faltered, softening as his gaze fell upon his niece.

"I believe that Marquis Ocean will uncover the truth about my parents’ deaths," Alys continued, her voice shaking but resolute. "He has helped me without asking for anything in return. He sheltered me, protected me, gave me a place where I could finally live without fear of being hunted. So I trust him."

For a long moment Roger said nothing, his eyes shifting between Alys, Ocean, and the hand she kept on Ocean’s arm.

Ocean, seeing the opening, pressed a hand against his chest, bowing slightly forward. "I pledge upon my name, Your Majesty. I will uncover everything hidden in this matter and present it before you without fail."

Roger’s shoulders sagged. The fight bled out of him in one heavy exhale, and he slumped back into his chair. His hand rose to his temple, fingers digging as he massaged his throbbing head with a groan.

"All right," he muttered at last, his voice weary. "But as soon as you find it, you bring it straight to me. No delays."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Ocean replied, every syllable sounding like ironclad sincerity.

Roger groaned again, his hand pressed hard against his temple.

Ocean rose smoothly from his seat and walked toward him.

The king straightened a little, instinctively wary. "What are you doing?"

Ocean’s lips curved faintly, the kind of smile that reassured without truly giving anything away. "I did tell you I’d give you a cure, did I not?"

Roger frowned, suspicion flickering. "You have it with you right now? How come you knew—"

Ocean did not let him finish. His gloved hand lifted and settled gently upon Roger’s head, mana flowing like cool water down into the king’s body.

The effect was immediate. The pounding heat in Roger’s skull ebbed away, the suffocating pressure lifting. Ocean did not heal him fully—only dulled the pain, eased the headache. Enough to bring relief. Enough to plant dependence.

When Ocean removed his hand, Roger’s scowl had melted into an expression of profound peace. His shoulders sagged as he released a deep sigh.

"What... what was that, Marquis?" he asked with a rare, unguarded smile.

Ocean matched it with one of his own. "A little gift that comes with my mana, Your Majesty. I can heal minor injuries and ailments."

Roger blinked, stunned. "Y-You can heal?"

But his surprise soon was clouded with suspicion as he stared at Ocean’s mask.

Ocean inclined his head noticing Roger’s unspoken suspicion and his hand brushed against the mask covering his face, and his smile turned wistful. "Sadly... I cannot heal my own injuries."

Roger’s sharp gaze softened. Rising, he stepped close, placing a hand firmly on Ocean’s shoulder. "You just keep proving, again and again, how invaluable you are to my kingdom," he said, a smile curving his lips.

Ocean lowered his eyes—not out of humility, but to conceal the glint of cold amusement in them.

"Tell me, Marquis Ocean. What is it you want? Land? Title?" Roger’s voice dipped as his glance flickered toward Alys. "Or perhaps... a bride? I’m so happy with you I can give you my daughter’s hand in marriage."

Ocean instantly understood, and his answer came swift, courteous, unyielding. "I am honoured that Your Majesty holds me in such regard. But I am content with what I have. As for Her Highness, I am not worthy—neither in age, nor in beauty, to stand beside a lady of her stature."

"If only you knew," Ocean thought, biting back the urge to scoff. "I could charm heaven and earth alike without your praise, old man."

Roger chuckled warmly, clapping his shoulder. "Don’t sell yourself so short. Even with that mask, you cut a fine figure. I’d wager women find you more appealing than you realise. And age?" He laughed, shaking his head. "You look young yet, and your tongue is sharper than most courtiers."

Ocean gave nothing away but the smallest polite smile.

Then Roger’s gaze turned toward Alys. He stepped closer, though not too near, his smile softening into something paternal.

"I will fulfill whatever wish you have, Alys," he said gently. "If you want nothing to do with the throne, so be it. If you desire something else, speak it. I will prepare the best of everything for you."

Alys froze, her hands tightening in her lap. Apart from Marquis Fairisles and Duke Aurelius, no one had ever spoken to her with such open care. She barely remembered her father, yet here stood another man treating her as though she were his own daughter. Fortune or trap—she didn’t know.

She stole a glance at Ocean. He met her eyes, gave the smallest nod.

Her lips trembled into a shy smile as she looked back at Roger. "I am happy now. I only wish for you to stay well... and that your enemies would vanish from your path."

Roger’s heart clenched, his smile growing wistful. "I should have protected you and kept you close, Alys. Instead, I am forced to see you in secret. But do not fear—soon enough, you will have no reason to hide. You will come and go in this palace as your home as you please."

Alys’s smile faltered.

Roger turned then to Ocean, his eyes gleaming with something darker. "Ocean Ryujin is a capable man. He serves my kingdom with unwavering diligence. I know he will root out every parasite that festers in this land... and cut them down like the disease they are."

Ocean nearly let his eyes widen at the sheer weight of the implication. Was Roger truly asking him—no, expecting him—to rid the kingdom of the Queen herself?

Ocean’s chest stirred with a flicker of admiration. The king’s love runs so deep he would even pit him against his own wife. How... impressive.

Bowing his head slightly, Ocean let a thin smile curve over his lips. "Your word is my command, Your Majesty. I shall remove every poisoned root from this kingdom’s soil."