The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family - Chapter 210

Chapter 210: Gathering Storms
The Frost Chamber’s door closed with a soft finality as the Elder Sages of the Ethereal Confluence departed. Roman remained motionless for several moments, his weathered face betraying nothing of the turmoil beneath. Their partial success with Klaus’s fragmented consciousness offered a sliver of hope, but not enough—never enough for a Lionhart.

“Father.” Raphael’s voice broke the silence. “The messenger has returned from the northern border. All seven signals have been lit.”

Roman closed his eyes briefly. The signal towers along the borders of the Rikxia Empire rarely activated simultaneously. The last time had been during the Crimson Rebellion, nearly forty years earlier. Their illumination now could mean only one thing.

“How long?” he asked, voice steady despite the implications.

“Three days. Maybe four.” Raphael glanced toward Klaus’s motionless form. “Will you tell them what really happened at Northwatch?”

“I will tell them what they need to know.” Roman turned toward the door. “Stay with the boy. I must prepare.”

In the corridor outside, Melo awaited—silent and vigilant as always, his white mask revealing only his golden eyes. He fell into step beside his master without a word.

“Has the Lightning Monarch confirmed attendance?” Roman asked as they strode through the halls.

“Yes, Emperor.” Melo’s voice was soft but carried clearly. “Queen Sylvana will arrive by tomorrow evening. She sends word that the southern rifts have shown unusual activity since Northwatch’s disappearance.”

Roman’s face hardened. “And the others?”

“The Ocean Monarch and the Stone Monarch are already en route. The Wind Monarch sent confirmation this morning. The Flame Monarch…” Melo hesitated. “The Flame Monarch demands to know why he should travel across the continent for ‘a minor northern incident.'”

A thin smile crossed Roman’s face, lacking any warmth. “Arrogance. Always his weakness.”

“And the Beast Emperor?” Roman asked, his tone shifting subtly.

Melo’s golden eyes flickered briefly. “His response was… unexpected. He will attend personally rather than sending a representative.”

Roman stopped abruptly, his brow furrowing. “Personally? Not since the Succession Conclave thirty years ago has Reizhor Raikra left his domain.”

“He cited ‘family interests’ in his communication.”

Of course. Elisabeth. And through her, Klaus. Roman resumed walking, his pace quicker now. “Have the Imperial Chamber prepared. And ensure that Ludovic remains with Klaus during the council.”

“You wish to keep them separated?” Melo asked, understanding immediately.

“The Beast Emperor has made no secret of his displeasure regarding his daughter’s choice of husband.” Roman’s tone betrayed no emotion, though the temperature in the corridor dropped noticeably. “Adding that particular flame to the council’s deliberations would be… unhelpful.”

They reached the grand staircase that led to Roman’s private chambers. Melo bowed slightly before departing to carry out his instructions, leaving the Ice Monarch to ascend alone.

At the top of the stairs, Roman paused, looking out through a high arched window. The Lionhart Estate spread below him, its ancient stonework and manicured grounds reflecting generations of power and tradition. Beyond lay the capital city, and beyond that, the vast territories of the Rikxia Empire—his empire, entrusted to him as both patriarch and monarch.

An empire now facing a crisis unlike any in living memory.

The destruction of Northwatch and the disappearance of the Eternal Rift represented more than the loss of a city and a long-contained breach in reality. They signaled a fundamental shift in the balance that had preserved peace among the Seven Monarchs for over a century.

Roman continued to his chambers, where maps of the continent had been spread across a massive obsidian table. Markers representing known rifts dotted the parchment—yellow, green, and cyan markers for the lesser rifts that appeared and disappeared with relative regularity. A single purple marker had denoted the Eternal Rift, but now it lay on its side, crossed out with black ink.

A knock at the door interrupted his contemplation. “Enter,” he commanded.

A senior scribe appeared, carrying a sealed document. “Message from the northern territories, Emperor. Captain Kalix reports increasing anomalies along the perimeter of… where Northwatch stood.”

Roman broke the seal and scanned the contents, his expression darkening with each line. “Has this been shared with anyone else?”

“No, Emperor. It arrived directly through the priority network.”

“Good. Leave it with me.”

Alone again, Roman reread the dispatch more carefully. Kalix reported strange phenomena at the edge of the ash circle that had once been Northwatch—distortions in space and time that affected anyone who ventured too close. Scouts disappeared, only to reappear hours later with no memory of the intervening time. Instruments failed. Wildlife avoided the area entirely.

The implications were clear: the Eternal Rift might be gone, but its effects lingered in ways they did not yet understand.

Roman moved to another table where a scale model of the continent displayed the territories of each Monarch. For centuries, these seven powers had maintained an uneasy balance—none strong enough to overcome the others, none weak enough to fall. The Eternal Rift, located within Rikxia’s territory, had been both burden and advantage. Its constant threat required vigilance and resources, but it also provided leverage in negotiations with the other Monarchs, who benefited from the Rikxia Empire’s containment efforts.

With the Rift gone, how would that balance shift?

Another knock, more urgent this time. “Emperor,” called Melo’s voice. “We’ve received word from the eastern watchtowers. The Beast Emperor’s procession has been sighted crossing the border. He travels with unusual haste.”

Roman looked up sharply. “He’s not due for two days.”

“Apparently he left immediately upon receiving the summons.”

Reizhor Raikra, making haste to the Lionhart Estate. The implications sent a chill through even Roman’s ice-accustomed blood. The Beast Emperor had avoided direct contact with the Lionhart family since Elisabeth had defied his wishes and married Ludovic. His sudden urgency could only mean one thing: he knew something about Klaus’s condition—something beyond what had been included in the official communications.

“How many accompany him?” Roman asked.

“A small retinue—twenty elite guards and three advisors.”

Not an invasion force, then, but enough to demonstrate his status. “Have quarters prepared in the East Wing, as far from the Frost Chamber as possible. And double the guards around Klaus.”

Melo bowed. “As you command.”

As his right hand departed once more, Roman returned to the maps, but his thoughts remained on the unexpected development. Reizhor Raikra’s involvement complicated an already delicate situation. The Beast Emperor was notoriously protective of his bloodline, with a temper as fierce as the creatures his family commanded. He had never forgiven Roman for allowing Ludovic’s marriage to Elisabeth to proceed after Ludovic’s core was shattered.

More concerning still was the possibility that Reizhor might know about Klaus’s Beast Art—a bloodline ability that should have been impossible for a Lionhart descendant to manifest. If he confirmed that Klaus had contracted a Night Dragon…

Roman shook his head. That particular secret had been carefully guarded. Even within the estate, few knew the true nature of Klaus’s contracted creature.

Returning to the window, Roman gazed at the darkening sky. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon, a fitting metaphor for what approached. Within days, the Seven Monarchs would convene under his roof for the first time in decades, each bringing their own agenda, their own interpretation of what had occurred at Northwatch.

And he would need to guide them toward a consensus that protected not just the Rikxia Empire, but Klaus himself—for Roman had no illusions about how some might view his grandson if they learned the full truth of what had happened.

“Prepare a secure communication to Captain Yenova,” he instructed a waiting attendant. “Have her return from the field immediately. Her counsel will be needed.”

The attendant bowed and departed swiftly, leaving Roman alone with his thoughts once more.

In the Frost Chamber below, Klaus remained unchanged, his consciousness stabilized but still fragmented, unaware of the gathering storm that centered around him. The pieces of a grand game were moving across the continent, drawn by forces few understood and none controlled. Monarchs who had maintained careful distance for decades now converged on the Lionhart Estate, united only in their desire to understand what had happened at Northwatch and what it meant for the balance of power they had so carefully maintained.

And at the heart of it all lay a silver-haired boy who had done the impossible—who had faced an ancient entity and survived, albeit broken.

Roman’s fingers traced the crossed-out purple marker on his map, feeling the weight of the decisions that awaited him in the coming days. The council would demand answers he could not give, solutions he did not have, and reassurances he could not honestly provide.

Worse still, he would face Reizhor Raikra, a man who had every reason to demand custody of Klaus should he learn the full extent of the boy’s condition and abilities. A claim Roman could not legally refute if the Beast Emperor invoked ancient laws regarding bloodline inheritance.

The Ice Monarch’s face settled into its familiar mask of cold determination. He had not built and maintained an empire by yielding to pressure or succumbing to fear. The gathering of Monarchs would be navigated, the balance preserved, and most importantly, Klaus would remain under Lionhart protection—regardless of what storms approached, both literal and figurative.

As if responding to his resolve, frost spread from beneath his fingers across the map, encasing the markers in a thin layer of ice. Roman looked down at this unconscious display of power, a reminder of why he was called the Ice Monarch.

In three days, the council would convene. Three days to prepare for what might be the most consequential confrontation of powers the continent had seen in a generation.